This is a tough one.
Oh god, I've just read this.
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This is a tough one.
The night of that funeral I returned home and for the first time in almost a decade, I cried. Unashamedly. I cried, not just for the victims of that fire, but for every victim of the same system that had caused my friends mother to turn me away from her party aged just four years old. I cried for my mother, who was illiterate, who had raised eight children against all odds, who had never lost hope even when we had been homeless and it had seemed as though things would never get any better. I cried for my dad who had suffered with depression and drug problems all his life but had been turned away the one time he sought help because they feared a traveller might cause trouble. I cried for my brother who aged eleven fashioned a noose out of bed sheets, wrapped one end of it around his neck and the other end of it around the top of the bunk bed we both shared, and stepped off the window ledge. I cried at the memory of walking in to his lifeless body hanging there aged thirteen, I cried for the feeling of helplessness that I still feel for him, I cried because less than two weeks beforehand he had described his ethnicity as a disease that he desperately wanted to rid himself of, and I cried because none of us had spotted any of the warning signs that might have enabled us to stop him from doing what he did. I cried for my other brothers, all younger than me, two of whom have already left school,the other 4 of whom probably will before they ever even dream of sitting their leaving cert. I cried for the future that I fear faces them, a future of unemployment, prison, depression, and god only knows what else. A future of isolation, and a future where no matter what they do they will never be accepted by Irish society, and they will never be respected by Irish society. I cried because I want better, not just for my family, but for every single traveller that put up with that same isolation and that faces that same future. I cried because I could see no end in sight, because I can still see no end in sight. I cried for every traveller that has suffered and will suffer because Irish society isn’t willing to sit down and talk, or even give any kind of serious consideration to the issues that we face.
Pitchfork have really outdone themselves in completely un-selfaware grandiloquent garbage writing:
Prince / The Revolution: Purple Rain Deluxe — Expanded Edition Album Review | Pitchfork
On the Deluxe Edition of Purple Rain, the vault tracks sound like fully-formed Prince songs—animated, vibrant, reflexive, fluid, almost vehicular in their design and velocity, as if the motorcycle on the album cover were sculpted according to the songs’ sleek and slightly alien shapes.
he even has the gall to say accuse other people of writing about it breathlessly.
Oh man i used to be obsessed with Minitel!
oh man
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