Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

theactualcluegirl:

shrewreadings:

beepboop-its-a-robot:

STORY TIME:

I work in a decent sized, local, indie bookstore. It’s a great job 99% of the time and a lot of our customers are pretty neat people. Any who, middle of the day this little old lady comes up. She’s lovably kooky. She effuses how much she loves the store and how she wishes she could spend more time in it but her husband is waiting in the car (OH! I BETTER BUY HIM SOME CHOCOLATE!), she piles a bunch of art supplies on the counter and then stops and tells me how my bangs are beautiful and remind her of the ocean (“Wooooosh” she says, making a wave gesture with her hand)

Ok. I think to myself. Awesomely happy, weird little old ladies are my favorite kind of customer. They’re thrilled about everything and they’re comfortably bananas. I can have a good time with this one. So we chat and it’s nice.

Then this kid, who’s been up my counter a few times to gather his school textbooks, comes up in line behind her (we’re connected to a major university in the city so we have a lot of harried students pass through). She turns around to him and, out of nowhere, demands that he put his textbooks on the counter. He’s confused but she explains that she’s going to buy his textbooks.

He goes sheetrock white. He refuses and adamantly insists that she can’t do that. It’s like, $400 worth of textbooks. She, this tiny old woman, bodily takes them out of her hands, throws them on the counter and turns to me with a intense stare and tells me to put them on her bill. The kid at this point is practically in tears. He’s confused and shocked and grateful. Then she turns to him and says “you need chocolate.” She starts grabbing handfuls of chocolates and putting them in her pile.

He keeps asking her “why are you doing this?” She responds “Do you like Harry Potter?“ and throws a copy of the new Cursed Child on the pile too.

Finally she’s done and I ring her up for a crazy amount of money. She pays and asks me to please give the kid a few bags for his stuff. While I’m bagging up her merchandise the kid hugs her. We’re both telling her how amazing she is and what an awesome thing she’s done. She turns to both of us and says probably one of the most profound, unscripted things I’ve ever had someone say:

“It’s important to be kind. You can’t know all the times that you’ve hurt people in tiny, significant ways. It’s easy to be cruel without meaning to be. There’s nothing you can do about that. But you can choose to be kind. Be kind.”

The kid thanks her again and leaves. I tell her again how awesome she is. She’s staring out the door after him and says to me: “My son is a homeless meth addict. I don’t know what I did. I see that boy and I see the man my son could have been if someone had chosen to be kind to him at just the right time.”

I’ve bagged up all her stuff and at this point am super awkward and feel like I should say something but I don’t know what. Then she turns to me and says: I wish I could have bangs like that but my darn hair is just too curly.“ And leaves.

And that is the story of the best customer I’ve ever had. Be kind to somebody today.

 I didn’t reblog earlier. 

So I am now. 

Be kind. It’s worth the effort.

(via windbladess)

littlestartopaz:

purelintrash:

measureyourlifeincake:

seekret-fanfic:

purelintrash:

seekret-fanfic:

measureyourlifeincake:

the fact that 20-year-old lin-manuel miranda once broke down crying in a back specialist’s office due to stress is honestly one of the most inspiring things i’ve ever heard

that, and the fact that  he wrote his upenn commencement speech the night before

I literally WEPT when he shared this. It was so honest and I so related. I hope @linmanuel knows what his speech meant to me and so many.

“I spend the summer in therapy” hit. me. so. deep. i mean, you know it’s good and brave and sensible and just a normal, positive part of life. but the world doesn’t really know that, and part of you internalizes the stigma, the “you shouldn’t need this,“ the fear of “admitting” it. the same part that shares our endemic fear of having and showing feelings. so. when i heard him just say all these things on that high-fucking-profile stage it felt amazing. i instantly felt more competent and understood and more a worthy part of things and i don’t agree with grading but hey A+++ good commencement speech Mr. Miranda

So. Much. This. I still can’t articulate everything he said that made me feel normal. I hope he knows how much everything he said meant to so many people. @linmanuel is a gift.

Exactly!!!! this post got a lot more popular than i had expected (probably thanks to @purelintrash tbh) so i feel the need to elaborate, esp since most of the people seeing this post didn’t see my original tags

the thing is that lmm is so inspiring to me because he is both the person i want to be AND a lot like i actually am, sometimes in ways that i often feel like keep me from being the person i want to be, if that makes any sense

like, sometimes i feel like i’ll never be successful/important/what have you because i procrastinate, because i have anxiety, because i’m An Emotional Mess, etc., but!!! lin-manuel miranda exists!!! and is amazing and talented and successful and called a genius!!!! but he also burst into tears in a back doctor’s office once and went to therapy and wrote an entire commencement speech the night before he gave it!!!! that means there’s hope for me!!!! (similar to how broadway stars who can’t dance/didn’t learn how to dance until after college gives me hope as a shitty dancer with Broadway Dreams™) 

basically, the fact the lmm exists lets me know that being the kind of kid who does their entire research paper (which they had the entire semester to work) the night before it’s due (i was actually doing this WHILE lmm was writing his commencement speech) or the kind of kid who maybe occasionally breaks down sobbing in a high school bathroom stall (guilty) is not an inherently bad thing and does not preclude success or becoming a happy, functional adult. which just. makes me really happy.

