A towel left at a makeshift memorial near the Century 16 theater in memory of the Aurora theater shooting victims (via nydailynews)

Today marks the 4th anniversary of the Aurora theatre shooting.

with love, from jlr

Do not let Tumblr make you think:

lol being straight is the "norm" in society, are you really that threatened by a bunch of homos on a shitty website that you're not even sure if you're a person or not any more? get the fuck over yourself.

a copy of the incident report of the attack on james. enjoy!

Extended Version!

Can still access my Tumblr account on my phone but having problems via computer due to not being able to access my email address that I use for it. Hopefully will be able to update password via my phone!

Did you get hacked? 

there’s a post going around on my other account from staff saying that someone gained access to emails and hashed passwords. someone replied saying a lot of people are fucked because they no longer have access to their email account. it’s why I just logged in to check lol.

“I got caught up in a little something. I’ve got twenty days left. Nobody knows I’m here. I’ve got somebody updating my Facebook page for me. All my friends think I’m in Hawaii right now.” (Metropolitan Correctional Center, New York)

“I was alone with four kids. My mother was sick. I was making $500 a week working at a restaurant in Harlem. This Colombian woman told me she could help. She said, ‘We need honest people like you.’ I really needed the money. They gave me a job as a transporter. I drove cocaine from Manhattan to Massachusetts. They gave me some extra to sell at the restaurant. I only had a few clients. I did it for two years. I never did any drugs myself. Then I was set up in a sting by the same woman who got me started. I knew I’d done wrong but I’d never been in trouble before. I thought I would do a little time in jail. The detectives told me: ‘You’re a leader. You’re this. You’re that.’ The lawyer told me to sign these papers. I didn’t understand what to do. They told me I didn’t have a chance at trial. They told me they were helping me. I was given 25 years.”

(Metropolitan Detention Center, Brooklyn)

“I thought it was a bomb at first. It pushed the building, so I was thrown against the wall. Nobody screamed. It was silent except for the sound of ringing phones. There was no announcement or anything, everyone just started walking toward the exits. I remember the stairs were wet. Fuel had poured down through the elevator shafts so it smelled like a really strong cleaning product. I still smell it when I’m dreaming. Everyone was calm and quiet in the stairwell. A lot of people were out of shape, so we were moving slowly. Occasionally we’d move out of the way to let a fireman run past. People didn’t begin to panic until we reached the ground floor because there was broken glass everywhere and bodies on the ground. That’s the first time we started running. The police actually tried to keep us inside the lobby because bodies were falling outside, but we pushed past them. I remember being shocked by all the people who were standing around, looking up. I couldn’t understand why a person would do that. I walked thirty blocks, then I caught a ride to midtown. I tried walking down into a subway station to see if the trains were running. An attendant was sitting in the booth, watching the television, and she said: ‘They’re gone.’ And that was when I finally felt fear. Until then, it had only been survival.”

(Metropolitan Correctional Center, New York)

“I tried to make some money the honest way as a kid. I tried shoveling snow. I tried a newspaper route. I stuck with it for awhile, but one day I was collecting money on my route and these older kids robbed me. There were three of them. They were 16 or 17. I fought hard. I told them: ‘I worked hard for this money.’ But they held me down and took it anyway. It was $27. And that made me feel so powerless. And I remembered that I knew someone with a knife. And I thought: ‘I’m going to steal that knife and deal with this firmly.’ I found those boys at an arcade. Nobody got killed. But I hurt them. I wouldn’t say that I felt proud after stabbing them, but I felt like they got what they deserved. I felt vindicated. Even today, I have trouble sympathizing with them. It’s funny how that works. When someone wrongs us, we want the maximum amount of punishment. But when we do wrong, we want the maximum amount of understanding and forgiveness.”

(Metropolitan Correctional Center, New York)

“My father died when I was six. He drowned on a fishing trip. My mother had to raise five of us in North Philadelphia. I remember being twelve years old and going to a market on the corner. My mother had sent me with a note, asking for some credit so we could buy some food. The owner made me wait. There were other people in the store, and they were paying, so this guy is just skipping all over me. He’s making me beg in front of everyone. He’s saying things like: ‘Your mom still owes me. She never pays.’ My mom was my queen, and he’s running her down in front of all these people. It was degrading. I hated that he had that power over me. Like he had water, and I was thirsty. So I screamed at him and stormed out. I kept thinking: ‘One day I’m going to buy that store.’ But then I calmed down, and I realized that I just spazzed on the one guy who could help us. So I walked up to some of the dope boys on the corner, and asked them to let me earn. They thought I was too young at the time. They wanted to protect me. So they just gave me the money.”

(Metropolitan Correctional Center, New York)

“This is my fifth time in prison. Every crime I’ve committed has come from my addiction. Best case scenario is I get out of here, rebuild my life, and join the one percent of people who have beaten a meth addiction. Worst case scenario is I become no more than what I am today. And honestly, if I mess up again, I hope it kills me. Because I don’t want to keep hurting people. I’ve cheated my kids out of normal lives. My seventeen-year-old daughter is in a home for teen moms. My twenty-one-year-old son is in jail. My eighteen-year-old daughter is doing OK. She’s got a job at FedEx and goes to college. She hates drugs and thinks the world is a good place and that nobody is out to hurt her. She wants to help me. She wants me to come live with her when I get out. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

(Federal Correctional Complex: Hazelton, West Virginia)

“My mom was a single mom and there were nine of us. All of the kids worked in the fields. I started when I was twelve. We picked cucumbers, apples, corn, strawberries, all of it. None of us went to school. Nobody cared– if you move around a lot, the system loses track of you. Whenever the harvest was done, we’d go somewhere else. We always signed a contract. The farmers would give us a place to live and a little bit of money, and we worked in their fields. But there was never any money left when we finished. One day when I was eighteen, a friend of mine asked me to hide some marijuana in our trailer. He gave me a little money. I gave it to my mom. And that’s how it all began.”

(Federal Correctional Complex: Hazelton, West Virginia)

“I actually escaped once. I was picked up for possession of heroin and taken to the police station. They handcuffed my hands and feet, shackled me to the wall, and left me in the interrogation room with a can of soda. I ripped up the soda can until I had a thin strip of aluminum, and I wedged it into the teeth of the handcuffs so I could override the locking mechanism and pull them apart. Then I dragged the shackles for two miles to a friend’s house and borrowed a bobby pin to pick the locks on my hands and feet. I honestly didn’t think the police would care that much. It was just a bag of heroin. I thought they’d check my mom’s house and give up. Instead they sent out dogs and helicopters. My picture was all over the news. They caught me after a few hours. They weren’t very happy. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. Extremely stupid, I know. But not easy.”

(Federal Correctional Complex: Allenwood, Pennsylvania)

“I’ve got a daughter out there. I’ve been gone for 23 years now. It’s really hurt her. My sister told me that after graduation, when everyone else was taking photos with their family, my daughter just broke down and cried. When she visits, she tells me that she feels too guilty to start a family because I won’t be there to see it. But she’s been very successful despite me. She’s a stylist. She’s doing so well. I can’t do much in here to support her, but I try my best. I’ve ordered all the fashion magazines: Vogue, Marie Claire, Elle, Bazaar. She’s too busy to read them all, so I look through them and try to find something that might help her. I set aside anything that she might be able to use for an Instagram post. She posts pictures of me on there, but only on ‘Throwback Thursday.’ She’s not ashamed of me, but she just doesn’t want anyone to see this khaki uniform. She hates it.” (Metropolitan Detention Center, Brooklyn)