Raised-From-Perdition-By-A-Phonebox

What is sad to me is how you justify promoting and enforcing racist, anti LGBTQ, xenophobic policies because you think you know more than your children. Sad isn’t the right word actually. Its angry. I’m FUCKING ANGRY that so many people like you pretend that discrimination and bias don’t exist in this country because they don’t see it or because they don’t experience it. That they claim divisiveness is created, that it didn’t already exist. They think that having a difference in policy is just that, having a difference in policy. Talk to me when you want to give blood to your dying sibling but you can’t because of how you were born. Talk to me when you are pulled over on the street and murdered by the police for no good reason. Talk to me when people tell you you’re just imagining police violence except for the times it grows so dystopian they have to say you were right that one time. Talk to me when you can’t adopt the child you raised or enter the hospital room of the person you love. Talk to me when people are calling out for you to die in the streets, not only in rallies, but on an everyday basis. Talk to me when holding hands or even walking into a bathroom is a risk for you because you might get murdered. Talk to me after you are assaulted and the authorities first instinct is to ask if you were asking for it. Talk to me when your parents won’t say the name of your significant other, or inquire after them, after YEARS TOGETHER. Talk to me when your father tells you that his gay friend had sex with a woman once, if his friend really wanted to be straight, he would be. Tell me how you aren’t homophobic even though you said NOTHING during my coming out, not even I love you, you just asked my brother’s why I chose this specific time, if I did it that week just to hurt you. Talk to me when wearing a hoodie at night feels dangerous to you. The politicians who guard these laws and enforce discriminatory policies may not hate minorities, but at the very least they are complicit in violent system that hurts people in this country. You are also complicit in this system and making excuses for it. How dare you, all of you old out of touch, anti intellectuals say my generation creates hate. The history books will judge you. I know that I would never insult, demean, and make fun of a person for a legitimate fear they have after a lifetime of fucking discrimination and abuse. You don’t know what other people have experienced. Why don’t you listen, research, and then instigate a conversation? Don’t bemoan that no one has conversations anymore. Be a fucking adult and don’t passive aggressively post about it to Facebook. Fuck you. FUCK YOU. Sad, pathetic old man. I know you. I know everything you’ve said. I remember things you don’t because privilege, yes your privilege, allows you to remember things differently. Your mockery of clubs that cater to anyone that isn’t you while propping up religious social groups as seats of community. How you can’t comprehend that minorities may need a space all their own because there are things they can’t voice to dicks like you. Your pathetic gay jokes all while defending that you have gay friends. Your pathetic racist jokes all while defending that your one Latina coworker or one Black friend was okay with it when you made it. How you wished your sons wouldn’t be like Neil Patrick Harris when they say they emulated his career, that your daughters wouldn’t be like Ellen Degeneres or Oprah. You may have forgotten these micro-agressions, but my generation does not. One day, a small Hispanic nonbinary child will search the internet and find what you have said. How you post about your own child rather than talk to him about how you feel. How you did it repeatedly even when he asked you to stop. How he went and did it himself because you caused your child pain. How you are well intentioned but don’t know how to communicate or show love. They will see you for the small, misogynistic, abusive, racist sympathizing, homophobic asshole that you are. After that, when the sun expands or the nuclear armageddon finally comes, you won’t matter. All records will die over the course of time. But what will remain is that you were shitty to people in your life. You were shitty to your own fucking kids. You were shitty in a way that would make your parents ashamed of you. I find it harder and harder to feel anything but anger towards you, to most old straight (and cis) white people, as they show less remorse with each passing day. Even though I love you, as you are family and I grew up with you, there is a base of love. But as you said to me once, “Do I like you? Do I want to spend time with you? No, not really.” FUCK, YOU ARE SUCH AN ASSHOLE AND YOU ARE RUINING THIS COUNTRY. I will treat any children I have with love, respect, and honesty. I will listen to them, really listen, not drown them out with Fox News. I won’t even once feel complacent in the casual racism, misogyny, and homophobia I’ve internalized because of your generation. I will confront the people I want to confront head on, not write notes behind their back like a scared child. You immature, sad old man. I will outlive you. I will make work and help my friends and explore the world in ways you could never conceive of. I’ll do my best to make the world a better place and leave a book, a lifestyle, a fucking tweet that will help future generations. What the fuck are you leaving behind before you die? 

finndamerons:

luke: is darth vader my father?
yoda: dis who phone new

(via wtfsignmeup)

danielkanhai:

i never feel closer to nature than when i’m waiting in a subway station with no electric signs telling you when the next train’s supposed to come and i feel a gentle breeze stir up. that breeze is made by an approaching train further along in the tunnel. it’s like sensing rain in your bones. i always want to turn to someone leaning out and staring into the darkness and go, “a great wind comes. the train is upon us.”

(via little-knyazek)

coriesella:

My dad just told me that when he was my age he tripped on acid a lot and every time he tripped he found the meaning of life but by the time he was sober he had forgotten it. So, he told himself that the next time he tripped he would write it down. So he tripped again, and went and wrote it down and when he woke up he was so excited to see everything that he wrote so he went and opened the notebook and all it said was “orange juice”.

(via morrigannfreeman)

when you have too much anxiety cause your literary fav is reading your script and was that joke about imperialism necessary or stupid and will she hate me forever?

connorkawaii:

“you’re obsessed with video games”

(via sleepthinkdream)