There is a terrible emptiness in me, an indifference that hurts.
Italian special force soldier after 72 hour battle in Afghanistan
School for black civil rights activists. Young girl being trained to not react to smoke blown in her face, 1960
Disability activists abandon their wheelchairs and mobility devices and crawl up the 83 stone steps of the U.S. Capitol Building demanding the passage of the American with Disability Act, March 12, 1990.
A south Korean man cries as his brother is on a train back to North Korea. Separated by the war, they have not seen the other since 1950. They were allowed to see each other for three days, but one will go back spending life in luxury, and the other in hard labour
The Mocambo night club in East Hollywood, a white’s only club, was the most popular dance spot around but would not book Ella because she was black. Marilyn, who adored Ella Fitzgerald and her music, called the manager and demanded that they book Ella immediately
Portrait of Istvan Reiner, taken shortly before he was killed in Auschwitz
Werfel, a 6 year old orphan from Austria has just been given his first pair of new shoes by the American Red Cross,1946.
The last Jew of Vinnitsa
Susan B. Anthony in 1872 getting beaten and arrested for trying to vote when it was illegal for women to do so.
Until the mid-60s, the Aborigines came under the Flora And Fauna Act, which classified them as animals, not human beings. This also meant that killing an Aborigine meant you weren’t killing a human being, but an animal.
Here’s a link to 75 iconic pictures of the 21st century
I hope you guys learned and teared up from this as much as I did.
Good Morning, Captain - Slint
"Let me in" the voice cried softly,
from outside the wooden door.
Scattered remnants of the ship could be seen in the distance.
Blood stained the icy wall of the shore.
"I’m the only one left. The storm, took them all."
He managed as he tried to stand.
The tears ran down his face.
"Please, it’s cold."
Screen shot from a New York Times article.
When I was 18, I was no angel. Hell, when I was 15, 16, 17, I was no angel. When I was 13, I stole change out of cars that were parked in the church lot for bingo night. By 14 I was smoking pot every day. I got caught shoplifting at Korvette’s and spent an hour being interrogated by security before they called my mother to pick me up. I cut holes in the pockets of my winter parka to make it easier to steal candy from 7-11. I sold joints to my fellow classmates at Holy Trinity High School. I had rough patches. I cut out of school to drink alcohol. I listened to angry and vulgar punk rock. I often got into fights with kids from the neighboring town.
So all those times when Officer Goldberg stopped me as I walking down the street and asked where I was going and what I was doing, he would be justified in shooting me because I was a troubled kid with a questionable past?
See, all those things were not relevant. Because Officer Goldberg didn’t know any of those things about me beforehand. And even if he did, they had no relevance on the fact that I happened to be walking down the street on any given evening.
Someone’s history does not always define their present. Being a “troubled” kid who once climbed over a baby gate or wrote on the walls in their house with pencils does not mean one deserves to die in a hail of bullets at the hand of a police officer. And it’s odious for anyone to imply as such, especially in a major newspaper on the day of the dead boy’s funeral.
The media suddenly seems to be in bed with the Ferguson police, posthumously trying Michael Brown for the crime of being young and black while walking in the street, bringing his past into the present. Calling him “no angel” has big implications, none of them good.
We’re all “no angels” in one way or another. No one is perfect. No one has a past clear of any transgressions, even the smallest ones. No one should have to carry the burden of their past with them when they’re doing nothing more dangerous than walking down a street. Because Darren Wilson knew nothing about Michael Brown when he confronted him. When he killed him.
And we shouldn’t be learning these things about him now, like this. It’s unfair.
We live in a cesspool, a septic tank, a gigantic sewage complex in which runs the dregs, the filth, the misery-laden slop of the race of men: his hatred, prejudices, passions, and violence. And the keeper of this sewer: man. He is a scientifically advanced monkey who walks upright, with eyes wide open into an abyss of his own making. His bombs, fallout, poisons, radioactivity, everything he designs as an art, for dying is his excuse for living. We live in an exquisite bedlam; an insanity. Maybe all the more grotesque by the fact that we don’t recognize it as insanity.
More music I need.