#death of the american dream

[crowleys-hips]

good news

you can return ALL of @neil-gaiman's Audible audiobooks. According to policy, you're only able to return titles you've gotten with a credit within 365 days of the purchase, but if you contact support and give them your reason, they'll do it for you no problem. hope this helps! now if you'll excuse me, i'm gonna go curl into a ball and sob my eyes out 😎

[greatcometcas]

- I HAVE HOPE (David Byrne, One Fine Day, American Utopia) || insp.

[kemetic-dreams]

Fred McIntyre known as Devil's Man holds in his hands a portrait of the Kaiser framed with bullets that he took from a German Soldier

Colorized by Marina Amaral

Corporal Fred McIntyre served in World War I with the USA Army's 369th Infantry Regiment, a lavishly decorated regiment that was better known by its nickname: the Harlem Hellfighters. The Hellfighters, part of the New York National Guard, stood out for several reasons: uncommon courage, the exceptional ragtime-influenced brass band, and their Afroness. Only ten percent of the American soldiers were African.

In July 1918 they were fighting alongside the French along the Marne River. In fact, militarily they became French, as the 369th were integrated into the French Army. They wore hybrid uniforms (including the French Adrian helmet), carried Gallic rifles, and received French troop wine rations.

The Harlem Hellfighters accumulated more casualties on the Western Front than any other American regiment, but received numerous medals for their bravery. One member of the regiment, Henry Porter, nicknamed Black Death, was the first American to receive the prestigious Croix de Guerre, which was also awarded collectively to the entire 369th Regiment.

[samscompliment]

happy birthday gun boy i love you so so much....... (yt)

[silmarillion-ways-to-die]

[dreamerdrop]

Star Trek DS9 remake but as a seinen manga specifically, anime adaptation pending.

[trinquett]

Martin (1977)

Haven’t posted a proper piece to this account in quite a bit, my apologies (mostly because I don’t 100% make bigger pieces as often as I used to two years ago). I hope you enjoy this reaction of the poster for this movie!

I also felt like including his reference sheet considering it’s one of the more complex ones that I am very happy about!

- - - - - 💉 - - - - -

To make up for the lack of posts I’ve been making over on my tumblr, I thought it would be cool to showcase my recent horror designs to you all. I’m currently at 660+ designs after 2 years, hopefully I’ll hit 1000 by the end of this year!

1) Neal Mottram - Craze (1974)

2) Queen Tera - Blood From The Mummy’s Tomb (1971)

3) Mapa Fanny Ted - American Gothic (1988)

4) Gene The Cannibal - Cannibal Campout (1988)

5) Norman Perkins - Deadly Dreams (1988)

6) Amanda “The Cult Devil” Drindle - Hack-O-Lantern (1988)

7) Robert Dominici - Phantom Of Death (1988)

8) Dippo Bippo Cheezo - Clownhouse (1989)

[manwalksintobar]

I Couldn't Sleep In My Dream // Alice Notley

I couldn't sleep in my dream. The moon was a vast flower but broken, behind leaves and the force of distortion. Where does that come from? There's no moon here. Distortion's all that I know. I walked near the ocean unable to sleep. Trying to receive messages, though I know there's no one to send them. Here are the words you were looking for. But I wanted something different-Or is this it? Any- thing, anything's different. I left with another widow and a divorcee. I didn't say goodbye. But that's just autobiographical, who cares? I want to live here, where nothing coheres. Who'd be in ordinary life, working or shopping, looking forward to whatever it turns out it's about, in the eyes of belief. I don't believe something. Here I'm spooked, it's not that I like that, it's that I stand in for that, rather. Though Here's so total. Someone's screaming from the basement, who's going away tomorrow; and I'm no particular age. I have no fear. I'm only that I am this moment, inside sheer unsteadiness, the night-time of crisis as tone. Awake the banks are failing, but I've nothing invested there. I'm listening for something else, not Death, but what she hears. She hears me, but I can't always hear me saying to her, Keep me at arm's length. I don't know a thing yet, and I haven't lived. I'm starting to now, aren't I? No, you're asleep, you're always asleep. I meet someone else who knows nothing, the woman who said I am big- hearted. I think about her but I'm dreaming my dream. She flows into me then rolls away. I approach my holy, haunted railroad stations, underground networks, airports, trying to leave. I don't know what I'm leaving or where I'm going. I don't seem to mind, I'm in the state of traveling. Suspended. That's always been my state. This is my heart, or is it yours, I move within. Death's faceless, looking for my face to wear within her hair shape, just for a minute, before she moves on to another. Everyone does it. Well I'm gone. Not with death, but from the market. Evaporated I've never been there. I don't know how to dream but I'm dreaming. In front of the house where I began; then I'm still no one and everything. Everything circumscribed by this child's body that's grown, but is dimensionless near the dark tree. Enter door once more-It's too personal. And I go in, it's just a portal after all. I don't know what's inside. Whatever happens next. Nothing happens; things coalesce then melt again, as if you yourself create them. Well don't I? I create death, and time. Make my story have a shape that's understood. No, I won't be pressed for emotion now that I'm back. If I hear people marching, mobilized, I won't be one. I'm free in this house that doesn't exist. And the crowd's passed crying out for power. I have no needs. No country, no continent, no hope. I sit in blackness where I once lived. In magic, the only force I recognize. What is it? a face cries, skittering away. All that's left, I reply, the basis of life, the explanation of how I came to town. Oh, there's furniture, some old couch I knew but can't remember, tranquilizer of my thought. Press cheek to it, sit on lino, breathe. I used to remember this floor but I don't. I mean I'm just here. I was cared for, and now I care for myself, but I'm the early one too; though the carers aren't here, perhaps the care is. Don't turn on the radio, the old console, a period piece. I'm not one. I'm immortal, like the universe. All I feel is the tingle of this existence, or non-existence, if you're an activist, handing out parts out there where Death's invoked. Does she come to them sooner, for all their rage to find her?

