"When I was about 20 years old, I met an old pastor’s wife who told me that when she was young and had her first child, she didn’t believe in striking children, although spanking kids with a switch pulled from a tree was standard punishment at the time. But one day, when her son was four or five, he did something that she felt warranted a spanking–the first in his life. She told him that he would have to go outside himself and find a switch for her to hit him with.

The boy was gone a long time. And when he came back in, he was crying. He said to her, “Mama, I couldn’t find a switch, but here’s a rock that you can throw at me.”

All of a sudden the mother understood how the situation felt from the child’s point of view: that if my mother wants to hurt me, then it makes no difference what she does it with; she might as well do it with a stone.

And the mother took the boy into her lap and they both cried. Then she laid the rock on a shelf in the kitchen to remind herself forever: never violence. And that is something I think everyone should keep in mind. Because if violence begins in the nursery one can raise children into violence.”

— Astrid Lindgren, author of Pippi Longstocking, 1978 Peace Prize Acceptance Speech (via jillymomcraftypants)
"I have no mercy or compassion in me for a society that will crush people, and then penalize them for not being able to stand under the weight."
— Malcolm X | The Autobiography of Malcolm X (1964)

(Source: america-wakiewakie)


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

— Dylan Thomas (via liam-azoulgay)



Yeah, neither did we.

QuestionI'll have to use a vessel for this, since you don't allow anonymous questions. For all your changes of heart, what is it like to know that in the last week you have committing genocide and in-so-doing made my goals that much easier? Answer

Changes of heart? I think that committing genocide would have bothered me whether I’d figured out that my definition of personal justice was deeply flawed or not. 

I’m pretty sure that “genocide” refers to killing people, and I wouldn’t define gods as people, exactly. But I guess if we were to call it genocide, the world not being snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane is a decent enough reason to commit genocide on a dozen and a half “people.” Or at least, I’d say so in light of my changes of heart.

And helping your goals? I suppose that keeping us all alive would help you, wouldn’t it? I guess you’re welcome. 

(Source: Spotify)

(Source: psicreepy)

"Well I know what’s right, I got just one life
In a world that keeps on pushin’ me around
But I’ll stand my ground and I won’t back down"
— Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, “I Won’t Back Down”