Will Do...

Will Cleek


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3 Rounds and a Sound - Blind Pilot



I am officially moved into college!!

ROCK CHALK!!



reblogged from kierstenmh

kierstenmh:

Finally did a Dylan cover.


Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright

I just got these 3 tour posters for my dorm room! I can’t wait to move it!

I just got these 3 tour posters for my dorm room! I can’t wait to move it!





Sarah...You and your party continue to astound me!

The other day you wrote this:

The America I know and love is not one in which my parents or my baby with Down Syndrome will have to stand in front of Obama’s “death panel” so his bureaucrats can decide, based on a subjective judgment of their “level of productivity in society,” whether they are worthy of health care. Such a system is downright evil.

You know what Sarah, I seriously doubt that Obama would allow such a bill to pass, let alone everyone in Congress. This is the kind of B.S. that the people who are concerned with fixing the broken healthcare system have to put of with day in and day out. Say something productive, or at least factual, or say nothing at all. You are corrupting the country!



Smile Friday

Smile Friday



reblogged from drinkyourjuice
christinefriar: This is Bingo. Feel free to ignore my face in this photo. It’s about the cat. In fact, I can tell you right now — the message of this post: it’s all about the cat. You think it’s about you and it’s not. It’s the cat. This photo was taken over a year ago — in May of 2008 — and the animal you see sitting on my chest with the purple eyes and sassy attitude… he completely and entirely changed my life forever. I knew him for four weeks. I adopted him at a shelter with my then boyfriend, based solely on his phenomenal personality. I am a student. I am not a homeowner. I have no business adopting a cat. But this cat was unlike any other living being I have ever encountered, and I was in love with him on such a crazy-disgusting level from the minute I laid eyes on him that thinking about it now literally makes my eyes well up. I’m not exaggerating. He was loud and sassy and he’d climb up your pants and shirt so that he could perch on your shoulder like a bird. He’d sit on your head while you were standing and walking around if you’d let him. I’d keep going but that’s not the point, really. The point is that I loved him. He entered my life at a really tumultuous time. I was on the tail end of a relationship that had gone on entirely too long, and to a certain extent I felt like my life was pretty much made up for me. I felt like I was going to end up marrying this kid — that the rest of my life was me-and-someone. And this cat was our child. Not everyone I know has had their heart completely broken yet. Like, people have broken up with people and been sad about it — but not a lot of them have just had their souls completely obliterated and shat upon by someone. I have. Many, many, many times over. By this one person, over the course of a few years. This cat was some sort of symbolic glue for us. We would adopt him and we’d raise him and he’d be good and beautiful and see, we don’t break everything when we’re together. And it worked to an extent. Sleeping at night he would crawl under my shirt and spoon me. Or if there were two of us in the bed he’d be in the middle and get rolled over on. He would wake me up at four in the morning because he’d be hiding in my hair, rubbing the me-smell all over him because I was his mom. Within a few days we started noticing that he was sneezing. One of the photocopies from the animal shelter said that it was common for pets to have colds after leaving the shelter because of proximity to other animals, so we didn’t think anything of it. I brought Bingo home to Connecticut. I bought him shit — litterbox, toiz, food — introduced him to the family. He was mine, I was proud of him. When people held him I was simultaneously smug because duh he lets you turn him upside down, and jealous because give him back motherfucker I want to hug him. I brought him to the vet for his first checkup: He is remarkable. He is a polydactyl. He is so sweet. You are so lucky, Christine, most cats aren’t like this. I know. I know, he is my son and he is special, it’s okay. The universe has chosen me as his sole protector — it’s fine. Please get that thermometer out of his rectum, he looks sad. As the weeks progressed, his sniffles got worse. Several vet trips lead to subsequent antibiotic treatments — each more aggressive than the next. Then he was diagnosed with pneumonia. They kept him in a little humidifier to try and melt the mucus off of the walls of his lungs — The Bingocubator — I was optimistic. My child could not die. He was too perfect. I loved him too much. Exactly one month after I adopted him, he died in my arms. I was destroyed. Like… ruined. Inconsolable. I’m not an overtly sad person — when I get sad it’s weird and internalized and not a sharing experience. I think. A lot. The cat dying meant a lot of things. It meant I wasn’t distracted from the horrifying reality of my relationship with my boyfriend anymore. But beyond that, it meant that love is it. Love is it, is it, is it. All you can do in the universe is be beautiful for other people. All you can do is come in and be relentlessly and wholeheartedly yourself and give everything you have until you can’t anymore. People need you. People need you like you wouldn’t even believe and can’t even understand. Even when you’re sad. Even when you feel broken. Even when you feel like you’ve exhausted all of your options and there’s nothing beyond what you’re seeing — there’s someone in the universe who needs you to be exactly who you are. The cat dying made me realize that I am capable of feeling so much positive in my tiny life, and I am capable of loving so much. And the relationship with the dude was over. That easy. Done. I was over it. There was a scale of importance — there was the cat, and there was the bullshit that the dude had put me through. The reason I’m talking about all of this is because I posted that Africa photo earlier, and now that it’s been a year since I lived over there I feel like I kind of have some perspective on myself and where I was. I am a 21 year old person who has been proposed to. I am a 21 year old person who has gone through a lot of weird things and is handling them in a lot of weird ways. More importantly, I am a 21 year old person who is still a child. I feel a million things at any given moment, and I am so horrendously and thoroughly in love with the world it’s obscene. I genuinely, genuinely believe that the world is a beautiful place and I feel it so, so, so, so, so much today for some reason. There are people everywhere and they all need you. They all want to talk to you. They all want to love you. They just don’t know how. They need you to show them how. They need you to be yourself and have an opinion and have a point of view. To be their Bingo. I talked to this Colonel in the US Army the other month at a leadership conference I was working on, and his biggest piece of advice to me was “Have a plan. If you don’t have a plan for yourself, someone will make you part of theirs.” And it’s so true. You don’t need to know everything. You don’t need to know anything, really. You just need to value yourself and respect the fucking journey you’re on in this world. You are living a life that no one else could possibly ever live. You are feeling things right now that are invaluable and perfect and so incredibly important. Everything in the universe is huge and pulsing and alive and malleable and you’re part of it — ya know? The best thing you could possibly do for anyone else is to be really, really good at being yourself.