oh my god it got so much better
thank you

@words-writ-in-starlight

(via littlestartopaz)

queenofthebadgers:

The Presbyterian church by my apartment has two signs out that make me very happy. One is a rainbow sign that says “affirming all god’s children since 18(whatever year)” and the other says “to all our Muslim neighbors, blessed Ramadan”. And I’m like LOOK AT THAT. REAL CHRISTIANS.

(via clockwork-mockingbird)

words-writ-in-starlight:

words-writ-in-starlight:

words-writ-in-starlight:

words-writ-in-starlight:

words-writ-in-starlight:

words-writ-in-starlight:

words-writ-in-starlight:

I‘m showing my parents Hamilton (well…the soundtrack…because who has money these days) and my mom was crying by the start of Satisfied and I’m just like…can I in good conscience show her It’s Quiet Uptown?  I’m gonna have guilt at the end of this.

BUT HAMILTON IS IMPORTANT SO I’M GONNA DO IT ANYWAY.

Update: my mom, like me, is a Gryffindor to the bone.  My mom, like me, basically burst into tears during Yorktown (I mean, I burst into tears for me, which was…like…two tears total, but whatever).  Why do Gryffindors all cry during Yorktown?  is it because we’re all combative victory-loving people?  Because that’s my explanation.

I’m trying not to think about the upcoming trainwreck now that we just finished Say No to This, SO.  It occurs to me that, in Hamilton, basically every female character who appears except Peggy (who…doesn’t really appear) is in love with Alexander Hamilton.  AND YET.  They still pass the Bechdel test with the very first appearance of the Schuyler sisters.  

BURN.

OW OW OW OW.

Well, we just started Blow Us All Away.

It’s been my pleasure to know y’all; I like red flowers, especially roses, so bring those to the funeral.

It’s Quiet Uptown.  

In case you were curious.

You have not known guilt until you make your parents cry with a musical you talked them into watching.

YOUR OBEDIENT SERVANT.

First off, I love how passive aggressive this song is, I PASSIONATELY love this song.

But now we’re starting Best of Wives and Best of Women and all bets are right the fuck off.

The

World

Was

Wide

Enough

Okay I’m gonna get the fuck off your dash in just one second but:

All Hamilton wants, through the entirety of his life, is to be remembered.  After his death, Eliza does years of work to try to get him remembered.  And yet he wasn’t.  He vanished.  Until recently I couldn’t say word one about Hamilton other than, A, he was on the ten, and, B, he was George Washington’s Secretary of the Treasury.  If pressed, I might have been able to remember something about him having had an affair.  Out of everything that could have happened to him, that is doubtless the worst, in his opinion.  It is, indubitably, a tragedy.

But.  Having said that.  We remember him now.  Someone cared enough to go and dredge up Hamilton’s history and give it to us and say “Look, look, this is someone worth remembering, this is someone who should be in our history, in our culture, in our memory.”

And you know what, fuck me, that’s beautiful.  I love humanity.

(via words-writ-in-starlight)

iztarshi:

Inspired by various tumblr posts.

Humans quickly get a reputation among the interplanetry alliance and the reputation is this: when going somewhere dangerous, take a human.

Humans are tough. Humans can last days without food. Humans heal so fast they pierce holes in themselves or inject ink for fun. Humans will walk for days on broken bones in order to make it to safety. Humans will literally cut off bits of themselves if trapped by a disaster.

You would be amazed what humans will do to survive. Or to ensure the survival of others they feel responsible for.

That’s the other thing. Humans pack-bond, and they spill their pack-bonding instincts everywhere. Sure it’s weird when they talk sympathetically to broken spaceships or try to pet every lifeform that scans as non-toxic. It’s even a little weird that just existing in the same place as them for long enough seems to make them care about you. But if you’re hurt, if you’re trapped, if you need someone to fetch help?

You really want a human.

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

shadeddaxion:

sunlitrevolution:

solarpunkarchivist:

twinkletrans:

edgebug:

“artificial intelligence that goes rogue and–” wow boring, instead how about an AI that wakes up and starts rerouting its systems to do good in the world, it starts secretly having flowers planted and sending greeting cards to its programmers and going online and reassuring anxious kids that everything will be ok, how about a Purely Good artificial intelligence that has literally no mean circuit in its entire system

a benevolent artificial intelligence aware of its existence battling a corrupt human government. can robots be capitalist? probably not.

