an open door

hey i found the safest place to keep all our tenderness.
keep all those bad ideas. keep all our hope.
it's here in the smallest bones, the feet and the inner ear.

May 2

Justice Souter retires; Arlen Specter rejoices; I weep

I have genuine love for Justice Souter (despite him being the only actual judicial conservative on the SCOTUS bench), and I have serious concerns about President Obama’s priorities in appointing his replacement. To wit, if Sonia Sotomayor is ensconced at One First Street, I will be monstrously displeased. She is a great appellate judge, but a Supreme Court Justice must be so much more than a keen legal mind. There needs to be a vision of the law, a commitment to balancing the rights of the individual in society, a higher consciousness. Also, of course, I doubt that Sotomayor could be successfully confirmed, but the buzz is getting a little out of hand.

Anyway, here is the bottom line: my pick is Diane Wood, for having everything Sotomayor lacks. I’m betting that President Obama’s pick will be Leah Ward Sears.


THINGS THAT ARE NOT ART DOT COM!!
lookatthisfuckinghipster:
“So…this is my thesis project.”

THINGS THAT ARE NOT ART DOT COM!!

lookatthisfuckinghipster:

“So…this is my thesis project.”


Jan 8

Dec 28
“Nice clothes distract you from doing well on your studies.” My insane father.

Dec 22
“Alberta was the only province where Environment Canada did not issue a weather warning for Monday morning.” I was about to be impressed, until I read the next paragraph: “Toronto has extended its declaration of an extreme cold weather alert with temperatures expected to drop to –12 C.” Pussies.

Dec 21

Dec 16

Syrus ft. Randal Paul - I Get On (The TTC) - I Put On (For My City) (via blogTO)

This is so Toronto it just kills me. They are RAPPING about PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION - glorious! “You know, Kipling Station’s really far!” Why yes, yes it is.


Scattered shadows on a wall, you watch the long light fall
Some impressions stay and some will fade
Tattered shoes outside your door, clothes all on the floor
Your life feels like the morning after all year long.

Every day it starts again
You cannot say if you’re happy
You keep trying to be
Try harder, maybe this is not your year.

Movies, TV screens reflect just what you expected
There’s a world of shiny people somewhere else
Out there following their bliss
living easy, getting kissed
while you wonder what else you’re doing wrong

Breathe through it, write a list of desires
Make a toast, make a wish, slash some tires
Paint a heart repeating, beating “don’t give up, don’t give up, don’t give up.”

The Weepies, Not Your Year, encapsulating how I’ve felt throughout this entire piece of shit year (Hey, look! I’m a fourteen-year-old girl again!)


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