christinefriar:

This is Bingo.

Feel free to ignore my face in this photo. It’s about the cat. 
In fact, I can tell you right now — the message of this post: it’s all about the cat.

You think it’s about you and it’s not. It’s the cat.

This photo was taken over a year ago — in May of 2008 — and the animal you see sitting on my chest with the purple eyes and sassy attitude… he completely and entirely changed my life forever.

I knew him for four weeks.

I adopted him at a shelter with my then boyfriend, based solely on his phenomenal personality. I am a student. I am not a homeowner. I have no business adopting a cat. But this cat was unlike any other living being I have ever encountered, and I was in love with him on such a crazy-disgusting level from the minute I laid eyes on him that thinking about it now literally makes my eyes well up. I’m not exaggerating. He was loud and sassy and he’d climb up your pants and shirt so that he could perch on your shoulder like a bird. He’d sit on your head while you were standing and walking around if you’d let him. I’d keep going but that’s not the point, really.

The point is that I loved him.

He entered my life at a really tumultuous time. I was on the tail end of a relationship that had gone on entirely too long, and to a certain extent I felt like my life was pretty much made up for me. I felt like I was going to end up marrying this kid — that the rest of my life was me-and-someone. And this cat was our child.

Not everyone I know has had their heart completely broken yet. Like, people have broken up with people and been sad about it — but not a lot of them have just had their souls completely obliterated and shat upon by someone. I have. Many, many, many times over. By this one person, over the course of a few years.

This cat was some sort of symbolic glue for us. We would adopt him and we’d raise him and he’d be good and beautiful and see, we don’t break everything when we’re together.

