Anonymous:
where would you like to live if money was not a factor

somewhere near my friend (henrrywinter) so we could marathon lotr together. and re-watch marvel movies. other than that i’d like to live somewhere quiet, near a forest, and with a garden.

basically, if money was not an issue, i’d want to travel and then come back to this home at the end of the world to just relax. and write.



Lets play 20 questions, the first 20 asks I get send I will answer, no matter how personal, creepy or sexual



durnbfuck:

i’m just an unattractive and really sad person who uses bands and tv shows to fill the void i feel in my heart



The Witching Hour: Little Red Riding Hood

Once upon a time a little girl with a cloak as red as blood ventured into a forest as old as time itself. It was dark and wonderful, full of spirits, monsters, and magic. The little girl carried a basket with ripe fruit and delicious cakes, her cheeks were pink and round and she laughed following the path and picking up flowers.
Once upon a time a little girl met the beast everyone feared and warned her about and yet she was not afraid. She took the knife out of her basket full of fruit and cake, and cut the beast’s heart out.

There’s a howl inside her and she wants to let it loose.
She knows these woods, old as time itself, knows their secrets for she is one of them.
Her red cape is stained with blood. The hood conceals dark circles under her eyes, teeth bared white and sharp.
She’s a scarlet mirage, an apparition trapped among the trees, and the huntsman always finds her for he mistakes her beauty for innocence. She smiles and hands him fruit and the sweet juice runs down his mouth and beard. She comes closer and whispers: “There’s a beast in my heart and it scratches and scratches, and it hurts to keep it hidden”. They both smile and his ax falls on the ground when she twists the knife, his blood dripping from her fingertips and into the cloak.



angelheadedhunter:

"Cuz as me the almost-man looks up into that town, I can hear the 146 men who remain. I can hear every ruddy last one of them. Their Noise washes down the hill like a flood let loose right at me, like a fire, like a monster the size of the sky cuz there’s nowhere to run." -The Knife of Never Letting Go



hoodiecap:
Cap visits a school assembly and they have him lead the pledge of allegiance but "under God" wasn't added until he went under the ice so he doesn't know that part so he doesn't say it and the next day all the headlines say "CAPTAIN AMERICA FORGETS GOD" and FoxNews freaks out.

bootycap:

oh my god



Small Acts of Resistance: 1982 boycott of TV news in Poland

still-intrepid:

"There was a boycott of national TV news in very early 1982.  Tanks had gone on the streets, the television news of course was telling pure lies, about how marvellous life was now, isn’t it great that Solidarity is gone.  Which to put it mildly it was not the narrative being heard in the sitting rooms of the people watching the television bulletin. 

So they said, Let’s have a boycott of TV news.  But then people said, Well what’s the point having a boycott if no one knows we’re doing it?  So in one particular part of Poland they started putting television sets out into the window — disconnect the television set and put it in the window as your statement to say we’re not watching in this household at least. 

That was one group, but a second group said: Well, that’s kind of good, but I like doing it with other people as well…  So the second group went down into the square and walked around the streets and the square between 7.30 and 8 every evening - without any slogans, which of course immediately got you arrested, tanks on the street around.  But everybody kind of knew why you were there.  But the police couldn’t arrest you because they couldn’t tell the difference between a shopper or someone who’s just out for a walk and someone who is protesting.  So that was a nice little protest.

And then the best group of all, my absolute favourite, combined the two and they said, I kind of like going in the square but I kind of like showing it’s about TV.  So what they did was they took the television, unplugged it, carried it out of the apartment, carried it down the stairs, carried it into the streets - either put it on their shoulders or put it in a babies’ pram, and then walked around the streets with the TV.

Again the police kind of really didn’t know how to react, they did kind of arrest people but it was hard to find the article in the constitution which says, You must not carry a TV around the square between 7.30 and 8 at night.  And so the result was the only thing the authorities could do - which was fundamentally a defeat for the authorities - was to bring the curfew when you’d be arrested or shot if you stepped out of your door, instead of it being 11 o’clock in the evening they brought it forward to 7o’clock in the evening. 

Whereupon the protesters, I should say, did it during the 5 o’clock news bulletin instead.”

- Steve Cranshaw relates one story from his book Small Acts of Resistance in a Humanity in Action keynote in Warsaw called Poland’s Narrative of Protest.

Go listen to the talk and be inspired and informed and mightily entertained :)  (also available as a podcast)



“And why get angry at Helen?
As if she singlehandedly destroyed those
multitudes of men.
As if she all alone
made this wound in us.”

Klytaimestra in Aiskhylos’s Agamemnon, translated by Anne Carson



Untitled
this one chirps | society6 | blogspot



The Witching Hour: Little Red Riding Hood

Once upon a time a little girl with a cloak as red as blood ventured into a forest as old as time itself. It was dark and wonderful, full of spirits, monsters, and magic. The little girl carried a basket with ripe fruit and delicious cakes, her cheeks were pink and round and she laughed following the path and picking up flowers.
Once upon a time a little girl met the beast everyone feared and warned her about and yet she was not afraid. She took the knife out of her basket full of fruit and cake, and cut the beast’s heart out.

There’s a howl inside her and she wants to let it loose.
She knows these woods, old as time itself, knows their secrets for she is one of them.
Her red cape is stained with blood. The hood conceals dark circles under her eyes, teeth bared white and sharp.
She’s a scarlet mirage, an apparition trapped among the trees, and the huntsman always finds her for he mistakes her beauty for innocence. She smiles and hands him fruit and the sweet juice runs down his mouth and beard. She comes closer and whispers: “There’s a beast in my heart and it scratches and scratches, and it hurts to keep it hidden”. They both smile and his ax falls on the ground when she twists the knife, his blood dripping from her fingertips and into the cloak.



ICF