Wanda Koop, Magic Hour 
©
To be a doctor

What I want you to remember is that the course of study you are about to enter upon is not merely a course of study which is intended to earn you a living, but a passport to membership of a very great profession, a profession in many instances, of unselfish devotion and splendid achievement, a profession of lofty ideals and one which calls for all the best qualities, mental and moral, which a man can give. It demands not only the freshness and vigour of body, but steadiness and skill of hand and eye. It wants infinite patience and keenest sympathy, and to all these qualities, there has to be added unfaltering courage.

Sir John Anderson 1905

©
©
"

He is taking a course on Marxist ideology.
He says, “The only real solution is to smash the system and start again.”
His thumb is caressing the most bourgeois copy of the communist manifesto that I have ever seen,
He bought it at Barnes and Noble for twenty-nine U.S. American dollars and ninety-nine cents,
Its hard cover shows a dark man with a scarved face
Waving a gigantic red flag against a fictional smoky background.
The matte finish is fucking gorgeous.
He wants to be congratulated for paying Harvard sixty thousand dollars
To teach him that the system is unfair.
He pulls his iPhone from his imported Marino wool jacket, and leaves.

What people can’t possibly tell from the footage on TV
Is that the water cannon feels like getting whipped with a burning switch.
Where I come from, they fill it with sewer water and hope that they get you in the face with your mouth open
So that the hepatitis will keep you in bed for the next protest.
What you can’t tell from Harvard square,
Is that when the tear gas bursts from nowhere to everywhere all at once,
It scrapes your insides like barbed wire, sawing at your lungs.
Tear gas is such a benign term for it,
If you have never breathed it in you would think it was a nostalgic experience.
What you can’t learn at Barnes and Noble,
Is that when they rush you, survival is to run,
I am never as fast as when the police are chasing me.
I know what happens to women in the holding cells down there and yet…
We still do it.

I inherited my communist manifesto,
It has no cover—
Because my mother ripped it off when she hid it in the dust jacket of “Don Quixote”
The day before the soldiers destroyed her apartment,
Looking for subversive propaganda.
She burned the cover, could not bring herself to burn the pages,
Hoped to God the soldiers couldn’t read,
They never found it.
So she was not killed for it, but her body bore the scars of the torture chamber,
For wanting her children to have a better life than she did,
Don’t talk to me about revolution.

I know what the price of smashing the system really is, my people already tried that.
The price of uprise is paid in blood,
And not Harvard blood.
The blood that ran through the streets of Santiago,
The blood thrown alive from Argentine helicopters into the Atlantic.

It is easy to say “revolution” from the comfort of a New England library.

It is easy to offer flesh to the cause,
When it is not yours to give.

"

massiv3:

so when are we gonna stop pretending beer tastes good

(via delacroixed)

"Remember that nobody is who you think. There is no person walking this Earth that you will ever fully know for you each have a different experience of each other based upon what it is in you that connects or does not connect with the other person. Know this. The truth is that the more you connect to your love and to who you are, the more clearly you will be seen by all. Some will not be able to see this. You will be invisible to them. Trust that. Allow them that. Just be you, unashamedly, and gloriously. You came here to experience being you; and the more you give yourself to the highest heights of that, the more you give change to the world."
lizawithazed:

sometimes you see a pun so artfully constructed you just have to stand back in awe.
""You know, sometimes I get the feeling that we’re just a bunch of habits," she said. "The gestures we repeat over and over, they’re just our need to be recognised," Her eyes were fixed on the TV, as if she were reading subtitles. "I mean that without them we would be unidentifiable. We’d have to reinvent ourselves every minute"."