The sun is rising, and light enters my old house. What sun is this? The desert star or some one flame as in transcendence? I won't ask it. I won't ask anyone anything. I got tired of being childish. In your assigned role you were a woman. But I've always been a poet, that's all, no sex or race, no age or face. Can Eternity strip me of it? That's only another word. I'm inside myself, and inside it. Today's the new fact. Are there others there? Timeless, and loveless, this light touches me. I won't need anything else.

[coldlaugh]

[annonstuff-blog]

I yearn for the days of domed cities traveling on hydraulic legs waging wars against each other for what few resources remain beneath the earth’s blighted crust.

[kemetic-dreams]

Ledell Lee (July 31, 1965 – April 20, 2017) was an American man convicted and executed for the 1993 murder of his neighbor, Debra Reese. He was convicted in 1995 and the Arkansas Supreme Court affirmed the conviction in 1997, but numerous questions have been raised about the justice of his trial and post-conviction representation. Issues have included conflict of interest for the judge, inebriation of counsel, and ineffective defense counsel. A request to postpone the execution in order to test DNA on the murder weapon was denied by a circuit judge. After Lee's execution, it was proven that the DNA on the murder weapon belonged to another person, an unknown male.

Controversy over judge's conflict of interest

According to the ACLU:

Additionally, Lee was tried by a judge who concealed his own conflict of interest: an affair with the assistant prosecutor, to whom the judge was later married. Mr. Lee's first state post-conviction counsel introduced the evidence of the affair by calling the judge's ex-wife, who testified about the affair after opposing the subpoena. That lawyer, however, was so intoxicated at the hearing that the state moved for him to be drug tested after he slurred, stumbled, and made incoherent arguments. The inebriated lawyer also represented Lee briefly in federal court, where he raised the important claim that Lee was ineligible for execution because of intellectual disability. Lee won new proceedings because of the lawyer's drunkenness, though his representation did not improve afterward. His next lawyers failed to introduce evidence of the affair, giving up one of many of Lee's important arguments, and never pursued his innocence or intellectual disability claims.

"This is a story of the judicial process gone totally wrong," Lee's lawyer said. "The kinds of attorney failures here: an affair with the presiding judge by the prosecutor, gross intoxication by defense counsel, and wild incompetence undermine our profession as a whole. Mr. Lee has never had the opportunity to have his case truly investigated, despite serious questions about guilt, and his intellectual disability."[11][5]

Throughout the legal challenges, the family of Debra Reese hoped that the execution would go through as scheduled.

                                 HE WAS INNOCENT 

[ordinaryeternalmachinery]

Tomorrow I'll wake up at the ranch, he thought, and it was as if he was two men at a time: the man who travelled through the autumn day and across the geography of the fatherland, and the other one, locked up in a sanatorium and subject to methodical servitude.

FICCIONES by jorge luis borges

[bobauthorman]

I think Disney Channel has a problem.

[jaylynx1412]

I can't catch a FUCKING BREAK!!! my mom ruins EVERYTHING!!!!

I had a dream I was watching Frank Iero live, and it was so lifelike!

BUT THEN

my mom decided she wanted to have her online class RIGHT NEXT TO MY BED like she was actually sitting on it I think

so in my dream I see this girl sitting next to me who's in class online, while Frank keeps trying to play music, and the class just keeps getting LOUDER

eventually Frank just STOPS PLAYING??? INSTEAD OF TELLING HER TO LEAVE???

and everyone just sits there, extremely annoyed until I woke up.

worst part? is that I wasted all that dream money on a meet and greet ticket... but I woke up before it started...

[tonightillbeonthathill]

Dave Marsh: 'The youthful Springsteen saw death in its relationship to life’s boundless potential for freedom. The adult Springsteen sees it in its relationship to life’s endless potential to crush that spirit.'

films7 on x/twitter

"Death has been Springsteen’s other great topic. In his most anthemic early songs— “Born to Run,” “Thunder Road,” “Badlands,” “Darkness on the Edge of Town”—the central character finds a way to assert that death is preferable to living without fulfillment. The forty-five-year-old Springsteen sang well aware that for every success story like his own there are millions for whom death is neither a metaphor nor a welcome juvenile fantasy. It’s what most often comes from reaching for things as simple as “Pastures of gold and green/Roll down into cool clear waters.”

The youthful Springsteen saw death in its relationship to life’s boundless potential for freedom. The adult Springsteen sees it in its relationship to life’s endless potential to crush that spirit. For the first time, his writing recognizes that for a lot of people, the prospect of realizing hope is an obvious fiction. In the end, “Across the Border” answers the question of “The River” (the similarity in setting cannot be accidental): A dream’s not just a lie if it doesn’t come true, and it is not something worse—it is something much worse. A dream that has no chance of coming true is a kind of death. And dead is what we are without hope in our hearts."

Dave Marsh: Bruce Springsteen

Bruce Springsteen: "And more than rich, and more than famous, and more than happy, I wanted to be great. Also, I wanted to have a sort of apocalyptic grandeur."

Video: 'Just kids wasted on something in the night. Nothing is forgotten or forgiven, when it’s your last time around, I got stuff running ’round my head That I just can’t live down'