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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
randompicturez6
jumpingjacktrash

oh my god.

let me share a memory with y’all. it’s from i guess 1978 or thereabouts. it’s high summer. i don’t remember where my mom was driving me, in our avocado green chevette, i just know there was a traffic jam that turned 35w northbound into a parking lot from horizon to horizon.

picture it – wait, you don’t have to use your imagination, this happened all the damn time back then.

image

every one of those damn cars was burning leaded gasoline. there were no emissions regulations. there were no safety regulations. there were just thousands and thousands of detroit steel shoeboxes belching visible smoke as they idled, engines loud and hot, here and there a radiator giving up in the heat, a cloud of burning oil rising.

i, a smeet of five or six, was choking on toxic smog.

i reckon it was about a half hour into the traffic jam that i first threw up. i remember a blinding headache, i remember being confused, i remember dry heaving with my arms and head hanging out the window, the green metal of the car burning my hands and my chin. i don’t remember passing out, but i’m told i lost consciousness before mom was able to get to an off-ramp, because there were no emergency lanes on the highways back then.

i lived. and life went on. what were we going to do, complain? if i’d died, the cause of death probably would’ve been recorded as heatstroke, not carbon monoxide poisoning.

i know i’m probably preaching to the choir here on tumblr. but i really wish i could tell that story to the people who think deregulation is no big deal. i wish they’d put themselves in my mom’s shoes.

or even just look at some old pictures, then look out the window.

image

ever notice how cityscapes used to have that orange tint and hazy aura? yeah, that’s poison gas.

remember how the mississippi river used to be a stinking soup of baby-shit yellow sludge covered with disturbingly stiff rafts of light orange foam?

image

i can’t even find pictures of the sludge and foam, i guess they didn’t end up on the internet. the smell was indescribable. that oily shimmer. the reek of dead things. people didn’t boat on the river for pleasure; it smelled too bad, it was too ugly, and you could get super super sick if you touched the water.

and now look at it.

image

i still wouldn’t want to drink it, but if i fell in i wouldn’t bolt for the shower in a panic, you know?

if the thieving billionaires get their way, we can kiss those sailboats goodbye, and learn the smell of toxic foam once more. the ultra-rich won’t even feel the extra money, they’ve already got more than they could ever touch, they just stash it in offshore accounts to rot, but the rest of us will return to a time of neverending nausea and weird cancers. a time when every elementary school class had at least one kind who’d been born with no fingers or their heart outside their body, and this was just… the way things were.

i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to longpost. it’s just. god. y’all have no idea how CLEAN everything is now, compared to when i was a kid. and these rich old men are counting on that, on people not knowing or not remembering how bad it was before regulation, not realizing how much we need these protections until it’s too late.

themightyglamazon

I enforce federal worker health and safety and pollution regulations. 

When I was learning my trade, when my classmates and I were having a chuckle over the “well duh” level of specificity written into the Code of Federal Regulations (try “no hazardous material shall be stored in crew berthing” on for size), I will never forget the silence that followed when our instructor spoke these words:

“Your regulations are written in blood.”

These regulations were not written on a whim. They were written because someone thought they could cut costs by storing however many more pounds of a radioactive, toxic, carcinogenic, or whatever else material in the same rooms where the human beings they paid to transport those materials slept, and then did that, because no one was telling them not to. 

They were written because people died. Horrifically. Because unregulated capitalism values profit over human life and suffering. 

Can I say it again, for those not paying attention? 

Unregulated capitalism values profit over human life and suffering.

bogleech

Do we also need to fucking talk about the Radium Girls again who slowly fucking rotted alive because the company they worked for deliberately hid knowledge of radium’s effects on living matter?

feynites

I’m gonna talk about it. It’s depressing and dark as hell, but if anyone ever thinks to themselves that companies will just regulate out of a sense of civic duty or basic human morality, and don’t need outside enforcement, then they need to keep this story in mind.

United States Radium Corporation that knew radium was lethal, and hired factory girls to work at painting watches with glow-in-the-dark radium faces. To emphasize - they knew radium was lethal and dangerous. Scientists who worked with it wore safety equipment and knew better than to touch it with bare skin. The factory girls, on the other hand, were instructed by their employers to keep the tips of their paint brushes pointed by sucking them between their lips. An act that guaranteed that they were ingesting small amounts of radium daily. They were told that radium was safe, and in small doses even good for you - United States Radium Corporation had paid for ‘studies’ and promoted other products which used small amounts of radium, and had branded at as, basically, a medicinal curative that just need to be doled out in appropriate dosages.

This was bullshit, and not even bullshit which the company higher ups could reasonably be expected to actually believe on all levels, with the information that they had readily at hand. What they knew was that a small amount of radium wouldn’t kill you right away, and that there was a two year statute of limitations on workers compensation claims. When the girls began dying and the finger was pointed at radium, the president of the United States Radium Corporation had an independent researcher investigate the claim. The research established that the link between the girls’ deaths and radium was clear. The company, not liking that result, covered up the independent research and hired other people to simply state that this was not the case.

