doing homework from now until forever

"Hands of Barnard and Columbia students in the Gaza Solidarity Encampment. Surrounded by more students holding hands to create a protective perimeter. All unflinchingly staring down imminent threats of suspension and arrest"

subway hands

somehow the poor cops who we were told are simply too understaffed and underpaid because of Woke to deal with 'rampant rising crime' have found the strength to beat the shit out of college students across the whole country for peacefully saying "divest from the country killing innocent palestinians in the tens of thousands"

Columbia University students at the Gaza solidarity encampment reading Wisam Rafeedie's The Trinity of Fundamentals and Ghassan Kanafani's The Revolution of 1936–1939 in Palestine (ph. Ian Bartlett).

looking at all the stuff i have to do in the next week and wondering i should just drop out

getting a little nervous bc all the cillain movies i've got left do not look promising

The caption is “Al Pacino takes a stroll through Beverly Hills.” (X)

Cillian Murphy as Jack Rippner ⤷ Red Eye, 2005 | dir. Wes Craven

we can debate the ethics of rpf all day long but the bottom line that we can’t get away from is that its funny to edit black and white images of celebrities into the “rpf is fine” image with their name as the source

there’s nothing the united states government hates more than angry protesting college students and that’s how you know they’re powerful

cillian murphy villains, my beloved little freaks

beneath the cut is a piece of robert fischer fic i said wouldn’t write and probably might not still but i had to see

Essie being in his dreams had gotten worse since his father’s death. Her appearances had always ebbed and flowed in inconsistence bouts, but never had he seen her so much as he had in the past month. She accompanied him most nights, and they followed the threads of their past experiences until they stumbled onto another completely. He could not remember the previous times, except in split glimpses, but he shared with her an innate understanding that they had existed together a million times before. And he knew, like in those times, in this one Essie and he shared an attraction they were hesitant hold a match to. Their minds threw them haphazardly together into these fabricated seas of oblivion, and cruelly, they still found humility and shame in its rocky waters.

Robert could feel heat rise to his cheeks as considered the idea of being with her, and that she might know he wanted it as badly as he did. Though he could not remember a before, he worked through the columns of his mind to find a time when he had seen her naked. Each file was blank, nothingness upon nothingness, a tragedy of Shakespearean portions. Even in his dreams, he was himself: the man with the ability to have anything, and yet not know how to ask for any of it.

“You’re overthinking.” She clicked her tongue.

“You know me so well because I think you are me,” he told her.

His theory made her small grin break into a wider one. “I’m not. You come to my mind sometimes.”

“I don’t really know that. Maybe that’s my mind, too.”

“If so, you’re more fucked than I initially deduced: Rich in wealth, but poor in constitution, creating entire separate entities with complex backgrounds so you’re not lonely in a space your mind formats for you.”

“The human mind is a complex one, Esperanza,” he quipped, furrowing his brow as his voice took up a solemn tone. “We’ve got two entirely different studies dedicated to it. The function and the make-up.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s a scion of an energy company know about the brain?” He felt buoyant, surrounded as he was by charm. The playful lilt of her voice as she spoke grounded him in some temporary sanity.

“Hardly anything, I think. It’s why mine’s heavily guarded—there are certainly others who know far better about it. But still, you could be a figment of my imagination. I’ve had other reoccurring characters.”

“But none as real as me,” she said. The certainty of the statement felt affirmative in and of itself. He knew she felt it too.

“There is that,” he nodded.

my favorite part of being an english major is explaining books to my friends like this

The Scene from the x files pilot, as seen on my 1999 crt tv :)

if i was a less busy person and a more dedicated writer id write a story were a girlie dreams of robert fischer pretty often all throughout her life and he, of her. later, as he gets older and makes the mistake of telling one of his father’s workers about this girl, they tell his father and his father makes him get his brain guarded just to be safe. his father thinks it might be the work of insiders, or very clever people, and it does work for awhile. he doesn’t dream of her and it upsets him because he thinks his father might’ve been right. but when his dad gets sick, she starts coming back. those figures meant to protect his mind from hackers don’t detect her as a threat because she is so a part of his being at this point, his subconscious has no reason to turn against her. he learns about her the way she does of him: by the shape of her dreams, the size of her ambitions, the weight of her griefs. they watch his blurry memories of a distant childhood, and of a mother who loved him more than anything. they explore the vulnerable grounds of her life. he tells her everything because he has no reason not to. when his father dies, he takes a week’s leave of absence, and he goes to the places he remembers from her mind. playgrounds. houses, apartments, coffee shops. he doesn’t tell anyone why, and doesn’t really know himself. he isn’t aiming to find her, doesn’t even really know if she exists; he just wants to touch pieces of a life he’s lived in his mind—to go to places he’s loved while awake. of course, he finds her. a library. she’s known of him for years, since she got curious and looked him up, but like him, she imagined that her brain created what it knew of him and made him something else entirely. once she heard that no face in your dream is one you haven’t seen before, and she figured he is just that: a face she must’ve seen when she was little, out of the corner of her eye. but when she sees him, she knows. she has been with this man for years. it is something beyond just simple recognition: it is the knowledge of the way he looks at her, so familiar, a thing she’d know as well as the back of her hand. there is something in life that they never had to deal with in their minds though: reality. he knows her life and she knows his, but they shaped it in their dreams to fit one another. in real life, it isn’t always so simple.

just realized i’m four years older than all the women in my family were when they had their first kid and i’m not even at the club smh