this interview is from hell


This is a video I keep in my phone and listen to it once in a while when I’m down. 

It’s one hell of a gifset, but I just don’t want to cut anything he said because every word shows his precious growing mindset. Everyone has weakness and difficult times, but it is so important that one can be critical of oneself even if others are lenient, be conscious of their ability and goal, be realistic but also optimistic about the future, and have a fire to keep going despite hardship. Each of those characteristics is good enough, but it’s such an amazing thing to find this all in one person, and condensed in just a few sentences in this interview.

Beside his lovely performances, this is the reason why I admire this person so much. And because life is so hard for me recently, let me just translate this and gain some strength from it now then.


People of Earth

Just a friendly reminder — Please consider not saying “we all think/thought” or “we all feel/felt” on your blogs because clearly we all perceive things differently. Things that yank my chain might not yank yours, and vice versa.

Emotions and reactions ran the gamut during Georgia Gate On Facebook™, after the Interview From Hell™ (IFH™), and do run the gamut in response to daily shite posted on social media.

In the immortal words of author Scott Adams, we are all induhviduals… no, that doesn’t sound right…

Note to my three readers: I have officially trademarked Interview From Hell™ and IFH™ — apparently I was asleep at the Marriage Train controls when I coined the term on January 20, 2016. Thank you for overlooking my incompetence.

the nurse who loved me

Say hello to the shrinking in your head:
you can’t see it, but you know it’s there, so don’t neglect it.

Sam walks into a bar.

There’s a hunt. Werewolves, maybe, or ghouls. He and Dean have been working the case and he’s still not sure which it is, which is kind of a worry. Either way—he knows what works. He sits at the bar and pops his neck, shrugs his shoulders, but it’s just out of habit. He’s not sore anymore, not tired. A relief, after the long months of feeling so shitty with the trials. He can have a beer now without puking, while he waits for Dean to get back from interviewing the sheriff, and hell, he’s going to indulge. Been long enough without.

The bartender’s tall—maybe as tall as Sam is. “What do you need?” he says, and he’s not smiling.

Sam’s dreaming. There’s a hunt, he thinks, and it’s something—it’s pulling at his attention. Angels, and he doesn’t know why he’s so scared of them, why there’s some kind of hollow yawning dread pulling open the pit of his stomach. He looks at Castiel and feels no warmth, feels nothing but pure skittering terror and he

Sam walks into a bar. The light’s dim, the bar long and dark and familiar. Bars are all the same, in the end, and he takes a stool close to the end, leans his elbows on the counter. He wants a drink. The bartender stands in front of him, silent, and Sam says, “Hey, just a pint of whatever’s on tap,” but the bartender doesn’t move. He’s tall. Maybe Sam’s age, or Dean’s. He frowns, sits up a little more. Thinks, maybe the guy didn’t hear him, and he says, “Hey, buddy?” because it pays to be polite even with assholes, and the bartender leans his hands on the counter, looks right into Sam’s eyes, and

Sam spreads his thighs wider, stretches out against the plush leather back of the armchair. Dean’s mouth is—god. He’s almost too sensitive, but the soft thorough cleaning he’s getting is just so good he can’t find it in himself to complain. Rough hands smooth up over his belly, pet over his hips, and when Dean goes to pull back Sam picks his head up off the chair back with an effort, cups the back of Dean’s head and runs his fingers through the soft short hair. “My turn, isn’t it,” he says, and he’s drowsy but he really is more than willing, only Dean picks his head up and licks his lips and grins, and maybe it’s not the wide pleased got-the-cream smile Sam’s used to but it’s pleased enough, and he says, “Nah, I’m just feeling greedy, Sammy,” and he leans in and kisses Sam, soft, quick enough that Sam finds himself leaning forward, wishing for more. Dean’s already zipping him up, though, neatening him away. Sam wishes he would look up. He wants to see Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t know why Dean isn’t

Sam walks into a bar and the bartender looks right at him. It’s like he was waiting. Sam sits at the bar and leans on his elbows, asks for a beer.

The bartender looks at him.

