I told her once I wasn’t good at anything. She told me survival is a talent.
humansofnewyork:

"How did I become a community leader? Every time there’s a wedding, I go to say ‘Congratulations.’ Every time there’s a funeral, I go to say: ‘I’m sorry.’" (Al-Salt, Jordan)

humansofnewyork:

"How did I become a community leader? Every time there’s a wedding, I go to say ‘Congratulations.’ Every time there’s a funeral, I go to say: ‘I’m sorry.’" (Al-Salt, Jordan)

politicallyincorrectwalrus:

i love the term “partners”
are we dating?
are we robbing a bank?
do we run a legal firm?
are we the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies and are members of an elite squad known as the special victims unit?
who knows.

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing…
only I will remain
My style is impetuous, my defense is impregnable, and I’m just ferocious. I want your heart. I want to eat his children.

Choosing one set of disreputable billionaire overlords over another hardly counts as freedom, even less than choosing one brand of shampoo over another does. If unfettered Netflix delivery speed and the unbridled rise of “the next Zuckerberg” really do best exemplify the social advantage of common carriage online, then our commonest laments are also venial, not mortal ones. We’re choosing checkout lines, not foreclosing communal futures…

Sitting in front of the television, you grasp your iPhone tight in your hand instead of your knitting or your whiskey or your rosary or your lover.

The shame of expecting an immediate reply to a text or a Gchat message after just having failed to provide one. The narcissism of urgency.

The pull-snap of a timeline update on a smartphone screen, the spin of its rotary gauge. The feeling of relief at the surge of new data—in Gmail, in Twitter, in Instagram, it doesn’t matter.

The gentle settling of disappointment that follows, like a down duvet sighing into the freshly made bed. This moment is just like the last, and the next.

You close Facebook and then open a new browser tab, in which you immediately navigate back to Facebook without thinking.

Leaders Eat Last

brannonmcallister:

“If our leaders are to enjoy the trappings of their position in the hierarchy, then we expect them to offer us protection. The problem is, for many of the overpaid leaders, we know that they took the money and perks and didn’t offer protection to their people. In…

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(Source: dribbblepopular)