every song can be depressing if u try hard enough
where do we come from?
where do we go?
where do we come from?
*tear slowly streams down face*
*whispers dramatically* cotton eye joe
The Whitest Kids U’ Know x
whitest kids u know arent even close to fucking around
I would like my ashes scattered at sea immediately please
Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota
Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year’s horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.
My cyber pet gave my fav microblog two and a half sad faces on SiteYelp, should I click un-own or just try re-training via browser hack?
>The conservative gospel of success rests on an unexamined paradox. The right’s last standard-bearer articulated it well—albeit inadvertently—in the last election. >At that infamous fundraiser in Palm Beach, the one that would eventually be seen by the world and derail his campaign, Mitt Romney actually said quite a few things before he got to the bit about the 47 percent. He recounted a visit years earlier to a factory in China when he was still at Bain. The pay for the workers was poor, the conditions at the plant deplorable. And yet, Romney said, the company had to fend off desperate job seekers lined up outside its gates. “And so, as we were experiencing this for the first time,” Romney told the audience, “for me to see a factory like this in China some years ago, the Bain partner I was with turned to me and said, ‘You know, 95 percent of life is settled if you’re born in America.’ ” >So it was that the Republican nominee betrayed recognition of a fundamental fact: that the accident of birth determines so much of an individual’s fate. And yet this was not the philosophical breakthrough it seemed. His story came at the tail end of a rumination about his background and inheritance: “I was born with a silver spoon,” he conceded. But it’s not the spoon you thought. He was born with “the greatest gift you could have, which is to get born in America.” What about that other great gift, the good fortune to be born into the American ruling class? “Both my dad and Ann’s dad did quite well in their life, but when they…passed along inheritances to Ann and to me, we both decided to give it all away,” he remarked. “So, I had inherited nothing. Everything that Ann and I have we earned the old-fashioned way, and that’s by hard work.” >The preposterousness of the statement has already been established in the court of public opinion. (Who could forget Ann Romney’s wistful story about the “not easy years” they endured, when they had to sell stock given to Mitt by his father to keep the couple afloat through school?) What we didn’t fixate on enough at the time was the defensiveness of a very rich man who insists that his success was purely self-made. It’s almost as if hard work and good fortune were mutually exclusive, and to admit to the latter is to negate the former. >That Romney could make these claims about luck and just deserts suggests a moral obliviousness. But it’s an obliviousness that isn’t his alone. The narrative of American prosperity, as filtered through the prism of post-Reagan conservatism, is animated by two ideas in tension. We Americans are so lucky, the right exclaims, to be in the greatest country on Earth. And yet conservatives chafe at any suggestion that luck and circumstance have anything to do with how we fare in life—that the individual is not the sole author of her destiny.
I’m from Mississippi, where, you know, the confederate flag is part of the state flag so it’s an image hung proudly everywhere, and i can even remember discussion about changing the flag because its racist as early as sixth grade. One time we were discussing it in Mrs. Pipkin’s English class and I was loudly, vehemently, (obnoxiously) arguing in favor of changing it up against all these good ol boys wearing camo and sneering at me and then this amazonian cheerleader, (you know, the kind of girl who went away for a summer and came back to school gracefully on the other side of puberty: tall, lithe, clear-skinned, straight teeth) suddenly agreed with me and I was so stoked! I never expected that from her. But then she was like, “I mean. Its gonna change anyway. Like. Might as well get it over with.” And I was crestfallen that this magical girl creature didn’t actually seem to care as much. And I think about this every time I see a confederate flag, because IT STILL HASN’T CHANGED, BECCA