Sam drinks his beer, cold bitter at the back of his tongue, and the bartender looks at him. “What do you need?” the bartender says.

Sam puts his pint down and shrugs. “I’m good,” he says, and it’s the truth. Nothing hurts, and there’s a hunt, and Dean’s healthy and happy, and everything is as it should be. Not like this guy needs to know that, though.

“Of course,” the bartender says, slowly. He talks stiffly, awkwardly. “You are—happy.”

Sam frowns a little, though he smiles, too. “Yeah, buddy,” he says, and toasts the guy with his beer. “I’m good.”

There’s—blood, oh—oh, shit, there’s so much—blood purling out from between his fingers, a weird lucky shot and Dean’s crying out, yelling his name across the awful reeking basement, and Sam wavers, shocked, stares at the blood on his fingers for a weird moment thinking, he didn’t expect this, that this terrible dusty place and this stupid ghoul would be the end, after everything, and he falls to his knees and feels the blood warm against his chilled skin and thinks, Dean—

Sam walks into a bar. There’s a hunt. There’s something—wrong, maybe, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. The bartender is gripping hard onto the brass railing. “Whatever’s on tap,” Sam says, and the bartender looks up at him with weird grief on his face, something so vivid that Sam startles still, for a second, frozen half onto the bar stool, and the bartender says, “I am sorry, Sam Winchester,” and Sam thinks what, he thinks how do you and he also thinks why but then the bartender squeezes his eyes closed and bows his head and

There’s time missing. Miles go by and Sam isn’t—he doesn’t remember them. Dean’s worried, he can tell, even though all he gets when he talks about it is dismissal, lots of ‘oh, the trials,’ and ‘you just need more time to heal,’ and, well, Sam loves him but Dean talks a lot of bullshit, a lot of the time. He’ll crawl out of Dean’s bed and go take a shower and then blink at himself in the mirror, completely dressed and brushing his teeth, and have no idea what happened in the interim. He’ll go for a jog and not remember a thing. He looks at himself in the mirror and he’s okay, he recognizes himself, but sometimes, sometimes he’ll open his own eyes and there in the split second when his eyelids part his eyes spark unfamiliar and he thinks

Sam walks into a bar. There’s a hunt, he knows there is. He just—can’t remember the details, right now.

The bartender looks like he’s been crying, though Sam doesn’t notice until after he’s already asked for a pint, and by then it’s too late—he sits there, awkward, while the guy goes through the motions, pouring off the foam, setting the full glass carefully in front of Sam on a neat square coaster. “Thanks,” Sam says, trying to pass it off as normal.

“Do not thank me,” the bartender says, voice a deep scrape. He leans on the brass rail, right in front of Sam, looking into some middle distance. Sam takes an awkward sip—cold, bitter hops lingering in the back of the throat like sorrow, and it’s hard to swallow it down. The bartender closes his eyes. He says, “I am not sure of my course.”

Sam puts the glass down, cups his hands around the cold solidity of it. “Nobody is,” he says. The bartender blinks at him, and hell, Sam’s half-surprised himself, but this guy doesn’t expect him to be Agent Rose, or a hunter with the answers. They’re just two guys, talking.

“Do you not think—“ the bartender starts, and swallows. He folds his arms over his chest, standing stiff and straight. “I thought, always, that there must be a plan, for all of us. That there must be meaning. Now, I am not so sure.”

Sam shrugs. He and Dean have had this conversation, in various ways, half a dozen times. He always feels like he comes to a different conclusion. “I don’t know the answer to that,” he says, semi-honestly. “I think, all you can ever do is what you believe is right.” The bartender looks directly at him, and Sam shrugs, again. “I mean, what’s the alternative?”

There’s a pause, and the bartender nods. “Of course,” he says, but quietly, like he doesn’t mean for Sam to hear—or like it doesn’t matter, if he does. Sam sips his beer and the bartender nods, and meets his eyes. He seems taller, brighter. His shoulders square out and for a second Sam sees him—pure, strong. Beautiful, and that thought’s a surprise but the bartender earns it, somehow. He smiles at Sam and it’s—beautiful. He says, “Thank you, Sam Winchester,” and all Sam can see after that is light.

