(via soul-vintage)

don't play hide and seek with girls

nothing’s easy. it’ll be okay. if you ever see someone face down in anything you can pretend it’s me. i know i do. sometimes i fantasize about being thrown through the windshield. about drowning out the noise with glass. chanting the mantra of “someday maybe one day” but the iron hands of progress are always so careless with me and all my knee jerk reactions that could’ve only been taught. you’re here but you always felt like you’ve got somewhere else to be. i just wanna know why can’t lightning hit the sands of time. why none of my favorite moments last longer than the heartache between them. so ready or not here i come. but in the time it took to count back from 100 you woke up from the hypnosis and went home. that’s how it always is. if jesus is coming none of this matters. if you need me i’ll be in the river smoothing stones by hand. it’s a crisis of faith. the way i think about you changing your mind sometimes. you and your driftwood smile. all the yellow brick roads i’m not allowed to walk on. an exposé on seashell noise. on anything at all. it’s like trying to sleep but all my bones are breaking at the same time. how do i explain that i just want to bury some sleep behind your ear and hope you wake up missing me. i just want the parts of you that go home for the holidays. that i get so upset when i bump into wind chimes. like sometimes i think if i repeat myself enough this will become a song. something impossibly red. something you can fall asleep to. people want to see your picture. they want to know who i write about. they want to know your name. all i can say is “but that’s no how you spell sorry” i get upset when i think about soap or look at maps. the memory of the first time i made you laugh sits shotgun in my car. it held my hand when i hit rock bottom.

don't play hide and seek with girls

nothing’s easy. it’ll be okay. if you ever see someone face down in anything you can pretend it’s me. i know i do. sometimes i fantasize about being thrown through the windshield. about drowning out the noise with glass. chanting the mantra of “someday maybe one day” but the iron hands of progress are always so careless with me and all my knee jerk reactions that could’ve only been taught. you’re here but you always felt like you’ve got somewhere else to be. i just wanna know why can’t lightning hit the sands of time. why none of my favorite moments last longer than the heartache between them. so ready or not here i come. but in the time it took to count back from 100 you woke up from the hypnosis and went home. that’s how it always is. if jesus is coming none of this matters. if you need me i’ll be in the river smoothing stones by hand. it’s a crisis of faith. the way i think about you changing your mind sometimes. you and your driftwood smile. all the yellow brick roads i’m not allowed to walk on. an exposé on seashell noise. on anything at all. it’s like trying to sleep but all my bones are breaking at the same time. how do i explain that i just want to bury some sleep behind your ear and hope you wake up missing me. i just want the parts of you that go home for the holidays. that i get so upset when i bump into wind chimes. like sometimes i think if i repeat myself enough this will become a song. something impossibly red. something you can fall asleep to. people want to see your picture. they want to know who i write about. they want to know your name. all i can say is “but that’s no how you spell sorry” i get upset when i think about soap or look at maps. the memory of the first time i made you laugh sits shotgun in my car. it held my hand when i hit rock bottom.

suicide: (n.)

there’s a cliff in town. you heard somewhere that someone jumped from it back in high school. no one talks about it. you woke up one day and you notice it where your front yard used to be. you’d never actually seen it before. but it’s there now. you tell your mother and tells you to pray. you tell your father and he asks you if you want to fishing. you mention it to friends and they change the subject. you want to ask strangers if they can hear that strange distant ringing too. you don’t want to leave the house anymore. not with this thing in your yard. you start thinking every room is dark with you inside of it. you don’t know if the cliff is moving closer to you or if you are moving closer to it. it doesn’t matter now anyway. coffee shakes without the coffee. who cares. you’re not sleeping anyway. you feel so clumsy. you don’t want to talk about it anymore. you woke up this morning and your feet are dangling over the edge. you can’t remember how you got here anymore. everything is in pieces. everything is rushing. everything is so very very still. you remember the how relieved someone is when they drop something and realize it wasn’t very important when it hits the ground. you wonder if anyone will sigh in relief.

