Donald Glover talking about the comments he received during his campaign to be the next Spider-Man (x)“I was talking about it with Dan Eckman, who directed my Bonfire video. Can you imagine that trailer? That would be dope. Like it makes sense… a poor black kid in Queens. Like it just fits.”
I just want to take a moment to be really fucking angry about people being really fucking irresponsible and insensitive and awful on the internet.
This is Sunil Tripathi. He is a) a student at Brown University, b) a person of South Asian descent (his name is Hindu), and c) missing. Here is the deleted but cached page his family made to try to find him.
That page has been taken down because the fucking Sherlock Holmeses over at Reddit and on Twitter chose him as their suspect for the Boston Marathon bombings and then circulated it to the entire world as fact. I saw tweets claiming that his name was explicitly said on the police scanner, and while I can’t be sure my feed didn’t cut out or I wasn’t catching a different channel, I listened to that police scanner for hours (including the time when that name suddenly started making the rounds) and I never heard it. His name was never confirmed by a single official, and yet people just passed it on like it was a fact.
I think it’s important to mention that at the time Sunil’s name was put on blast, the suspect had been described at least once on the police scanner as a “white male,” and I didn’t see a single major news source (and I checked a lot) list any race for either of the suspects. He doesn’t even look like the photographs of the suspect he was accused of being, other than the fact that they’re both brownish. I think we can all guess why he was singled out.
So, based on the fact that this guy is missing and is of South Asian descent, he got a terrorist attack pinned on him by the internet. The people that love him have to deal with that. His family has to deal with people all over the world calling him a terrorist, holding him responsible for something unspeakably evil and horrific, attacking them for being associated with him. A family that is heartbroken over losing someone they love. Can you even imagine how that would feel? Can you imagine what they’ve had to deal with up to now, what they’re going to have to deal with in the future? Go back and look at that page they made again and tell me it doesn’t make you sick.
Basically, what I’m trying to say is this: yeah, social media is awesome. It’s really great that in a time like this we can stay updated and get news as fast as possible and have open discussion and reach people we care about. And it’s great that we have access to so much information. But for God’s sake, be responsible. You’re not a field reporter or an investigative journalist or the fucking AP, okay? You can’t just drop something like that on someone who can’t even defend himself without sources or verification or fact-checking. And it’s also a bad idea to pass on information without ever checking its credibility, because people like Sunil and his family are the collateral damage of your retweets. Information is powerful, especially in times like these when everybody in the country is constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown and we all just want answers so we can start to process things. Don’t take advantage of that or abuse it. Don’t take it lightly. Take some damn responsibility for your own actions.
Also: don’t be fucking racist.
Abortion seems to be the only medical procedure that people want to deny you based on how you got in that situation.
Drove drunk, got in an accident and need an organ transplant? No problem.
Messing around with a gun, accidentally shoot yourself in the leg and need surgery? Of course.
Smoke tobacco for most of your life and need treatment for lung cancer? Yep.
Climb a tree, fall out and break your leg? We’ll fix that right up.
Have sex and get pregnant when you don’t want to be? YOU GOT YOURSELF INTO THIS SITUATION AND YOU DESERVE NO MEDICAL HELP OR COMPASSION! THIS IS YOUR FAULT AND YOU WILL DEAL WITH THE CONSEQUENCES!”
“Worry about your own uterus” wise wise words.
The moon has stumbled to bed,
and I am more awake than a damned casket.
My words have been ground together like Arabica beans, and this is nothing short
of a refresher,
for the last few months have been a wake up call, that has left me reaching, in pain, for the phone.
I am alone now,
boxed into these four walls.
I am attached, but only to my constructs.
I have nothing more to treasure than grainy memories of happiness
in the form of love’s tension
I have everything I need to know within a backpack;
that my textbooks about psychology, and philosophy
will some how lead me to read between the lines,
where there is enough space to
draw myself a map towards
There are now four holes in my bag, one near the bottom,
where the cotton flesh has exposed it’s lining,
and there are only so many books its fragility can handle.
I have been branded as fragile.
I can’t hold a bottle of wine and a social setting together without unearthing ways to pick apart the petals of March’s wild flowers
with absolute certainty
of discarding the second last
‘I love you not’.
Your words have left me tender, your actions, in pieces.
I have torn myself into two’s and four’s and seven’s.
Each limb’s laceration, like the pages of my unlikely tradegy,
sounds like the last time you
said ‘I’m leaving’.
I am lost.
My heart beat used to palpitate to a
monotonous heart beat like a metrinome.
I was music.
But I was out of time, four octaves too high, and I could never quite find a
way of saying ‘I need you’.
My body was at mercy, I was crucified with a kiss by your door step,
all I want back are the words I gave to you.
We are the damaged goods, we are the cracked ceramics,
We are the lovers, the carvers, the fighters, and to our beloveds, but figments.
We are nothing.
But we are condemned to these mistakes, and we must
fight for more reasons, to love and to carve and to be
more than damaged goods;
to be music again.
I know I’ve fought hard to just breathe without your name”
swimming in my heavy April breath,
but you’re barely worth a memory
and I will make myself forget.
— In Absence of Sleep, Lucas Regazzi (via 1000scientists)
An escaped sheep was found with 60 pounds of wool.
Shrek the sheep ran away and hid in a cave in New Zealand for 6 years. When Shrek was finally found in 2004, the sheep had gone unsheared for so long that it had accumulated 60 pounds of wool on its body, enough to make 20 suits! The sheep became famous and even got to meet the Prime Minister. Shrek finally passed away last month at the age of 16.
laYERSHe was bulking for 6 years
Bet he looked magnificent after cutting.
why hasn’t anyone made a shrek and layers joke
Tonight, Nathan Fielder will perform the riskiest stunt ever broadcast on television.