(read on AO3)

comic #2515: boring

Podcasts I enjoy listening to right now:

  • Food Stuff - history and science behind various foods
  • Stuff You Should Know - history and science behind a bunch of random topics
  • TED Talk Radio - snippets from the best TED talks about various topics
  • Food Psych - interviews with Intuitive Eating and Health at Every Size advocates
  • Clients From Hell - resources for freelancers

“I think my first real experience in the rock and roll world came in Cleveland the day that Hole joined the tour. The lineup was actually Marilyn Manson, Hole and Nine Inch Nails. Courtney showed up late. She had flown in and was completely wrecked when she got to the concert. She went on to play probably one of the worst shows in her life, and i’m sure she would admit this. She took off her top said something sarcastic speculating whether Trent Reznor was a top or bottom to piss off the audience, and then dove into the crowd. A lot of people tried to grope her breasts and tear off the rest of her clothes.
After she finished, she decided to come into our dressing room because we had adjoining ones. She was pretty much just in her underpants and her bra, and lying sprawled out, high or drunk. i’m not sure which, probably a combination of both. I was kind of confused by the situation because-other than Trent-she was one of the first infamous (rather than famous) people I had come across. So I kept my distance. i’m not sure if I was scared of her or if I just didn’t want to get involved.
She was trying on everyone’s clothes, and I remember Daisy was pissing me off because, in particularly bad taste, he was trying to trade some of his clothes to get her to send him one of Kurt Cobain’s guitars. She was very cool about it and didn’t take any offense.

Now, Courtney has always said that she had some kind of relationship with Trent but Trent has always denied it. What’s the truth?
I probably shouldn’t talk about that. All I’ll say is that it seemed that Trent had picked Hole to be on the tour as a bit of a novelty. He seemed to dislike her greatly, and I think he wanted her on tour either to make a fool out of her or just to study her. But as the tour progressed I noticed that Trent and Courtney were hanging around a lot together, and it was a part of the tour where he wasn’t talking to us too much. He had disappeared into his own world-or hers.

So you didn’t really know whether they were sleeping together?
Well, things started to get weird a month or so down the road as the tour was ending. Courtney showed up at Trent’s bungalow trying to break down the door and doing some other stuff that I forgot about because I was drunk. But it was some sort of outburst that comes from a girl only if you fuck her. So I could tell that there was something going on that Trent wasn’t telling us about, especially since he was stumbling around her hotel room at certain hours of the night that were very suspicious. Still to this day he won’t admit to any of us what happened. So you can make your own judgement.

I thought this interview was to tell the truth about everything that happened in the past year.
I’m telling the truth, but Twiggy can probably tell you more because he had an undocumented, undisclosed relationship with her afterwards. 

Is that true Twiggy?
Twiggy: It’s true that I need whiskey and speed.
Manson: What happened was that after the leg of the tour with Hole was over, for some reason we kept running into Courtney. Whenever she would pop up, it would cause great amounts of stress for Trent. He’s a non-confrontational person so rather than dealing with it he would let it torment him. There was a night that we were all partying. I think it was in Houston, and Trent was working on the Natural Born killers soundtrack. Twiggy and I went out to a bar and some guy gave us drugs. We had one of our very first nights of terror where I felt like I was gonna die, and I wanted to call everybody I knew and tell them that I loved them and that I was afraid. In the midst of the terror, Twiggy disappeared because he had gotten some frantic phone call in the middle of the night. Apparently Courtney was in town and told him, “Come over. I’m freaking out!”
He didn’t come back until about seven o’clock the next morning. I asked him what happened, and he pulled up his shirt and had these giant red claw marks on his back. He kind of sheepishly admitted to doing some very graphic and very obscene sexual acts. Very exciting. I’ll leave it up to your imagination. So they continued to have this secret relationship, probably because Twiggy wasn’t famous enough at the time for Courtney to admit that she was having sex with him.

