I should be worried about prom.

I should be wondering who I’ll fall in love with, who I’ll lose my virginity to.

I should be worrying about how I’ll look at graduation.

Instead, I’m wondering how I can make people aware of police brutality.

How I can open the eyes of the masses to what really goes on in our government.

How things aren’t good, are getting worse and if we don’t do something, everything is going to change and I’ll be stuck in the middle of it.

No prom.

No boyfriend.

No sex.

No graduation.

I’m seventeen years old. 

I feel older.

My hell, your intentions, give me the remote: Detective who beat blind doctor gets 5 months jail

lioninzion:

I literally don’t know how to condense this story, except when the story first broke LAST year the facts were presented as such:

  • Abouhassan, a trained endocrinologist, was completing training at a hospital in London and had just returned to Windsor by train the afternoon of April 22, 2010, when…

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kesutchka:

The power of internet media.

1 note

(Source: beatyourselfup)

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solarac:

Literally shaking by the end of this video. 

Sometimes I forget that the things I see are real. That this is really who we are. It is. This is us.

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stfuconservatives: (trigger warning for police brutality) raveybird: anonmedics: http://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2012/05/david-graeber-new-police-strategy-in-new-york-sexual-assault-against-peaceful-protestors.html A few weeks ago I was with a few companions from Occupy Wall Street in Union Square when an old friend — I’ll call her Eileen — passed through, her hand in a cast. “What happened to you?” I asked. “Oh, this?” she held it up. “I was in Liberty Park on the 17th [the Six Month Anniversary of the Occupation]. When the cops were pushing us out the park, one of them yanked at my breast.” “Again?” someone said. We had all been hearing stories like this. In fact, there had been continual reports of police officers groping women during the nightly evictions from Union Square itself over the previous two weeks. “Yeah so I screamed at the guy, I said, ‘you grabbed my boob! what are you, some kind of fucking pervert?’ So they took me behind the lines and broke my wrists.” Actually, she quickly clarified, only one wrist was literally broken. She proceeded to launch into a careful, well-nigh clinical blow-by-blow description of what had happened. An experienced activist, she knew to go limp when police seized her, and how to do nothing that could possibly be described as resisting arrest. Police dragged her, partly by the hair, behind their lines and threw her to the ground, periodically shouting “stop resisting!” as she shouted back “I’m not resisting!” At one point though, she said, she did tell them her glasses had fallen to the sidewalk next to her, and announced she was going to reach over to retrieve them. That apparently gave them all the excuse they needed. One seized her right arm and bent her wrist backwards in what she said appeared to be some kind of marshal-arts move, leaving it not broken, but seriously damaged. “I don’t know exactly what they did to my left wrist—at that point I was too busy screaming at the top of my lungs in pain. But they broke it. After that they put me in plastic cuffs, as tightly as they possibly could, and wouldn’t loosen them for at least an hour no matter how loud I screamed or how much the other prisoners begged them to help me. For a while everyone in the arrest van was chanting ‘take them off, take them off’ but they just ignored them…” How. 

stfuconservatives:

(trigger warning for police brutality)

raveybird:

anonmedics:

http://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2012/05/david-graeber-new-police-strategy-in-new-york-sexual-assault-against-peaceful-protestors.html

A few weeks ago I was with a few companions from Occupy Wall Street in Union Square when an old friend — I’ll call her Eileen — passed through, her hand in a cast.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“Oh, this?” she held it up. “I was in Liberty Park on the 17th [the Six Month Anniversary of the Occupation]. When the cops were pushing us out the park, one of them yanked at my breast.”

“Again?” someone said.

We had all been hearing stories like this. In fact, there had been continual reports of police officers groping women during the nightly evictions from Union Square itself over the previous two weeks.

“Yeah so I screamed at the guy, I said, ‘you grabbed my boob! what are you, some kind of fucking pervert?’ So they took me behind the lines and broke my wrists.”

Actually, she quickly clarified, only one wrist was literally broken. She proceeded to launch into a careful, well-nigh clinical blow-by-blow description of what had happened. An experienced activist, she knew to go limp when police seized her, and how to do nothing that could possibly be described as resisting arrest. Police dragged her, partly by the hair, behind their lines and threw her to the ground, periodically shouting “stop resisting!” as she shouted back “I’m not resisting!” At one point though, she said, she did tell them her glasses had fallen to the sidewalk next to her, and announced she was going to reach over to retrieve them. That apparently gave them all the excuse they needed. One seized her right arm and bent her wrist backwards in what she said appeared to be some kind of marshal-arts move, leaving it not broken, but seriously damaged. “I don’t know exactly what they did to my left wrist—at that point I was too busy screaming at the top of my lungs in pain. But they broke it. After that they put me in plastic cuffs, as tightly as they possibly could, and wouldn’t loosen them for at least an hour no matter how loud I screamed or how much the other prisoners begged them to help me. For a while everyone in the arrest van was chanting ‘take them off, take them off’ but they just ignored them…”

How. 

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Except I’m from Oregon, so I use a machete. 

Except I’m from Oregon, so I use a machete. 

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I am not concerned with being stuck on a roof, because it really wasn’t my fault the window slid closed and if we miss class, big fuckin’ deal. We’re on a roof! (Natalie was a bit more concerned)

Like a boss.

(I keep all of my inspiration on the soles of my feet)

(I keep all of my inspiration on the soles of my feet)

Pro-Life

I am a seventeen year old girl, and today I found out I am pregnant. 

I haven’t yet graduated high school and I don’t have a job. 

I will hate my child.

I will neglect it in favor of going out and partying, of living a life supposedly child-free because I am not mature enough to accept the responsibility of the things I’ve done because the media told me sex is the way to make boys like you.

My child will grow up unloved and unwanted and will live a miserable life because I am not yet capable of being a mother, of being patient and loving. I will do terrible things to an innocent being simply because I’m still a child myself, and I made a mistake.

But life is sacred. 

Better to live an unwanted life full of despair than not live at all, right?

Better to grow up without love and happiness, to grow up and not know how to care for others, how to be compassionate and kind because the mother hadn’t yet lived her own life and was still too childish and selfish to raise them properly.

Really, it’s obvious. The world doesn’t have enough people in it, anyway. What’s one more that wishes they were never born at all?

(None of the above is true, save for the facts that I am seventeen and haven’t yet graduated high school.)

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BE CALM

Because this feeling is only temporary and there’s much much much better things to do than wallow in it, to worry about it and obsess over it like that will make it go away. You’re just feeling a little lost, a little hopeless because the world is a big big place and there’s so many people out there and when you try to love them all, you’re setting yourself up for failure so keep the close ones closer and the distant ones distant, you’ll connect with them in time. Until then, BE CALM. All is well.

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If you think you can’t make a difference, you are wrong. If you think you are too old or too young to make change happen, you are wrong. If you think that somebody else will do it first, you are wrong.
Dan Pearce (Article)

(Source: jamesrockett)

5 notes