Of course, by this point there were dying factory workers who were literally glowing in the goddamn dark, whose bones had become so infused with radium that they were visibly radioactive in their autopsies (when said bones weren’t just falling out of them while they were alive, anyway), so of course the company was forced to admit - oh wait, no, they started stealing dead women’s bones from morgues so that they could dispute their causes of death.

Like. Let’s be clear. United States Radium Corporation didn’t just fail to keep their workers sufficiently informed, they didn’t just not investigate things well enough, which would have been bad enough on its own. They told their employees to ingest a deadly substance, and when those DYING WOMEN got together with their last breaths to try and make the world aware of what was going on, purely to try and keep it from killing all the other girls who might get jobs in factories (because they were all doomed to painful cancerous death themselves), they paid for hush-ups and cover-ups and fake studies, and stooped to full-on grave robbing to keep people from finding out that they were killing women in droves.

There were factory workers giving testimonies as they physically fell apart on their death beds. The company’s response was not to even revise workers’ regulations to be more safe. It was entirely, 100%, to lie about it, so they could keep making money and keep killing their workers.

And do you want to know what happened to that company? To the United States Radium Corporation?

It eventually became The Safety Light Corporation, and was decommissioned in 2005. The radium girls were dying in the late 1920′s. The company that killed them didn’t even go under with them, didn’t even die when their efforts to raise awareness actually resulted in better and more stringent regulations. So the prospect that better regulations will hurt a corporation are laughable. Even the corporations that deserve to be destroyed by them still manage to do alright when they’re forced to make less money and kill fewer people. Boo hoo, how sad for them.

But inadequate regulations will kill actual human people. Full stop. Some companies will still adhere to ethics, sure, some will have people in charge or on various levels who care and can intervene. But not all of them. And the United States Radium Corporation was just ONE company. One company, that had no regulations to hold it accountable, that decided it didn’t care - and so many women died horrible, horrible deaths for it.

Do not ever let anyone kid you about the ramifications of deregulation. And do not forget that people who died, with their dying breath, fought to establish regulations to keep you safe. Anyone who takes them away is spitting on their graves.

Source: peace-love-colbert
inkskinned
inkskinned:
“ I wrote this while drunk and found it in my wallet the next morning:
“she was the moment you realize it’s summer and
he was just a boy with a heartache he couldn’t
name but had patched up with duct tape
and in the good stories
he...
inkskinned

I wrote this while drunk and found it in my wallet the next morning:

she was the moment you realize it’s summer and
he was just a boy with a heartache he couldn’t
name but had patched up with duct tape
and in the good stories
he stays 
but in this story
while she was building him pedestals and grandstands and
making herself a gift to him
he remembers halfway that she means 
nothing
to him
but rather than letting her go along to seek a better road,
he filled his empty with the fullness of her hips,
her heart,
her throat;
in this story,
he ends up elsewhere
and the girl
ends up
alone.

blossomfully
blossomfully

“It’ll be weird seeing her again. It’ll be like revisiting a memory that you thought you’d forgotten. Her hair will be longer, or shorter, her hair will have changed; hair always does. Her eyes will be the same. Hearing her voice will be like going back to the place you used to live and noticing the new curtains. Being close to her will be strange. She’ll say something like, “you look well,” and you’ll reply with a, “thanks, you too.” And it’ll feel like death, like an iron fist around your heart. And then she’ll point to your shirt and say, “is that new?” and you won’t have the heart to say you bought it seven months ago after she left, so instead you say, “I haven’t worn it around you before.” When she emits a small laugh you’ll feel the tiniest ounce of pride. She still finds you funny. When she’s telling you about her new life you’ll find your mind wandering into places you didn’t think mattered anymore. Places like, was she in love now and was she being treated well? Places like, did she ever miss you, and in and amongst all of her living did she ever consider coming back?”

Sue Zhao 

poetrylovingfan

drift-awayyy asked:

could you write a snippet where the villain gets seriously hurt or weak during a fight and pretends their fine but the hero gets worried about them. love your writing so much! 💞💖

the-modern-typewriter answered:

“Don’t you dare!” the villain snarled. 

The hero’s hand froze, halfway to helping them. They didn’t want help. Help meant powerlessness, weakness, losing. All of things that the villain had promised themselves they would never do or feel again. Never be again. 

“You’re hurt,” the hero said. 

“I’m fine.” It was maddening to see the regret and the pity in the hero’s eyes now - the pity most of all. They’d cast the blow, they’d have to live with it wouldn’t they? They didn’t get to crawl back into that disgusting pity now and pretend they hadn’t done it, that they weren’t capable of it. “Pick up your weapon.” 

The hero did no such thing, wide-eyed. It was bloody insulting. As if, in pain, the villain was so harmless that no weapon nor wariness was needed. 

Just because their head was spinning, that didn’t mean they weren’t a threat. They were fine. The hero could regret ever thinking they weren’t fine instead. 

The villain lashed out in a blast of power and - and they were in the hero’s arms. Blinking. Not quite sure when they’d got there. Also on the floor. Also not sure how they’d got there. The villain’s body felt cold and shaky and the hero’s hands were bloodstained. 

