i'm here to apprentice myself to wreckage

nah but really everyone here is so funny and interesting and the improv workshop wasn’t even scary! and there was so much love at yesterday’s marathon 5 hour preliminary slam that I’m more than willing to do it all over again tonight. It’s been challenging and good and I’m sure will continue to be

Is he flirting with me or is he just trying to sell me his mixtape: the Youth Can Slam story

narcolepticnarcissus:

For anyone who doesn’t know who Michael Brown is or what’s been going on in Ferguson

If there’s anything I missed or anything that is incorrect please let me know and I’ll change it or add it

(via liamdryden)

lordbape:

if you see someone saying “black people’s lives matter” and your reaction is “everyone matters” “why not all people” unfollow me like there is no way people are genuinely this dense it is so easy to understand why those comments are completely inappropriate especially in the fucking context of current events what the fuck is wrong with you people

(via tyromantic)

O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman in 1865 (via travellerintime)

(via wasarahbi)