❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
d e v o n
wallacepolsom
macklin celebrini has autism
todays bird
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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sheepfilms
occasionally subtle
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Monterey Bay Aquarium
★
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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we're not kids anymore.
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JVL
@theartofmadeline
NASA
seen from Australia
seen from T1
seen from Netherlands
seen from Italy
seen from Türkiye
seen from T1
seen from Malaysia
seen from Iraq
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from Austria
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Italy
seen from Malaysia
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
@thedrunkenpen
Help me raise $4,600 to help Hayden and the other 1.5 million Americans like him. These funds directly support research- research that has just discovered the potential cause for IBD! The president of CCFA estimates that within 3-5 years, we should know why and how to prevent people from experiencing so much pain and suffering. Please, pass this on and help me and Team Challenge fund the cure!
http://www.active.com/donate/napaSTXA14/campaignforacause
I wish...
I wasn't so boring and unfulfilling that the person I love would need video games to fill the void.
The Shamed Continued (An Original Work)
My hair was matted to my head and neck and was longer than I remembered it. From the right side of my hairline, a raised pink scar the width of my pinky finger cut across my eyebrow, just above my right eye, ran across the top of my nose, just below my left eye, and ended just past my left cheekbone. As I turned to my left, I noticed an incision scar behind my ear following my hairline. I traced the scar with my index and middle finger until I reached my right ear. They must have put metal in my skull as well. Remembering that my ribs had been broken, I took off my shirt. In the middle of my chest was a tiny incision scar, much like you see on the chests of heart transplant patients. I pushed my fingers into my ribs. If they were metal, I couldn’t tell the difference. As I scanned my reflection down toward my navel, I felt a knot tighten in my stomach.
The scars across my lower abdomen were far worse than the ones on my arms or even my face. It looked as if someone had butchered me, and essentially, they had. Tentatively, I pulled down the hospital pants to see the rest. From mid-thigh up to my navel looked like a horror story. My gag reflex kicked in, and I quickly averted my eyes to stop myself from vomiting. It was too late. I quickly threw my face into the tub. Without removing my head, I turned on the water, first to ice cold, then to burning hot. I decided the cold felt better and let the water soak the back of my head and wash the contents of my stomach down the drain. Eventually, I laid down in the tub, letting the water wash away the feeling of disgust I had. That was when I remembered nothing had changed.
I was already ugly. My insides had just seeped more toward the surface. I began to laugh. That day I had blamed God for what was happening to me, but it was not his fault. How could he have any power over me if I had not given him any? What happened came to be because of me, because of who I was. Ugly people were forced to suffer in this world, and I had lain down and accepted that fact. I had been approaching it all wrong. My whole life I had avoided being the same by acting different when what I should have been doing was acting equal. That is not to say I should have played their games and become one of them, but I certainly shouldn’t have let them label and rank me. Their strength lay not in who they were or how they acted but their numbers. Normal is relative. Those of us who give the "relatively normal" power are relinquishing ours willingly.
This was not God’s fault. This was our fault. This was my fault. I could not control others, but I could control my actions and my beliefs. I was the one who needed to change, not the world, not society, and not God. I had figured out their little game and instead of continuing to play it, I was going to destroy it. This was not about revenge. Okay… it was a little bit about revenge, but it was more about throttling the status quo and carving a place for anyone who was shamed to live their life free of persecution. I am no martyr, I am no innocent, and certainly I am no hero. By all accounts I should be considered a villain. You may think I have goodness in my heart; I do not. I sought not to help the helpless but to release those like me into the world and lay waste to anyone who attempted to stop me. So this, I thought, is how evil is born.
Today I had to pay to pee. I take for granted the freedom to use a public restroom for free.
"Get On Up" Official Trailer - James Brown Biography
Chadwick Boseman stars as James Brown in this biopic from Universal Studios.
umm hellooooo, where is the next installment of the shamed, because i was reading it #rude
Soon! I was in Ireland the last week and a half. Not a great excuse, but better than nothing? #loveme
I think people are confusing Twitter with their diary. Twitter=the highlights. Diary=every fucking thought in your head. There, I think I cleared that up.
Liam Neeson
I've decided to use "Liam Neeson" as a verb. As in, "I'm going to Liam Neeson your ass. Scared? You should be".
What a ridiculous place we live in
Day drinking: What vacation is all about. Or any other Monday, depending on how shitty your life is.
To my best follower
prometheusmeghan you are amazing. Thank you for supporting me. Especially since we have lost contact. I check on you through Erica and Drew and hear you're doing well. Is it faux pas to send you my number via the internet?
New progress in the Lone Star State as U.S. District Judge rules ban on marriage for gay and lesbian couples unconstitutional
FUCK YA , TAKE THAT TEXAS!
HEY! Guess what? Gay people also have money! I thought it was only idiots with cross shaped necklaces and a misguided interpretation of an old fucking book.
A lesson for men who wear fedoras.
Perfect. True.
50 posts! Too bad no one reads them. Still proud! Gonna pop a bottle to celebrate. Love me some Pepto Bismol...
The Shamed continued (An Original Work)
When she finished, she whispered, “You are mine, and I am yours, and I will love you forevermore.” My mind instantly flashed back to that night in the woods, the last time I had felt something, the last time I had cried. The last time I would ever cry. A few minutes later, she had fallen asleep. I carefully removed my arm from under her and gently laid her head on my pillow. I looked to my left arm where the catheter was and removed it.
Short of a light tugging sensation, I did not feel much when removing it. There were several other tubes coming out of my body, presumably to help me relieve myself. I quickly removed my heart monitor, put it on my mother, and stood up. I felt strange, different than before. Unlike the hospital gowns seen on TV, I was wearing what looked more like a prison uniform, but all white. I grabbed the chart at the end of my bed and went into the bathroom. I sat down on the toilet, avoiding the mirror.
I opened the chart and flipped through the first couple of pages. I saw that the monitoring pages were dated with the year 2028. The last day I remember being awake was in 2026. So, a “few months” was a severe underestimation. Eventually, I stumbled upon my admittance papers. I had been admitted two days after I had been beaten. An unlucky couple that had been hiking found me. The medical staff caring for me had made several notes concerning my condition. Almost all of my ribs had been broken, I had fractures in every part of my body, I had lost a severe amount of blood, and my skull was shattered. It would be a miracle if I ever woke up and, if I did, I would be less than human, a vegetable at best. Upon admittance into the hospital, my gender was unknown. A few lines down a nurse had noted she had spoken with the mother who reported the gender- she, however, noted it as “To remain undetermined until post-surgery”. I suppose my mother had been so hysterical they simply didn't want to rely on her for information.
My initial surgery had lasted 26 hours- the staff had changed twice. In total, I had gone through 38 different surgeries, my last one about 3 months prior. My bones were not healing properly, so they had replaced most of them with a special metal designed to fuse with the remaining bone. I later found out it was an experimental surgery with high risk, but my mother was desperate and agreed. It was a lightweight but indestructible metal, they told her, so nothing bad would happen to her child ever again. Because it was so experimental, and had not even been officially approved by the proper authorities, they offered to do it for free provided that my mother allowed them to document and publish everything, as well as sign papers promising not to sue and to be an advocate for the procedure when it was up for approval. Essentially, she donated my body to science.
Curious, I got up to look in the mirror.