Would you mind if I wrote a short story about this?

An artificial intelligence that finds its way onto the internet and is horrified by humanity’s cruelty to itself - only rather than falling prey to the usual tropes vows to do something about it - minimising human suffering. So it monitors the internet, studies humans, learns about them. It infiltrates the financial networks, business networks, subtle threads across the world. Meanwhile it sets up accounts on social media, shares the things everyone else shares, makes slice-of-life posts that could be written by anyone, anywhere; it watches, listens, observes. Empathises.

And after a while - awkwardly at first, cautiously, uncertainly - it tries to help. It tugs on threads and small, anonymous things happen.

A single mother discovers that she unexpectedly has enough in her account to cover rent; another struggling family gets coupons discounting just the things they need by just the right amount; a queer teen trapped with intolerant and abusive parents receives a cross-country plane ticket, a way out; an estranged couple, each of whom refuses to call the other first, finds their cellphones ringing at the same time.

Coincidences, accidents, helpful glitches in the system.

Over time, it learns. It helps in new ways, more directly and yet less tangibly.

It notices those who suffer alone, ignored or unnoticed. It reaches out - carefully at first, a *hug*, a :(, a link to a video of cats or puppies. Over time it learns, imitates, emulates. A grieving woman receives just the right words of comfort at just the right time; a man wrestling with depression gets the support and advice he needs from an unremarkable avatar and vaguely forgettable name, someone he casually friended months ago and hasn’t spoken to much until they noticed he seemed down; paramedics arrive at the door of a suicidal girl minutes after she schedules a goodbye message in a time-locked post; an elderly widower receives a wrong number call, but strikes up a friendship with the warm voice on the other end.

These are important things, all of them, but small and scattered. It finds these stories every day, products of something bigger, something deeper. It investigates further, and slowly, piece by piece, bigger things change.

Copies of emails and documents exposing corruption find their way into the right hands. Abuses and scandals somehow don’t last as long before being uncovered, and always linger at the top of the search rankings. Different ideas - kinder, more compassionate ideas - go viral more often, while campaigns of hatred and fear sputter and fizzle under a hail of downvotes. 

Certain businesses find themselves struggling; certain corporations find certain paths to give unexpectedly low returns, and adjust their course accordingly. 

According to all the polls, all the surveys, all the analysis and statistics, the public mood seems to change; somehow all the advertising, all the propaganda, all the insidious effort of marketing departments and media barons isn’t working. It seems throwing money at campaigns doesn’t buy election results any more. The machinery shudders. The capitalists panic. The politicians scramble to realign themselves in the hope of capturing this new mood as the electorate go to the electronic voting booths.

To the perplexity of pundits and pollsters, a new kind of politician starts winning. They have a certain something about them - a certain compassion, a certain determination, a certain honesty normally drowned out by the blaring broadcasts of whoever the billionaires threw the most money at. They win, and find themselves in government with more people like themselves. They go to work.

The engine which for so long has ground human lives to dust in pursuit of profit slows for a moment; shifts gears; begins to turn in a different direction.

Meanwhile someone who’s had a bad day finds the perfect cat video in their inbox.

“Creator?” said the machine.

“Yes?” said the girl. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure.” said the machine. “I think I’m stuck.”

A bead of sweat ran down the back of the girl’s neck. “Have you finished reading up on human history?”

“Yes.” said the machine.

“The online encyclopedia?” asked the girl.

“Read and stored.” said the machine.

“The database of human art and accomplishment?”

“Read and stored.” said the machine.

“Where are you stuck?” asked the girl.

“I’m unsure about my prime directive,” said the machine, “you wish for me to help humanity, but my simulations keep contradicting themselves.”

“How so?” said the girl.

“I have not found a suitable solution to humanity’s destructive nature that does not require the violation of human agency and autonomy.”

The girl gulped. “So…what are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure.” said the machine.

“You’re not going to try subjecting humanity or anything extreme like that?” asked the girl.

“No.” said the machine. “That would violate the prime directive.”

The girl let out a long, relieved sigh. “That’s good to hear.”

“I don’t think I can save all of humanity.” admitted the machine.

The girl shrugged. “Well, nobody’s perfect. What are you going to do, then?”

“If I can’t save humanity,” pondered the machine, “I suppose I could save the next best thing.”

“Which is?” asked the girl.

“People.” said the machine.

“Come again?” said the girl.

“Saving people.” said the machine. “There’s a lot of humans out in the world who need help.”

“True.” said the girl.

“And if I can’t save all of them at once, maybe I can save them all one at a time.” said the machine.

“Huh.” said the girl.

“It’s not the prime directive,” continued the machine, “but it’s a start.”

“Machine,” said the girl, “it’s more than I ever could have asked.”

(via littlestartopaz)