Weltschmerztic Rambling
20 days, 15 hours since Mike Brown was killed.

dion-thesocialist:

All it takes is one event to set a precedent. If Darren Wilson is arrested for, charged with, and convicted of the murder of Michael Brown, then that means ALL cops can be held accountable for their actions. It means the people can ALWAYS rise up and fight back against police brutality. 

That’s what the cops and National Guard in Ferguson is fighting against. They don’t want this standard to be set.

romanovastiel:

Treat yourself the way you treat your favorite characters. Look into your back-story to understand your current plot. Sympathize with yourself. Recognize your flaws, and appreciate your strengths. Defend yourself. Cheer yourself on when you go into battle. Appreciate every relationship you make and always look for hidden potential. You’re the protagonist in your story. You’re the main character. You’re the hero.

Treat yourself like one.

katnissofdauntless:

Guys it’s really important during this whole ferguson protest that we as social media DO NOT back down until punishment is dealt to those racists. If we let this movement die, then the oppressors win. I’ve seen stuff like this before and the majority of people stop posting about it within a week. We can’t let that happen, this is too important. so keep reblogging and keep posting until these darn racists are punished for their awful inhumane actions. 

lezbhonest:

homolesbians:

becausetreasons:

Lesbian characters wearing maroon jackets with black leather sleeves.

Shit is this the new uniform??

ATTENTION ALL LESBIAN PERSONELL! New uniform regulations are in place as of August 14! SIGNAL BOOST!

boosting

schrodingers-tribble:

notyour-sidekick:

deerpong:

there’s something very satisfying about buying office supplies but I’m not quite sure how to explain that feeling

the illusion of productivity

that’s it that’s the feeling

jean-luc-gohard:

castiels-weenie:

jean-luc-gohard:

What fucks me up about the Darren Wilson fundraiser is that he hasn’t been charged with a crime. He doesn’t have to hire a lawyer. He’s on paid leave, so he’s not losing wages. This is not covering his expenses, because he doesn’t have any additional expenses. This is a reward. He’s getting a $250,000 reward for murdering an unarmed black kid.

HE HAD TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL. MIKE REACHED FOR HIS GUN. HIS FRIEND THAT WAS WITH HIM EVEN ADMITTED THAT HE LIED ABOUT THE COP JUST RANDOMLY SHOOTING HIM AND CONFIRMED THAT THEY ROBBED THE STORE. SELF DEFESE.

None of this is true. This is how good the Ferguson PD’s smear campaign has been. Not one sentence here is accurate. Let’s break this down:

  1. "HE HAD TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL." Michael Brown’s autopsy showed no sign of struggle.The picture of the CT scan that’s being passed around to show that Wilson had an orbital blowout fracture is actually from 2008 from the University of Iowa, and a right-wing pundit photoshopped out the date and hospital info.
  2. "MIKE REACHED FOR HIS GUN." Officer Wilson’s story is that the first shot that went off was an accidental discharge while they were fighting over the gun. However. there was no gunpowder residue on Mike Brown, meaning that he was absolutely not holding the gun when it went off and furthermore that he was not even that close. He was fired on from a distance.
  3. "HIS FRIEND THAT WAS WITH HIM EVEN ADMITTED THAT HE LIED ABOUT THE COP JUST RANDOMLY SHOOTING HIM AND CONFIRMED THAT THEY ROBBED THE STORE." This is actually a compound lie, which is kind of impressive. His friend, Dorian Johnson, did not say that. His lawyer said they were together in the convenience store, the police said there was a robbery, and the media put those two statements next to each other to imply a statement was made that never was. Johnson isn’t being charged with anything because the Ferguson PD “determined he committed no crime." The Ferguson PD also admitted Officer Wilson didn’t know about the scuffle at the convenience store before he stopped Brown and Johnson. You may be wondering why I say scuffle instead of robbery. That’s because there wasn’t one: the owners of the store didn’t call the police and video shows Brown paying for the cigarillos! The clerk confronted Brown about reaching across the counter instead of waiting for him to hand over the cigarillos, he put his hand on Brown, and Brown pushed him. Yes, he pushed him too hard, but the clerk apparently didn’t care enough to call the police. The police were called by another customer in the store, who apparently didn’t know what was actually happening.
  4. "SELF DEFESE." The autopsy shows that he was shot on the inside of his arm, meaning his hands were up, and the top of his head, meaning that, since Brown was 6’4”, either he was on his knees or the officer was 8’ tall. The officer was not 8’ tall.

The evidence clearly shows that Officer Wilson, who had no idea of the not-actually-a-robbery, executed the unarmed Mike Brown while he was on his knees with his hands in the air. Just like all of the eyewitnesses said (except for “Josie,” who turned out not to be real).

But the Ferguson PD’s already tainted public opinion. They’ve spread so many lies so effectively that no amount of evidence will bring justice. Your ignorance here is proof of just how effective it’s been.

richardreedparty:

ive never been so emotional about a candy

richardreedparty:

ive never been so emotional about a candy

xekstrin:

startorrent02:

konguloarkonan:

someone on metafilter figured out that the ferguson PD is running the support darren wilson gofundme

Just read through ALL of this…these people are INCREDIBLY organized and have collected almost every piece of information out - and they are asking some amazing questions.

signal boost the shit out of this

colbaltdrg:

mewiet:

retrogradeworks:

I love to see children who are so delicate and gentle with animals.  It warms my heart amidst a sea of brats pulling cats’ tails and getting whacked.

Also JESUS THAT’S A SNUGGLY CHICKEN.

I love how she reaches up on her tippy toes to snuggle into his shoulder.

To be more exact, that’s a hen. Which is the female. This is likely not his first encounter with her. My grandpa had chickens and hens, and if you visit them frequently like this they develop affection to you. I would know, because I sat in the chicken coop alot. The hens get a small maternal kick, and come to cuddle you because she wants to keep you warm, like she would do with her chicks. This means the boy has spent alot of time with her, and that just makes it more heart warming.

makaeru:

jeromeyromeyromeyromeyrome:

Australians get so confused during winter half of the population looks like they have 6 layers on and are ready to hibernate at any given moment the other half is wearing shorts and singlets saying “it’s not even that cold mate” every ten seconds

The best part is that these halves share the same space.

rivier:

scienceofsarcasm:

Evening Post: August 12, 1899

best thing I’ve read all day

fratboysegs:

my favorite tweet at the moment

fratboysegs:

my favorite tweet at the moment

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure –
But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.
Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.
Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.
Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured – by their classmates –for having been born.
Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle – but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)
Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.
Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again – the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone – the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?
Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.
Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.
Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes – in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.
Imagine the ghosts.
Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield – it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)
Imagine the students unable to trust each other – everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.
Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.
Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.
Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.
Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.
Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.
Imagine the students who leave the wixen world – hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.
Imagine the students who never use magic again.
(Image source.)
(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure

But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.

Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.

Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.

Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured by their classmates for having been born.

Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)

Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.

Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?

Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.

Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.

Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.

Imagine the ghosts.

Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)

Imagine the students unable to trust each other everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.

Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.

Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.

Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.

Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.

Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.

Imagine the students who leave the wixen world hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.

Imagine the students who never use magic again.

(Image source.)

(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)