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Also, a statute isn’t history. It’s a monument. History is the primary accounts, records, recordings, documents. No one’s suggest those things be destroyed, just the objects that might act as shrines for the alt-right.

August 14 2017 - Protesters in Durham, North Carolina decide to take matters into their own hands and take down a confederate statue. 

The statue represented a soldier who fought in the Civil War and an inscription on the front read “The Confederate States of America.�� 

One organizer of the protest told WNCN that toppling the statue was in response to the violence at a white supremacist rally in Charlottesville, Va. this weekend.“It needs to be removed,” organizer Loan Tran told the news station. “These Confederate statues in Durham, in North Carolina, all across the country.” [video]

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Florence + the Machine - How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful

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person: hey how are you

me: i am so much happier now that im dead. technically "missing", soon to be presumed dead. gone. and my lazy, lying, cheating, oblivious husband will go to prison for my murder. nick dunne took my pride and my dignity and my hope and my money. he took and took from me until i no longer existed. that's murder. let the punishment fit the crime. to fake a convincing murder, you have to have discipline. you befriend a local idiot. harvest the details of her humdrum life, and cram her with stories about your husband's violent temper. secretly create some money troubles. credit cards, perhaps online gambling. with the help of the unwitting, bump up your life insurance. purchase getaway car. craigslist. generic. cheap. pay cash. you need to package yourself so that people will truly mourn your loss. and america loves pregnant women. as if it's so hard to spread your legs. you know what's hard? faking a pregnancy. first, drain your toilet. invite pregnant idiot into your home, and ply her with lemonade. steal pregnant idiot's urine. voila. a pregnancy is now part of your legal medical record. happy anniversary. wait for your clueless husband to start his day. off her goes. and the clock is ticking. meticulously stage your crime scene, with just enough mistakes to raise the specter of doubt. you need to bleed. a lot. a lot, a lot. a head wound kind of bleed. a crime scene kind of bleed. you need to clean poorly, like he would. clean and bleed, bleed and clean. and leave a little something behind. a fire in july? and because you're you, you don't stop there. you need a diary. minimum 300 entries on the nick and amy story. start with the fairy tale early days. those are true. and they're crucial. you want nick and amy to be likable. after that, you invent. the spending. the abuse. the fear. the threat of violence. and nick thought he was the writer. burn it just the right amount. make sure the cops will find it. finally, honor tradition with a very special treasure hunt. and if i get everything right, the world will hate nick for killing his beautiful, pregnant wife. and after all the outrage, when i'm ready, i'll go out on the water with a handful of pills and a pocket of stones, and when they find my body, they'll know nick dunne dumped his beloved like garbage. and she floated down past all the other abused, unwanted, inconvenient women. then nick will die too. nick and amy will be gone. but then, we never really existed. nick loved a girl i was pretending to be. "cool girl." men always use that as their defining compliment. "she's a cool girl." cool girl is hot. cool girl is game. cool girl is fun. cool girl never gets angry at her man. she only smiles in a chagrined, loving manner, and then presents her mouth for fucking. she likes what he likes. so evidently, he's a vinyl hipster who loves fetish manga. if he likes girls gone wild, she's a mall babe who talks football and endures buffalo wings at hooters. when i met nick dunne, i knew he wanted cool girl. and for him, i'll admit, i was willing to try. i wax-stripped my pussy raw. i drank canned beer watching adam sandler movies. i ate cold pizza and remained a size two. i blew him, semi-regularly. i lived in the moment. i was fucking game. i cant say i didnt enjoy some of it. nick teased out of me things i didnt know existed. a lightness, a humor, an ease. but i made him smarter. sharper. i inspired him to rise to my level. i forged the man of my dreams. we were happy pretending to be other people. we were the happiest couple we knew. and whats the point of being together if youre not the happiest? but nick got lazy. he became someone i did not agree to marry. he actually expected me to love him unconditionally. then he dragged me, penniless, to the navel of this great country and found himself a newer, younger, bouncier cool girl. you think i'd let him destroy me and end up happier than ever? no fucking way, he doesnt get to win. my cute, charming, salt-of-the-earth missouri guy. he needed to learn. grown-ups work for things. grown-ups pay. grown-ups suffer consequences.

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Me at any slight inconvenience: I'm going to Gone Girl myself.

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current aesthetic: amy elliott dunne laying on a floatie lounge chair in the middle of a pool while eating chili cheese fritos while her husband’s life is ripped to shreds miles and miles away

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[5/20] Characters - Marie Laveau (American Horror Story: Coven)

"She done messed with the wrong witch, and she knows it, and now you know it."

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"feminism isn’t really about equality it’s a hate movemen-"

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*hears intro to Sugar We’re Going Down* … *runs into room* AM I MORE THAN YOU BARGAINED FOR YET *kicks wall* I’VE BEEN DYING TO TELL YOU ANYTHING *punches chair* YOU WANNA HEAR *throws table* COS THAT’S JUST WHO I AM THIS WEEK