(via generalbriefing)
This is first, and foremost, and atheism blog. All other things I blog either stem from ideas and thoughts I have gained through my atheism, or things I genuinely enjoy.
I am a lover of my love, and musician of my music, a humanist of my human nature, and an intellectual of my intellect.
I am a lover of my love, and musician of my music, a humanist of my human nature, and an intellectual of my intellect.
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Pull the drawstrings nice and tight.
Keep pulling ‘til you
suffocate and your last breath comes
strained and gasping.
It hurts, but it’s impossible to stop.
This isn’t suicide;
This is matricide.
This is patricide.
This is infanticide.
This is homicide.
This is the killing of an idea; of the
people who’ve mentally collapsed
upon a bed of corpses. Each
lifeless vessel duped into devouring
the lies spoon-fed to them and
centuries of nameless people crying out
in a raucous din, “Where is my
Justice? Where is my peace?
Where is my salvation?”
Yes, they had been tricked,
but so have we.
I inch the drawstrings further apart.
All of humanity dies in
one swift motion.
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Little girl why don’t you play?
Dust kicked up from scuffling feet
And yours stay planted;
Pigeon-toed.
Past days being pushed by messy haired
Boys, whose parents say,
“He doesn’t know better”.
Dewey eyed and confused as the dust
Rises in the air, only to obscure her sight more.
She knows it doesn’t feel good
To be pulled on
And tugged at.
But boys will be boys, right?
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There is a voice inside of you
That whispers all day long,
“I feel this is right for me,
I know that this is wrong.”
No teacher, preacher, parent, friend
Or wise man can decide
What’s right for you—just listen to
The voice that speaks inside.― Shel Silverstein (via celebrateproject)via celebrateproject➜ -
Words are like apples:
They’re great to pick - but dammit,
Watch where you throw them.via philocoffee➜ -
(I think I came up with the first two lines while making pizza at work tonight. The last two lines came after I got home shortly before midnight. I’m not sure if I’ll add to this or not.)
Economic circumstances prevent travel
My sanity is beginning to unravel
I miss the old days of fun and novelty
but alas! for now, I am stuck in poverty.
This is a neat summation of my life also.
via etheric-nomad➜ -
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You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.Maya Angelou Still I Rise (via ladyatheist)(via generalbriefing)
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I was on a Brooklyn-bound subway when I saw a kid nodding his head to music and jotting in a notebook. I thought he might have been writing raps, but he told me he was doing a poetry assignment for school. He said I could photograph the poem.
The poem reminded me of a casual conversation that I once had with a man who’d spent his life teaching English in poor neighborhoods. “In places where many adults are consumed by their own problems,” he explained, “a simple writing assignment can represent the only place where a child has the opportunity to validate his/her emotional life.
via humansofnewyork➜