Do you think she was manipulating him to get to Trent?
Manson: I don’t know, but Trent seemed to think so. And it worked. Because not long afterwards we got a call from John Malm, the president of Nothing. During the tour, we had fired our management from Florida, which was too busy taking care of that country band the Mavericks to really care, and let Nothing take over. So now John Malm, our new manager, was telling us, “Listen, you can’t hang out with Courtney because she’s trying to find out where Trent’s staying and she’s gonna use you to do it.”

So which did you choose, Twiggy, Trent’s peace of mind or your budding relationship with Courtney?
Twiggy: Whiskey and speed.
Manson: He kept seeing her, but not to rebel against anyone. He was just into her. I think he was also starstruck by Courtney because he had never had a relationship with anyone of her stature. At the time I didn’t really understand Courtney and was siding with Trent. I sympathized with him and believed his side of the story. I felt like Courtney was a bad thing and I didn’t want any part of it.
Twiggy: Everyone was accusing me of being used when at the time it was genuine. It meant something. I learned a lot from that relationship, more than any other one. It was inspiring. But the closer we got to each other, the more pressure there was to stay away. I think there was also this idea at the beginning that I was discrediting Trent’s trophy. I guess the timing was wrong.

Is there anything else you want to add, Twiggy?
Twiggy: Whiskey and speed.
Manson: I never really ever had a conversation with Courtney until just recently, when I found out that she is a very smart person and more in control than most people think. We were playing somewhere on the West Coast and there was a knock on our tour bus door. I heard this drunken, raspy voice screaming, “Jeordie! Jeordie! Where the fuck’s Jeordie?” And Courtney came limping on the tour bus because apparently the night before she had fallen and hurt her leg. She saw a girl sitting there and immediately started telling her, “You don’t need to be on this bus. You should get a keyboard and start your own band. Then these guys’ll be on your bus.”
Then she looked at us and asked, “You got any donuts?” I had just gotten a dozen glazed donuts and she took four and devoured them before I even saw her mouth open. Then she whipped off her bandage and winged it at our tour manager, who started freaking out because getting blood on him, whether it belongs to someone famous or not, was not in his contract. When Twiggy came out from the back of the tour bus, no doubt hiding the several teenage girls he had back there, he seemed semi-embarrassed and semi-entertained by the whole situation. It was at that point that I started to like Courtney and gain a bizarre respect for her because she made me laugh and I thought she was cool.”
-Marilyn Manson, 1995 interview from, The Long Hard Road Out Of Hell, 1998.

CultureSOUL: THE ANCESTORSAlabama Plantation c. 1850s: DELIA GARLIC

“She sat on her front porch and assailed the taking of young children from mothers and selling them in different parts of the country.” (WPA Slave Narratives Interviewer, Margaret Fowler)

"’Dem days was hell. Babies was snatched from (their) dere mother’s breast an’ sold to speculators. Chilluns was separated from sisters an’ brothers an’ never saw each other again. "Course (they) dey cry; you think dey not cry when dey was sold like cattle? I could tell you ‘bout it all day, but even then you couldn’t guess de awfulness of it. It’s bad to belong to folks (that) dat own you soul an’ body; dat can tie you up a tree… Folks a mile away could hear dem awful whippings. Dey was a turrible part of livin’.”

Delia Garlic (Text & Photo) Fruithurst, Alabama c. 1936-1938



I know that the whole Rev!Pines thing isnt everyones jam, so Im going to try to provide some Pinecest one-shots while I work on the Rev!Pines story. Rev!Pines is still happening, and the next chapter will be up tomorrow.

This is based on a prompt suggested by shego1142 a few days ago in a post that ended up getting reblogged across the tumblrsphere. My take is below the jump.

Keep reading

Foxes Music AU
  • Riko, Kevin, Jean, and Neil are a popular band called The Kings Men (referring to Riko ofc). Riko sings, Kevin plays guitar, Jean drums, and Neil plays bass
  • they act like bros in front of the cameras, but no one can stand Riko and theres constant tension. he beats them, and they allbelong to him in some way, similar to in the books
  • until one incident with Kevin goes too far

Keep reading