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justonesyllable · 8 years
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why would you do this
can we talk for a second about howard working tirelessly to save wilkes for peggy because he’s not about to fail her and the man she loves a second time
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justonesyllable · 8 years
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hey if any if you want to donate cases of bottled water to residents in flint, send them to:
Triumph Church 1657 Broadway Blvd. Flint, MI 48506
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justonesyllable · 8 years
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justonesyllable · 8 years
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Jesus: You are the salt of the earth-
Me: *is salty*
Jesus: No not like that
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justonesyllable · 8 years
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in case anyone had any ideas about poe being a dashing space rogue or something because he is nothing but a kind-hearted nerd who loves to follow the rules
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justonesyllable · 8 years
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The women of TFA
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justonesyllable · 8 years
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justonesyllable · 8 years
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so i was wondering where rey learned to understand binary (the language of astromech droids) because she’s a lone scavenger living on a desert planet and i was thinking that mabe sometime in the course of her star destroyer spelunking adventures, let’s say she’s 14 years old; she finds part of an astromech droid that’s still functioning just enough to talk. so she decide not to trade it to untar platt for portions and takes it home instead, cleans it up. hooks it up to an old comm screen so she can see what it’s saying while she’s still learning all its beeps and whistles. and then at the end of a long day, when she gets home, she scrubs the sand off her face, pours the sand out of her boots, and just sits and talks to her barely-functioning astromech droid, whose knowledge is thirty years old: coruscant, the seat of the empire (what empire?) updates on the construction of the death star. bounty notices for han solo, smuggler. the imperial senate, disbanded (but what about the new senate?) 
the hot, dry air of jakku, making mirages of old memories just outside the shell of her AT-AT. the desert so quiet that you can hear sand sliding down the dunes, in soft silky layers. rey, scraping crumbs off her plate with her fingertips, pressing her droid with more questions. what’s naboo? what’s a forest? how big is a forest? what’s a tree? how many trees are there? (no one else tells her about these things. no one else talks to her.) the droids go everywhere, she realizes. they see everything and keep everything, scavengers of memory and information, of events and people and ideas. she learns binary until she gets good enough to detach the comm screen and just listen; during the day she quietly practices binary to herself, whistling each beep and tone as she hikes the dunes to the star destroyers, her calves aching. when she gets home, the droid greets her with a happy beep. for a few months, it feels nice, strange, hopeful. it feels odd to have someone waiting for her. refreshing, almost. 
and then one day rey comes home and the astromech droid doesn’t beep, no whistle of greeting. the light in its glassy round eye is dark. the fuel cells are dead. her heart sinks. she searches the star destroyer endlessly for another working fuel cell, tries to trade for them at nima outpost, but to no avail: the model is too old, any fuel cells that could work are all being used for other things. that night she wears her x-wing helmet and sniffs, watching the stars, wrestling with hope and despair in equal measure; in the morning she drags the droid to untar platt and trades its parts for twelve portions. the first portion is bitter and tasteless, more so than usual, but it’s alright, rey thinks. her friend even fed her.
 and now she talks to all the astromech droids that pass through nima outpost. they don’t mind talking to her. they’re happy to tell her how hyperdrives work, what a compressor does, how to fix an acceleration compensator. and every time she hopes that maybe, the droid will end up on a distant planet somewhere else, and it’ll mention a girl on jakku, a girl who polished its casing and oiled its hinges, a girl who’s been waiting for a long time, and someone will look up with a twinge of recognition and realize it’s time to go back. it’s time for her to come home… it never happens. but rey tries anyway, because the droids go everywhere, see everything, meet everyone… she stays, and waits. 
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justonesyllable · 9 years
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justonesyllable · 9 years
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Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Her ongoing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life-forms and new civilizations; to boldly go where no one has gone before.
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justonesyllable · 9 years
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How comforting for the woman who got locked away in an attic by a rich white dude who used his privilege to run roughshod over her humanity.
It’s one thing to ignore your problems when the consequences affect only you. It’s quite another when not only is that “problem” a living, breathing, very ill human being, but also the consequences of pretending she doesn’t exist have a direct or indirect negative &/or life-threatening impact on her and everyone else around you.
I would like to promote a literary theory I have that stands aside from “Rochester was doing the best he could for Bertha” or “Rochester was trying to indirectly murder Bertha”, which is: “Rochester sincerely believed that if he ignored his problems, they would go away.”
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justonesyllable · 9 years
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happy Easter 2 me Jesus has risen and I truly feel His presence God bless
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justonesyllable · 9 years
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yes please
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Treehouse in Nashville via Airbnb
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justonesyllable · 9 years
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The List App is ruining my life, & [Moss voice] I’m loving it.
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justonesyllable · 9 years
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was i your love was i a statue of all of the bridges i burnt down
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justonesyllable · 9 years
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justonesyllable · 9 years
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May you always fall and fall and fall for whatever your brave heart loves. 
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It’s National Coming Out Day and I’ve been thinking about my younger self. How terrified I was the first time I fell in love with a woman. I was attending a Catholic college, playing basketball for the Lady Monks. (No joke). Many of my college professors were monks and nuns. I was studying creative writing and I spent the entirety of my last two years writing poems about masks and hiding. I could have graduated with a degree in How To Leave Pronouns Out Of A Love Poem.
Last spring, on tour, a friend told me that Nina Simone spent several years during the Civil Rights Movement refusing to sing love songs, refusing to sing anything but songs for justice and change. When I heard that I felt so charged and inspired. How fierce. How powerful. How unrentlessly committed. That night, before I got on stage, I had the thought that I wasn’t going to read a single soft or sweet poem. I decided I was going to read only social justice poetry through my entire set. But when I was making my set list it hit me that the simple existence of the word “she” in my love poem, made it a political poem. Isn’t that insane? (And I’m not using the word “insane” flippantly) Isn’t it insane that love is a political thing? That the heart is a political thing?
This morning I was hiking around Colorado and this heart leaf fell at my feet. If you are someone who has come out or has not come out I hope wherever you are today a leaf like this finds its way to your path. Thank you for being here. Thank you for existing. May you always fall and fall and fall for whatever your brave heart loves.
-andrea gibson, former lady monk
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