Daily Show correspondent Michael Che tries to find a safe place to report from.
I hate to break this to you Michael, but apparently you’ve never seen the movie Aliens. Guess who dies first?
AND HE WASN’T EVEN KILLED BY ALIENS.
If you can guess who set this man on fire with a flamethrower, I’ll give you a dollar.
Typewriter Series #884 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Text for Tired Eyes:
Take care of yourself. It’s up to you to keep your heart
beating and your lungs filling and your legs running long
past when you should have found your way to shuffling off
this mortal coil and starting fresh. Greet Death running
and jumping and dancing with her, throwing kisses like promises
while she waits to carry you away. Don’t make her bend or scoop
or hoist or strain her delicate hands under the weight of your
tired soul. Meet her with a smile that only old age can create.
Love. Promise me that you will love. It will shake your skin
and rattle your bones and the sheer volume of butterflies inside
will threaten to lift your stomach to your throat. Love. Don’t
think of the why or the how of the what if and just love. When you
think, if only for a moment, that you’re loving enough, you aren’t.
Love until your eyes are cried dry and your arms shake from
squeezing so tight. Love because you cannot not love and
because it finishes all of the pieces in you that would otherwise
stay that way. Love because it’s the answer to the question
you’ll start asking one day. It’s the answer to all the questions
you’ll ever ask and the reason you are here, wherever here may be.
Yep!…this is my favourite..the part about love i read out loud a few times so my soul can hear it and take it in…
Seriously support?? #ShockHorror!
This is the email I woke up to. Terrifying.
Honestly, I don’t know what to do at this point. Within ten minutes of sounding the alarm via Twitter, my account had been restored, but I’m one of the lucky ones. I have the privilege of asking tens of thousands of people to write into Tumblr on my behalf, and I can only imagine how helpless someone might feel who woke up to the same letter with no way to do anything about it.
I went back and searched through my old email address. Sure enough, under the “Social” tab of a gmail account that I never use anymore were a handful of Tumblr DMCA notices, all originating from some sniveling cunt stain named Jeremy Banks of the IFPI. I saw none of the notices until this morning, not that it would have mattered, because they were all for songs that I posted years ago.
I’ve been posting music for over half a damn decade. I have no idea what songs Jeremy Banks is suddenly going to give a shit about. Short of deleting every song I’ve ever posted, there’s nothing I can do to retroactively protect myself from this kind of arbitrary account termination.
Shit, we all post music. We all click the little box. We all know damn well that we don’t own the copyright, but we do it anyway. We’re not stealing. We’re not making money off the backs of musicians. We’re sharing our favorite songs with our friends.
God damn, I’m still shaking from all the adrenaline. I’m genuinely upset right now. People are suggesting that I export my blogs and migrate to independent hosting, but I don’t want to have to do that.
I love Tumblr. I love the community it fosters. I love my dashboard full of people I follow, and I love the interactions I have with all the people who follow me. I don’t want to leave Tumblr, but I don’t want to be so beholden to the whims of some DMCA termination robot either.
At the very least, I need to find a way to separate and protect Dear Coquette and my other blogs where I’ve never posted any music.
Ugh. This is not good. This is not good at all.
Tumblr is handling this appallingly.
"My brother and I got in a fight, and now he can’t get a job. So he’s actually convinced I put a voodoo spell on him."
I was in Kampala for work a few years back and i met a man with the most beautiful smile!…Mattia, he attended my training session/s and just brighten my day! #memories