“Fitting,” the villain whispered, staring at them. 

“You’re bleeding,” the hero said. “How long have you been bleeding? I didn’t - I wouldn’t-”

The villain laughed, purely out of spite, but stopped because it was a frightfully breathless and wheezing thing that revealed too much. Their chest hurt. “So finish it, coward. Or I’ll finish you.”

“Yeah, you’re doing a great job so far. The swoon was particularly inspired,” the hero said. Their fingers pressed at the villain’s pulse, poked wincing at the wound, distracted. “Clearly just a trick to get my guard down.” 

“Yes.” 

The hero glanced at them, eyebrows rising.

The villain would have flushed if they weren’t so clammy. Nobody actually pulling a trick like that would agree. “Let go of me,” they growled instead. They struggled in the hold. 

The hero kept them with humiliating ease, muscles taut. “You’ll hurt yourself more, just be still.”

“Then let go of me!”

“Do you promise you’re not going to kill yourself trying to deck me if I do?” 

“That’s not your concern.”

“Then I’m not letting go of you. You look ready to pass out again the second you stand up.”

“It’s preferable to talking to you.”

The hero snorted. 

The villain glared at them, furiously. Their struggles eased, mostly because they were too tired to keep thrashing. God, but it was cold. 

The hero looked ever more disgustingly concerned. They looked ready to start petting the villain’s hair to soothe them. “I swear,” the villain said, “I will rip your hands off with my own teeth if you dare.”

“What?” 

Nothing,” the villain spat. 

The hero stroked their fingers through the villain’s hair. Swallowed. “I’ve called an ambulance, okay? Help is on the way.” 

“I will kill you for this.” 

“Live long enough to try.” 

“God, you’re gross. Why do you even care? Survivor’s guilt? Can’t stand being a murderer?” 

The hero’s jaw clenched. “Keep insulting me if it keeps you conscious.” 

“Definitely can’t stand being a murderer. You are the literal worst way to die, just so you know. If I die by you it’s so embarrassing that they probably wouldn’t even let me into hell.”

“Yeah?” 

The villain scowled at them. “Stop trying to keep me talking.” They were rambling too much already, it was getting a bit disturbing. When it was too quiet all they could think about was graveyards and graves and if anyone would ever attend theirs. Fear prickled down their spine. They squeezed their eyes shut, breathing ragged. 

Somewhere, an ambulance wailed. The villain had always hated that sound.

“You’re fine,” the hero whispered. “You’re fine, just stay with me.”

“Like hell I’d let you have the last word,” the villain mumbled. 

Their vision was tunneling around the edges. There really was an awful lot of blood, which was funny considering how many people had called them bloodless and reptilian in their coldness. It was totally hilarious. 

The fear grew. 

The hero’s arms were warm around them. 

God, it hurt. 

“Hey-hey!” The hero shook them. “See, I just I talked. Say something! Bastard.”

“…I may not be fine.” Surprised. Even to their own ears. “I’m fine, right?” 

They blacked out as the ambulance arrived. 


not a pr0mpt

Source: the-modern-typewriter

Just something I wrote

It’s truly amazing how the sound of someone not making the effort for you can be so deafening. Like screaming in your brain “he doesn’t want you” but the words from his mouth and his texts say “Haley Rene how I love you.” “Haley Rene of course I want you” There’s always a but. Always an excuse.

It’s truly amazing how choked up I can get on your name alone. Feels like I’m swallowing razor blades, but somehow I think they would taste sweeter.

It’s truly amazing the way my heart skips a tiny beat when I think about you. So sudden and precise it barely hurts knowing we’re not together.

It’s truly amazing how much love, time, and commitment I’ll put into us when right now it feels like you won’t give anything. But oh how I’ll give you my soul and my ability to breathe so freely.

hellholeglory
hellholeglory

“on sundays, everyone just melts together in my mind, you know? one minute i blink and think i see you sitting on my kitchen counter, wine glass in hand and head bopping to ‘shot through the heart’, the next i wait for the boy i thought was good before i met you to come out of my bedroom. like we spent the night together, but without me having to bare my soul or my thighs to more than the idea of someone. i dance through the living room and i water my mother’s plants probably less than i should but more than i want to (i just don’t want them to look as dead as i feel)(they’re easier to keep than people)(don’t tell anyone but i think the spots of blue make me forget the evil things). on sundays, i sing lyrics that have nothing and everything to do with me, and it sounds terrible, but the melodies cover the walls of my throat with a newer tapestry and isn’t that what we’re all dying for? i wait for the doorbell to ring and for the boy who made me cry to apologize to me, so that i can forgive myself and him, especially him and i can invite him in for a coffee and a poem and he can tear down the lies stuck in my throat once and for all. and maybe then he’ll want me. on sundays, the world spins slower so everyone can catch up, and i yell at it to keep turning, because it hasn’t happened for me yet and i need the world to catch up with me, to hell with everyone, let them melt.”

sundays