swing life away.

Hi. I post personal shit on here. This was never intended for people I know to see. Jus sayin.

[faruhanu]

Muslims In Libya Condemn Violence, Apologize To Americans

Buzzfeed

#of course the news won’t show this #no they’ll just keep stating over and over that the US is sending two warships to the area #because that is more important than showing Americans that not all Muslims are evil like they already believe#because that would be asking too much of the media

[nonsensicallife]

Generalizations suck.

People are people. There are some people who hate. There are some people who don’t. And believe it or not, there are no “All of us hate ____” countries or religions.

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checkmate, raped women.

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Pussy Riot is a feminist Russian punk group comprised of all girls. They sang/spoke out against the government, the corrupt leader Putin, and against the church and are being sentenced to two years in prison for doing so. that's communism, folks...

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Anyone who wants to be a can't-hack-it pantywaist who wears their mama's bra, raise your hand.

-Benny Rodriguez, The Sandlot

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in a photograph

“Hey, I’m going to go Mom, Rhiannon just woke up. Yea. Love you too. Bye.”

Eyes still shut, alarm blaring, I flipped my phone around in my hand until I felt the lock button slide across my fingertips. Repeatedly, I jabbed at the button with my thumb, and the Russian song for my alarm abruptly ended. My phone read 08:21. Light poured though the window onto my unprepared face, and into my fluttering eyes. I felt someone sit beside me on the couch.

“Honey, I have some bad news. You’re going to need to put your phone down.”

My stomach dropped. I hoisted myself into an upright position, shoving the blanket that lay more rumpled across the side of the couch than my body away from my face. My mother has never been a serious person, but I recognized this face, the steady gaze from her dark eyes, the placement of her folded hands, the soft, low tone of her voice; these were troubled mannerisms. I placed my phone face down beside me. I braced myself.

“Aunt Mis is brain dead in the hospital. They’re taking her off life support today.”

We sat staring at each other, waiting for the other person’s reaction. My eyes flicked across her face, scrutinizing it for any sign that I may have misunderstood her words. In a house with my thirteen year old brother and ten year ADHD cousin, there was never a moment of silence. However, with still expressions on our faces, we sat in still silence, a silence I had never experienced before, a surreal silence that was piercingly loud in my mind, and I couldn’t comprehend it. I asked for her to please repeat.

“What?”

She reiterated.

“Nana just called me and told me. Someone found her lying in the middle of a road bleeding, unconscious, and her arms and legs were broken. She’s in the hospital right now. Everyone is there saying goodbye.”

Another horrible silence slipped between us. My eyes closed. My head lowered, and I held my forehead with both of my clammy palms. I can’t recall any of my actions until later as I sat in solitude with my legs crossed on our half destroyed trampoline outside, facing a dirty brick wall, the morning sun to my back. With harsh, intermittent breaths, sharp falling and rising of my back, and a lump in my throat, a flood of tears finally overflowed from my eyes. I only swallowed air in quick gasps, and only processed thoughts in small, scattered fragments.

Why. No, this is not a question, because questions mattered very little in this situation. Why did this happen? Why were there no witnesses? Why her? Why then? Why that way? Fuck, why anything? In all honesty though, what difference does it make? She was left mangled like roadkill for someone else to find. She’s dead. What does it matter why. No, the term “why” is a not a question. It’s a mere declaration of despair, a glitch in reason, an inch from letting go or giving up. Who cares why.

A good friend, unknowing of my situation texted me, “Life is fucked up sometimes. Bad things happen to good people. It’s fragile. For what it’s worth though, I’m glad I’ve got you in my life and I hope you stay in it for a long long time.” Her affectionate message caught me off guard. I explained the news to her, and she explained her unexpected yet enlightening message. The father of a family that she had been babysitting for lost his life to cancer that day, leaving behind a wife, and three sons, all under the age of eight. From this day, I grew to further understand just how suddenly and drastically life can be altered in a moment, how rudely it can be forever interrupted, the outright uncertainty of what the future holds for anyone at any moment.

An unknown author once articulated, “God pours life into death and death into life without a drop being spilled.” I believe this quote implies that all the rationalizations for dying are in equilibrium with the reasons for living, whether it be under God’s control, whether it be fate or destiny, or just a long, coincidental arrangement of events. Nontheless, with creation there is destruction, and with destruction follows creation. Destruction paves a path for something new to grow, like a loving family for an orphan, or a home rebuilt after a war. Though there may appear to be a dead end with Melissa gone, and though it may not be clear to us yet, I believe there is hope for a new path, or a new beginning for the mourning.

In my bedroom hangs a photograph of me as a young child with my Aunt Mis at a pumpkin patch. Crouching down to my height, her arm attempting to contain my squirming body, she smiles the same smile that I recollect from the last time we met, and from anytime before that as well. Like a photograph, the memory stands still; it will always remain the same. To me, she will always be a welcoming embrace, she will always be wearing her smile to parallel her sass, and she will always be Stupid Auntie Mis. Though today has been rough, and tomorrow may be as well, and perhaps the next day, she will always be in our hearts, and I will never forget her like she is in the photograph.

I love you Aunt Mis.

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Don't cry.  I gave the world one hell of a time today.  Don't regret a thing, except for the time that I got caught giving in.