And it worked to an extent.

Sleeping at night he would crawl under my shirt and spoon me. Or if there were two of us in the bed he’d be in the middle and get rolled over on. He would wake me up at four in the morning because he’d be hiding in my hair, rubbing the me-smell all over him because I was his mom.

Within a few days we started noticing that he was sneezing. One of the photocopies from the animal shelter said that it was common for pets to have colds after leaving the shelter because of proximity to other animals, so we didn’t think anything of it.

I brought Bingo home to Connecticut. I bought him shit — litterbox, toiz, food — introduced him to the family. He was mine, I was proud of him. When people held him I was simultaneously smug because duh he lets you turn him upside down, and jealous because give him back motherfucker I want to hug him.

I brought him to the vet for his first checkup: He is remarkable. He is a polydactyl. He is so sweet. You are so lucky, Christine, most cats aren’t like this.

I know. I know, he is my son and he is special, it’s okay. The universe has chosen me as his sole protector — it’s fine. Please get that thermometer out of his rectum, he looks sad.

As the weeks progressed, his sniffles got worse. Several vet trips lead to subsequent antibiotic treatments — each more aggressive than the next. Then he was diagnosed with pneumonia. They kept him in a little humidifier to try and melt the mucus off of the walls of his lungs — The Bingocubator — I was optimistic. My child could not die. He was too perfect. I loved him too much.

Exactly one month after I adopted him, he died in my arms.

I was destroyed. Like… ruined. Inconsolable. I’m not an overtly sad person — when I get sad it’s weird and internalized and not a sharing experience.

I think.

A lot.

The cat dying meant a lot of things. It meant I wasn’t distracted from the horrifying reality of my relationship with my boyfriend anymore. But beyond that, it meant that love is it.

Love is it, is it, is it.

All you can do in the universe is be beautiful for other people. All you can do is come in and be relentlessly and wholeheartedly yourself and give everything you have until you can’t anymore.

People need you.

People need you like you wouldn’t even believe and can’t even understand.

Even when you’re sad. Even when you feel broken. Even when you feel like you’ve exhausted all of your options and there’s nothing beyond what you’re seeing — there’s someone in the universe who needs you to be exactly who you are.

The cat dying made me realize that I am capable of feeling so much positive in my tiny life, and I am capable of loving so much.

And the relationship with the dude was over.

That easy.

Done.

I was over it.

There was a scale of importance — there was the cat, and there was the bullshit that the dude had put me through.

The reason I’m talking about all of this is because I posted that Africa photo earlier, and now that it’s been a year since I lived over there I feel like I kind of have some perspective on myself and where I was.

I am a 21 year old person who has been proposed to. I am a 21 year old person who has gone through a lot of weird things and is handling them in a lot of weird ways.

More importantly, I am a 21 year old person who is still a child.

I feel a million things at any given moment, and I am so horrendously and thoroughly in love with the world it’s obscene.

I genuinely, genuinely believe that the world is a beautiful place and I feel it so, so, so, so, so much today for some reason.

There are people everywhere and they all need you.

They all want to talk to you.

They all want to love you.

They just don’t know how.

They need you to show them how.

They need you to be yourself and have an opinion and have a point of view.

To be their Bingo.

I talked to this Colonel in the US Army the other month at a leadership conference I was working on, and his biggest piece of advice to me was “Have a plan. If you don’t have a plan for yourself, someone will make you part of theirs.”

And it’s so true.

You don’t need to know everything.

You don’t need to know anything, really.

You just need to value yourself and respect the fucking journey you’re on in this world.

You are living a life that no one else could possibly ever live.

You are feeling things right now that are invaluable and perfect and so incredibly important.

Everything in the universe is huge and pulsing and alive and malleable and you’re part of it — ya know?

The best thing you could possibly do for anyone else is to be really, really good at being yourself.



[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

All These Things That I’ve Done - The Killers