my nightmares walk on stilts

i think too much about fingertips. about the legacies they leave behind. how you can only get somewhere if you leave something behind. i have to tell you this. it’s not unreasonable to imagine my suicide letters spilling out of my glovebox like white orchids into someone who isn’t you’s lap. right? the way she’d look at me like she was covered in blood. like i ruined her favorite dress. i’m always trying to turn the ac off when it’s already off. i have to put on extra clothes when i know someone’s about to say goodbye to me. it’s like that feeling you get when someone says you’re special to them but can’t tell you why. i always try to laugh it off. the way i can say as a joke that i only eat alphabet soup so i can spell your name in my spoon. it’s the little things. they sleep under my fingernails and haunt me like perfume when i move too much in bed. in my head there’s this man with a banjo on my front porch singing “son if she didn’t come around when you fell apart she ain’t comin’ round” and maybe he’s right. i’ve got to stop bothering my mailbox about you. i’ve got to convince myself that my bed belongs to me no matter what shapes have been branded into the mattress. i need to turn the sound on my phone off more often. it’s my fault though. i’m always measuring furniture i know won’t fit through my front door. i buy it anyway. because it’s perfect. like your midnight miss you texts. like the radio. the way my favorite songs won’t let my memories breathe. the way i imagine you chanting “give us barabbus” “give us anyone” it’s like eating nails for breakfast. like strangers asking me if i’ve lost anything. like they knew something went missing.

Radical

Heartbreaking Simpsons Moments 1/∞: Bart Gets an F

I never understood why it’s an F if he gets more than half out of 100? Unless it’s more than 100. If you get more than half the answers right how is it an F?

You must not be from America. Here, grading is fucked up.

Average American Grading Scale: A+- 97-100 A - 94-96 A- - 90-93 B- 80-89 C- 70-79 D- 60-69 F- 59 and under

And in some places in America it goes by a 7 point scale, so it’d be A - 100-93 B - 92-85 C - 84-78 D - 77-70 F - 69 and below

Now you understand why American kid’s feel like there’s no point to school. If you have a 100 question text, and get 79 of them correct, that’s a C. That mean’s your Average Intelligence on this particular subject. And it get’s even worse when you have only like… a 10 question quiz. If you get two wrong? that’s a B. 80 fucking %. Now tell me again why American school’s are easier? 

No wait but whats the grading system in other countries?

UK Grading Scale

100-70: A

69-60: B

59-50: C

49-40: D

Below 40: F

next time you try to tell americans that we’re stupid

i’m gonna remind you

that our “average” is your “A”

#is that true? Yep I was shocked when I heard this in a different post but a Google search pulls up a ton of sites backing this up. Shit son I woulda passed College Algebra with an A in the UK. And I spent the end of the semester in perpetual fear that I would fail and have to retake the class.

And basically as an American you’re expected to get 80 or higher. Technically 70s are considered ‘average’ but there is such a level of pressure to get a B or higher, that Cs have become equal to Ds. Basically anything under 60 you might as well gotten a 0, and anything between 60-80 is considered practically failing. So basically schools have to be designed to make sure majority of students are getting 80s or higher on specific topics, which means you’re spending all your time going over a few choice facts a billion times and there is very little room to teach anything else. Which explains why American schools are of such low quality. The insane demand on the students ends up wrecking their education. Not only do you not have time to teach them anything, but they end up hating learning. Even outside of school your life is dedicated to memorizing these few dumb facts because your homework ends up taking hours of your time. A teacher from one subject says they expect you to spend 2 hours every night on their homework. And if you’re studying 5 subjects and they all demand that 2 hours? Good fucking luck, because if you don’t have straight all 80s or higher you’re not getting into a good college and college degrees have somehow become the minimum requirement for getting jobs.

I spent most of my junior year of high school in a state of constant panic that I was going to get a C in Honors Physics much less fail the class. If I got a C on my report card, I was grounded until the next one. I lost count of the times I’d wake up at five in the morning to take the early bus to go in for zero hour before school actually started for the day

File this under the exact reason so many Americans detest going to school.

I know kids that got grounded for getting 70 on assignments

this is now my favorite gif

I don’t give an unidentified flying fuck.

https://twitter.com/avxlanche/status/515222693449576448

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