-We'rewolf

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As Far As My Feet Will Carry Me

The room burned orange and red, burned my lungs, burned my eyes as I crawled under restless smoke that, like me, struggled to find its way out of the house’s confinement. In this way, the smoke and I related; writhing and blind, aimless in our endeavors to reach the other side of the walls, the walls that began to crumble; they crumbled down, and caved in. They snapped and crackled like wood in a campfire, charred like coals in a furnace, and collapsed under like a frail child carrying weights around his shoulders. Dragging and catching on the bubbling, peeling laminate flooring, my skin, blistered and black, twitched from the intensity of the heat. It felt wrong to be breathing and suffocating at the same time, like trying to breathe with my head held under water. Above all the noise of the calamity in my mind, two words stood predominant against anything else: get out. My thoughts juxtaposed, focused and panicked; nevertheless, upon escaping the burning building, I grabbed nothing else but a pair of shoes. Lightweight and easy to transport, I personally saw nothing as logical as taking my shoes in the event of being caught in such a catastrophe. I was not about to take the time to slow dance in the home being consumed by the inferno; I made my decision, and took evasive action with my shoes clutched to my chest under my arm.

I joined my family outside the dangerous parameters of the scathed house, stifling violent ash filled coughs until my body forcibly expelled the contaminated air from my lungs, causing my body to seize; breathing seemed so foreign now. The ashes, thin like rice paper, disintegrated in my mouth and left behind a lingering taste of rancid eggs, sand and sandpaper. In the rush of assessing my injuries, I clung to my shoes, my old black and white Chuck Taylors with the ends of the shoelaces now singed away. Unresponsively, I stared at the ruins of our home. Everything I had known for the past seventeen years of my life now lay in ashes as just more debris to clean up. I ran my fingers across a warped patch on the rubber soles of my shoes, and black ash coated my fingertips. My parents always nagged at me, “Rhiannon don’t leave the house without your shoes. Rhiannon be sure to get your shoes before you leave. Rhiannon you need shoes anytime you leave the house.” Of course, I always dismissed their advice and stubbornly left without shoes, vindicated with my own argument that what I had would suffice. And now, I thought about this irony as I sat outside the wreckage of our house with nothing, except a pair of shoes.

French poet, writer, and aviator Antoine de Saint once composed, “Even our misfortunes are part of our belongings.” Though the fire ingested the last of my belongings, from the fire came misfortune, something that evidently may not be destroyed. This quote implies that adversity shapes who we are by being part of our past or present, as we carry it on with us like an irreplaceable belonging. In Graham Greene’s short story The Destructors, a rebellious gang of teenage boys deliberately burn down a beautiful house from the inside out, which conveys the story’s ironic theme that destruction is a form of creation. In destroying the house, they found creation in the recycled beauty of the home, thus, sometimes it takes destruction in order to create. Reflecting upon this, I saw that the beauty of the loss of my own house was the creation of the true contents of my character. Lamenting and griping about such disaster would have been my assumed reaction of myself before the incident, but as the rubble before me told me this was reality, I looked away and thought, it’s done and over. There’s nothing that can bring back what’s gone now. What purpose would it serve, being so upset to the point where it affects moving on?

I once heard in a song, “Keep moving forward, going straight will get you nowhere.” There was no conjuring it from the ash that now blew away with the cold breeze— I decided in that moment that what is gone no longer mattered. Because one encounters a curve in life does not qualify it for the end. I figured in order to keep momentum, I would best be starting off with walking away. Sliding my feet into my shoes, I stood up and continued away from the scene. After all, how far down a winding road in life could one get without shoes?

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Mom: Okay you two, be safe!

Rhiannon: Why are you dropping us off on this side of the road?!

Mom: I have to get to work my lunch break is over!

Rhiannon: You can't take a second to drop us on the other side??

Aeron: Mom it's a four lane street!

Mom: Hold hands!

Rhiannon and Aeron: ?!?!?!

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Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.

-The Wizard of Oz

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-Girl, Interrupted

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"Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe."

-Albert Einstein

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[untitled]

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines

 he wrote a poem

and he called it "chops"

because that was the name of his dog

and thats what it was all about

his teacher gave him an A

and a gold star

and his mother hung it on the kitchen door

and read it to his aunts.

That was the year Father Tracy

took all the kids to the zoo

and he let them sing on the bus

and his little sister was born

with tiny nails and no hair

and his mother and father kissed alot

and the girl around the corner sent him a

Valentine signed with a row of X's

and he had to ask his father what the X's meant

and his father always tucked him in bed at night

and was always there to do it.

  Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines

he wrote a poem

he called it "Autumn"

because that was the name of the season

and that's what it was all about

and his teacher gave him an A

and asked him to write more clearly

and his mother never hung it on the kithcen door

beause of the new paint

and the kids told him

that Father Tracy smoked cigars

and left butts on the pews

and sometimes they would burn holes

that was the year his sister got glasses

with thick lenses and black frames

and the girl around the corner laughed

when he asked her to go see Santa Claus

and the kids told him why

his mother and father kissed alot

and his father never tucked him in bed at night

and his father got mad

when he cried for him to do it.

  Once on a paper torn from his notebook

he wrote a poem

and he called it "Innocence: A Question"

because that was the question about his girl

and thats what it was all about

and his professor gave him an A

and a strange steady look

and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door

because he never showed her

that was the year Father Tracy died

and he forgot how the end

of the Apostles's Creed went

and he caught his sister

making out on the back porch

and his mother and father never kissed

or even talked

and the girl around the corner

wore too much make up

that made him cough when he kissed her

but he kissed her anyway

becuase it was the thing to do

and at 3 a.m. he tucked himself into bed

his father snoring soundly.

  That's why on the back of a brown paper bag

he tried another poem

and he called it "Absolutely Nothing"

because that's what it was really all about

and he gave himself an A

and a slash on each damned wrist

and he hung it on the bathroom door

because this time he didnt think

he could reach the kitchen

-The Perks of Being a Wallflower

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