Claire Keane
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@wwdiold
The great quest of Laura and Alyssa to wake at daybreak, dress in an 80’s style, and be the first people in Target to buy The Great Taylor Swift’s album 1989. Featuring: bananas, car sing alongs, sunglasses, and late night dancing.
We love you taylorswift!
You should be worried about Mari.
anon let me ask you something… do you think i’m not? in fact, do you know anything about me beyond coming to my blog to send me a message to make me feel guiltier about something i already do? i know the answer to that one, because if you had come here with any other purpose you would see that i’ve been going through some hard stuff in my own life and to be honest with you, i have more messages in my inbox telling me about mari or asking me to check up on her etc than i do ones asking if i’m okay. and like, those weren’t easy things for me to say—some of my closest friends irl don’t know that shit, and i basically told it to hundreds people who are mostly strangers.
it comes down to this—i do my best. i talk to her whenever i can and like, it’s not a hardship at all because i love her and i want her to be okay. but i can’t carry it all on my shoulders, not just because it’s impossible but because it would help her more if you tell her that you care about her, and that you’re worried about her, other than me just saying it again and again and again and speaking for everyone.
Did you abandon this blog? :(
um... i didn't intentionally
i mean since i last posted basically i had surgery, moved into a new apartment, and had the flu, not to mention the fact that i'm taking 20 credit hours and about a week or two away from the mental breakdown about the future not to mention that i've been having money problems so there's just a lot going on in my life right now
that being said, idk what really to do with this blog. i haven't been more active on my sideblog as of late either because of all the stuff i just mentioned but that's really where my heart's been lately and blogs/news/etc about that fandom are what i'm keeping up with
i haven't even posted by tsn big bang because i was having computer problems when my posting date happened so i lost a portion of it that i'll have to rewrite, and i just haven't had any time at all
so i don't really know what's going to happen with all this, i'm sorry
can i just say
out of the woods
I liked the shows I went to; I wish I could go to more. But the thing I remember is the girls. New Jersey Transit runs special trains to the Meadowlands for MetLife shows, and they brought out extra staff to direct girls through the gates to Secaucus. Knots of New Jersey Transit staff in high-visibility vests, treating girls with kindness. ”I know you’re excited, just make sure you go through the gates one at a time,” a middle-aged guy with a mustache said, smiling, stopping girls and then waving them through so the timing stayed right and nobody got stuck in the gates. ”Have a good time!” When the train finally pulled into the station, teenage girls cheered. The men on the platform didn’t laugh, the conductors made sure to stand and answer everybody’s questions — yes, this is the right train, yes, you’ll get there on time. There was no air conditioning on the train, but nobody complained — everybody sat in their seats, and talked to their friends, and every couple of minutes someone would start singing. I remember when we were walking through Penn Station I had said, “Just think, the next train is going to be all One Direction fans.” It was the best train I’ve ever been on. During the show, Harry told us to hug each other, and we did. The lady checking tickets at the stadium, directing people to their seats: “Enjoy! Have a great night!” and the fans thanking her on the way out. Both shows, we kept saying how we had never been in a place where there were so many girls. ”I like the girl-to-guy ratio here,” Jamie said in Philadelphia. MetLife holds 82,566 people: they played Little Mix’s “Salute” and “Wings” to almost 82,566 girls. In the bathroom in Philadelphia, nobody stopped at the mirror to check their makeup; while I was peeing, I heard a little girl walk in singing: She said spread your wings, my little butterfly / Don’t let what they say keep you up at night. At the Meadowlands they turned the men’s rooms into ladies’ rooms, just hung ladies’ room signs over all the men’s room signs. ”Oh my god,” I said, walking in. ”They turned the men’s rooms into ladies’ rooms, because they knew it was going to be all girls.” ”This must be what it’s like to be a guy,” Isabel said. And that’s what I thought, the whole rest of the show, and all of Philadelphia: This must be what it’s like. To be the default. To be treated like what you care about is worthwhile. To not be looked down on, or told what to do. And then I thought, well, it’s because we’re all gathered here, in one place. This is happening. They can’t stop us, so they have to go along with it. In New Jersey, Liam stood on the catwalk talking about how amazing it was that they were playing stadiums, how amazing it was that the fans had done this for them, and then he laughed, like you do when you realized you just hit the heart of something: “I really think if you wanted to, you could take over the world.” I looked away from him, at 82,566 seats filled with girls and thought: You’re right. And you’re the only person telling us that.
