Congressman Steve Cohen tears into Attorney General Eric Holder over marijuana. (via think-progress)
Back off DoJ
I’m not, like, an activist on this question, but hasn’t it sort of got to the point where…like…seriously? I can go down to the liquor store right now and buy enough booze with which to actually destroy myself in one evening. If they sold weed, it would be actually impossible for me to do equivalent damage to myself with what I’d buy there. These are both hypotheticals: I don’t want to drown myself with booze, and as an at-home dad to a toddler I won’t be spending any long days with a vaporizer and the TV any time soon. But the point stands: alcohol is a much harder drug than marijuana. Much. If I’m not super-engaged with the question it’s just because…like…to whom exactly is this not as plain as the nose on your face? Besides which, and much more importantly, there are people with terminal diseases who report that use of marijuana improves their lives. Their anecdotal evidence is the only metric I really need on that question. When “anecdotal evidence” is a sick person telling you “I need this, it would help me,” then it’s actually good evidence, in my opinion.
It is so incredibly fucked up to protest a CEO for saying fat women are not beautiful or cool by giving away his company’s products to homeless people, implying that they are can’t be beautiful or cool.
Like, aren’t there ways of promoting body positivity and fat girl pride without insulting, exploiting and demeaning an incredibly disenfranchised group of people?
I don’t want to learn in a classroom anymore. I want to travel and talk to people and learn that way. I want to learn as I go, gathering knowledge and not being rigorously tested on it. I don’t want to lose passion in the things I like because of the worry of exams. I want to fuelled by snippets of knowledge I gain from people and be inquisitive. School has stolen my passion for the things I’m interested in and I hate it for that.
Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes
you cannot even breathe deeply, and
the night sky is no home, and
you have cried yourself to sleep enough times
that you are down to your last two percent, but
nothing is infinite,
not even loss.
You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day
you are going to find yourself again.