Austin, 17, Arkansas, trying to live well
Reblogged from thebeatlesordie  183 notes
lindapaulmccartney:

"After Linda died, I think all of us in the family would hear noises, or see things, and would say, ‘That’s Linda, that’s mom,’ and a lot of things happened like that,"
 One day, as he worked in an edit room, a fragment of a recorded sentence simply “appeared.”"The soundman hit the button and Linda’s voice just said, ‘I’m in heaven.’ So it’s that kind a thing. It’s the beautiful moments, inspirational moments, you know," said McCartney.

lindapaulmccartney:

"After Linda died, I think all of us in the family would hear noises, or see things, and would say, ‘That’s Linda, that’s mom,’ and a lot of things happened like that,"

One day, as he worked in an edit room, a fragment of a recorded sentence simply “appeared.”
"The soundman hit the button and Linda’s voice just said, ‘I’m in heaven.’ So it’s that kind a thing. It’s the beautiful moments, inspirational moments, you know," said McCartney.

Reblogged from incompleteicarus  110 notes

I once knew a girl who asked me why there were so many rape poems written by teenage girls, she said it with a sneer and a look down at the page of scrawled words in my hands. I asked her who should write the rape poems, if not for teenagers?

She shrugged and sighed, there should be no rape poems, she said with that faux sincerity of someone that has never looked into the eyes of a man forcing himself upon your fragile body. I replied with the torn throat that had been ripped by muffled screams, but who would talk about rape if not for the poets?

There was a pause in the conversation, and she sat herself down with the ease of someone that has never felt their will crack under the weight of a forced kiss. She smiled at me, swept her hair back and leaned forwards. If no one talked about it, she reasoned, there would be no fuss. The paper in my hands crumpled, and I muttered, would it stop happening if we talked about it?

Her nails became interesting at this point, and I knew she had never had to use them as a weapon. She didn’t look at me as she said, of course it would still happen. So why, I asked, should we stop talking about it? Stop writing about it? Stop thinking about it? She couldn’t answer me, so she stood up and walked away.

By Just Another Rape Poem by R (via incompleteicarus)

Reblogged from 98percentburrito  602,329 notes

drydrunkempress:

nodaybuttodaytodefygravity:

221bconsultingtimelord:

jensenspudgymidway:

watson-i-am-your-turtle:

christianborles:

so2460donewithyou:

the-eleventh-blog:

does your period ever come late and you start to wonder if you’re pregnant despite the fact the most intimate thing you’ve ever done is shake hands?

DO GIRLS REALLY THINK THIS

yes

yes

yes

yes

that whole mary thing really freaked us out tbh

amen