September 2nd, 2014
Have no fear of perfection - you’ll never reach it.
September 2nd, 2014

Soviet-Style Punishment Dished Out to US Novelist for Writing Fiction

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From the Dept. of Insane and Dangerous Overreactions to Fictional Threats:

A 23-year-old teacher at a Cambridge, Md. middle school has been placed on leave and—in the words of a local news report—”taken in for an emergency medical evaluation” for publishing, under a pseudonym, a novel about a school shooting. The novelist, Patrick McLaw, an eighth-grade language-arts teacher at the Mace’s Lane Middle School, was placed on leave by the Dorchester County Board of Education, and is being investigated by the Dorchester County Sheriff’s Office, according to news reports from Maryland’s Eastern Shore. The novel, by the way, is set 900 years in the future. 

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Reblogged from That Lit Site
September 2nd, 2014

Poetry: ‘Natural & True’ | Charles Ray Hastings Jr.

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Held a note that said, Fuck you. You’re a joke.
I ate it.

Saw C.V.S. is getting rid of all their tobacco products;
I bought a pack of Pall Malls for $2.89.

Dreamed my partner and I were at a party where she was the guest of honor;
The party was an orgy.

Picketed with a man on South Parkway, signs denounced Obama and his Muslim brotherhood;
I laughed every time he faced the road.

Got sick from smoking a full pack of smokes & drinking a handle of clear rum and a twelve pack;
I sat in my friends recliner till I could see straight

Insulted a home-schooled girl who said evolution was silly;
I simply said, “God is silly.”

Beat a dude till he cried and could no longer hold his knife;
I doubt he pulls it on people anymore.

Cried for four days when my friend died;
I wrote my first book of poetry in that four days. 300 pages.

Didn’t cry when one of my mothers passed away two months ago;
I want to but can’t.

Unsure of who I am or why I do what I do;
I just do what seems natural and true, which is rarely a thing.

Reblogged from That Lit Site
September 2nd, 2014
Place of birth: the genesis of uselessness.
September 2nd, 2014
The media is the kid on the playground who slaps you and then rats you out to the nearest teacher when you hit them back.
September 2nd, 2014
Heaven is in every second disguised as hell
all this shit orbits you
an interconnected award for not yet dripping out your wrists down a drain.
September 2nd, 2014

Banging My Head on a Brick Laptop | Jo Eismont

I’m sitting here, fingers poised above the keyboard and. Nothing. Is. Happening. I know that once I get the first sentence down, the words will flow, but still. Nothing.

And I don’t know where I’m going to find my inspiration from. When you’re banging your head against a brick laptop, what do you do that unlocks your creativity?

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September 2nd, 2014

Poetry: ‘Natural & True’ | Charles Ray Hastings Jr.

Held a note that said, Fuck you. You’re a joke.
I ate it.

Saw C.V.S. is getting rid of all their tobacco products;
I bought a pack of Pall Malls for $2.89.

Dreamed my partner and I were at a party where she was the guest of honor;
The party was an orgy.

Picketed with a man on South Parkway, signs denounced Obama and his Muslim brotherhood;
I laughed every time he faced the road.

Got sick from smoking a full pack of smokes & drinking a handle of clear rum and a twelve pack;
I sat in my friends recliner till I could see straight

Insulted a home-schooled girl who said evolution was silly;
I simply said, “God is silly.”

Beat a dude till he cried and could no longer hold his knife;
I doubt he pulls it on people anymore.

Cried for four days when my friend died;
I wrote my first book of poetry in that four days. 300 pages.

Didn’t cry when one of my mothers passed away two months ago;
I want to but can’t.

Unsure of who I am or why I do what I do;
I just do what seems natural and true, which is rarely a thing.

September 2nd, 2014

We Were All Just Humans | Tanushree Shivaram

We were all just humans…

It was a day that started out like any other; the same old routine of a student tied up in his/her own little world of ambitions, trying to achieve their own great perhaps. I hadn’t been paying much attention to anything but the world I’d created for myself. My vital years of study, before my 'real future' as I imagined it, were nearing.

I was deprived of a ride back from my tutoring center, which was truthfully not all that necessary—being only a small distance from home. So my dad and I began a walk that evening, nonplussed. We were fishes that walked on land, too. The funny thing about that evening was that in spite of traveling this exact same road every day for the past three years, I failed to notice the enchanting and inexhaustible variety of life on that street. Just that one street.

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