here's my poem that was published in an online lit mag along with the fictional bio in case you're ever curious
Slayer
She captures his attention by the way her nail polish shimmers in the pulsing lights of the otherwise darkened room, hands thrown up in the air with abandon. She moves with her eyes closed, her lips stretched wide, like she’s letting the beat rush through her blood. Someone’s fingertips are pressing into her hips hard enough to bruise. She doesn’t care whose, just wants the marks—a tangible reminder that this night existed to tap into tomorrow, when she will press on them in the shower just hard enough to hurt, relishing the insistent burn.
But for now the room is thick with the tight press of bodies, a flush blooming in her cheeks, a sheen of sweat beading across her brow. Her feet ache gloriously in five-inch heels and it’s like she can’t stop moving to the sound of glitter in the air paired with the grounding pulse of the bass, in sync with the thumping in her chest. The crowd around her doesn’t matter; her skin is littered with the evidence of their touch and yet she is still as unreachable as the ballerina dancing in a snow globe.
Her eyes say she’s a little bit drunk with power—glassy and gleaming as she catches the heady lust in the eyes of the boys surrounding her, knowing she could have any of them and choosing to turn them all down. She is sex on long legs in a little black dress, born to be high on adrenaline, soul and body moving in tandem. She is dancing the way mothers say “good girls” don’t, and she is greedily consuming their desire like a four course meal made just for her.
Her hair flairs around her untamed and wild; her lips are as red as the devil himself. They watch her, and they want her. She wants them to want her, but not to have her.
He observes her from above. He is dizzy with want and rich with expectation. His fingers itch to touch. His mind is racing as he looks at her, thinking of the hunting lioness, face stained with blood. Of the femme fatale. Of the Amazons.
His eyes track her as she starts to leave, and as she turns, their gazes connect for a moment—electric. She shoots him the middle finger on her way out the door.
In that split second, he realizes how absurd it was to think for one single moment that he knew her.
🎈 happy 31st birthday, andrew! (august 20th 1983) 🎉
It’s not love or anything, but I think I like you, too.
Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club (via wordsnquotes)
Rosamund Pike and David Fincher on the set of 'Gone Girl' (Empire Magazine October 2014)
so one of my poems got published and the online lit mag wrote me a fake bio based on like the 4 poems i submitted which i'm posting because it's hilarious. under the cut because it's quite long...
Aly was born in a mountain town but always wanted to escape to the big city. Just out of high school she was charged with gouging the eyes out of her friend’s prom date’s skull at the high school prom after he assaulted her friend. Although the charges were later dropped, it drove her to finally move to the Big Apple due to her notoriety. People who knew her best described her edgy, mysterious, and bossy. Aly's closet consists of over 63 pairs of at least 4-inch heels in her studio apartment as well as her pet python Medusa. Due to her past of gouging eyes out, she had a distrust for men and tends to push the males away from her and tends to not be tied down by relationships. She secretly hopes to be a mother of three as well as a profound feminist. In her earlier works she went under the pen name Melissa Menslayer. In her youth in the city she lost a friend due to a cocaine overdose and that charged her drive to becomes a philanthropist and word with violence and drug abuse in the inner city with teenagers and young adults. In her spare time she’s taking online courses with hopes to transfer to New York University. She interned for Humans Of New York and enjoys Zumba and martial arts, which helps her in her quest for vigilante justice on crimes against women. She is a feared figure in the underground culture of New York due to her fear of becoming exposed and famous. She’s declined interview with CNN, Fox News and local media. She occasionally goes back to her mountain town to visit her parents and hometown. Her influences include Alice Walker, Sofia Vegara, and Hilary Clinton. She spends her summers in Columbia relaxing on the beach and fighting the drug cartel. Our sources made it outside her apartment in an attempt to get a quote from her only to get a large middle finger out of her window.
Without money, the site can’t function. Let me tell you the difference between Facebook and everybody else: WE DON’T CRASH EVER!
