This is not a blog.

you have something better to be doing

[blutoothboombox]

[odinsblog]

The New Jim Crow

1. Ferguson, Missouri has a population of approximately 21,000 people — roughly 75% of those residents are Black

2. The Ferguson police department has around 530 cops —less than 5 of them are Black

3. Ferguson had *zero* homicides for all of 2014 —until Michael Brown was murdered by Darrin Wilson

4. Things you should know: Five Myths About Black-on-Black Crime

5. Michael Brown was 18yrs old and was about to begin college. Brown had no criminal record, and despite the Ferguson PD’s smear campaign, Mike Brown PAID FOR the cigars —those facts are all important and should be known, but even if Brown was a high school dropout with prior arrests who stole the cigars, 1) it wouldn’t have made his life any less valuable, 2) we have a court system and those are not capital offenses and 3) it doesn’t change the fact that the cop who killed him, Darren Wilson, had no idea about Brown’s personal history when he executed Brown. Wilson saw only a Black teen deemed either “too uppity” or “suspicious” because of his skin color

6. Five examples: The Militarization of the police

7. It’s deeply Institutional: Police view Black Children As Less Innocent

8. So please - don’t get it twisted

[floralfilm-deactivated20140612]

1. Because a woman brought into this world will inevitably be given pepper spray “just in case.” 2. Because by sixteen, a young girl knows how to avoid being sexually assaulted, while a boy of the same age does not fear sexual assault in the slightest. 3. Because a girl who mocks men is a bitch, and a boy who mocks women is joking. 4. Because a girl who has sex is a slut, and a boy who has sex is a man. 5. Because in a murder, the killer is at fault, but the blame of rape is often put on the victim. 6. Because we teach girls how not to get raped instead of teaching anyone simply not to rape. 7. Because a woman should put more clothes on if her outfit makes a man uncomfortable, because his self control is her responsibility. 8. Because feminists just need to chill out. 9. Because a 22 year old sex-obsessed virgin can murder 7 people, and the problem is that someone should’ve just slept with him. 10. Because not all men are predators, but yes, all women are prey.

(via alex-ishtar)

[blutoothboombox]

So, I haven't really had time recently to sit down an write my big adventure story. But spoiler alert: it was amazing. Right now I just have to say how happy I am that I will be missed in Atwater Village. Maybe that's silly, but I really like the thought that after I leave people who I've only known for 6 months will miss my presence. <3

[blutoothboombox]

Lisa, in Seattle

[blutoothboombox]

Post Alley, Seattle

[blutoothboombox]

Post Alley, Seattle

[blutoothboombox]

Trains, plains, then an automobile.

It's not when one gets there that matters, it's how much one enjoys the journey.

TRAINS

Countdown: 11 hours

I AM SO EXCITED I CAN BARELY BREATH. I am all packed, with the exception of my toothbrush, and almost everything fits in one small bag. I am an exceptionally talented packer, of course. 

For the past 3 days I have had that song stuck in my head that goes:

I've got a ticket for the long way 'round/ two bottles of whiskey for way/ and I sure would like some sweet company/ and I'm leaving' tomorrow, what d'ya say?

It's very quaint. And folky. And I really hope my train is full of wonderful interesting people who will play cards with me, and let me draw them, and take photos of them, and drink with me, and sing folky songs like "When I'm gone". 

So, fingers crossed. 

[blutoothboombox]

Trains, planes, then an automobile.

It’s not how one gets there that matters, it’s how much one enjoys the journey.

TRAINS

Countdown: 4 days.

I’m getting more excited for my journey with each day that passes. I keep imagining myself speeding up the coast in an old rattling wagon. I’ll look out the window as I sit at a table with my sketchpad open to gesture drawing of my fellow passengers, the moving scenery, and hobo villages.

I finally got in touch with some of the friends from Tucson who I hope to meet up with in Seattle, since I’m not sure when Summer will be able to come down the mountain to pick me up (fingers crossed that I see her at all).

Right now I’m trying to just think about the actual ride up the coast, and not everything that happens after I get there— will I have to take a million cabs; will I be alone in a giant city; will people be helpful and welcoming; will I get to the airport in time for my flight to Tucson— because the ride itself is enough to be excited about. 

I wonder if I’ll meet many musicians and artist folk. Let’s hope so.

[blutoothboombox]

Trains, planes, then an automobile.

It's not when one gets there that matters, it's how much one enjoys the journey.

TRAINS

Countdown: 9 days.

My aunt bought me a train ticket from LA to Seattle, and she even paid extra for a roomette. That means I get special first class privileges, and meals are included! Not to mention I'll be able to stretch out on a real bed and relax when I (for some unforeseeable reason) want to be alone. 

It's a 35 hour train ride, so I'm going to need to arrange for ways to occupy myself. Currently I am planning to bring:

+My grandfather's film camera and the telescope lens

+Walkman with mix tapes of anything not on my iPhone -- which actually amounts to a great deal of cassettes. 

+Sketchpad and pencils/pastels/ink.

+Martini ingredients.

[blutoothboombox]

I'm one of those few people that actually reads the terms of service.  This was under Community Guidelines (what not to post): 

"Gore, Mutilation, Bestiality, or Necrophilia. Don't post gore just to be shocking. Don’t showcase the mutilation or torture of human beings, animals, or their remains. Dick." [italics and bold for emphasis added by me]

I think Tumblr just wants to fuck with us.

[blutoothboombox]

I feel the urge to write like I feel the need to run But I cannot run because my knee does not listen to me, and I cannot write because my heart listens too well. They say all poems are love poems, but when you refuse to fall in love, the inspiration flees your mind like the many spurned men that don't actually want to stay friends. I could write about the soft beauty of the wildflowers in August, or the wild power of the wolves that you only ever hear on clear nights, or even the smell of breakfast on those mornings where somehow you don't feel bad about eating pancakes and bacon and muffins and eggs and hashbrowns and coffee and waffles. But I'd rather write about a boy. I'd dream about his fingertips dancing a waltz down my ribcage. I'd write about him with words that demanded to be written with a feather pen dipped in blue ink. But there is no boy to sing me those words. And I don't know if I'd want him if he was there.

[blutoothboombox]

We woke with the sun. Wrung out and regretful. Our lust had died with our brain cells that the kiwi strawberry vodka poisoned. With dark blue bruises under caked on foundation he dropped me off. We didn’t say a word.