My Forbidden Diary (Day 2)

Little Fat Fucker dumped a glass of water on my face when i didn’t wake up fast enough to suit him. The man truly is a repulsive piece of humanity. He is a farting, burping, sweating asshole who has a body odor that makes me sick to my stomach. Once I was up and on my feet little fat fucker gave me one of those small boxes of cereal, a banana, and a pint of milk for my breakfast. After eating he took me to another building where I was issued my trail gear.

When little fat fucker said gear I thought i was going to be getting a pack with some decent clothing. What I got instead was a second pair of clothes, a warm jacket, thermals, a spoon, tin cup, sleeping bag, and a ground cloth. My food came next and again my expectations were proven to be reaching far to high. Rather than actual dehydrated meals I was given lentils, oatmeal, and a few other odds and ends. All of this was rolled up into the ground cloth and tied up with the seat belt strap.

The Way We Were: Life Magazine Photos Of Women In The 1950s

As previously posted, the Life magazine photo archive is now available online. The collection is estimated to consist of more than 10 million photos, many of which were never published in the magazine and only exist as negatives, slides and etchings. You can search the collection for historical images, and if you want to purchase framed prints, you can do that, too. We’ll be taking a look at women in several decades (previously: the ’30s and the ’40s) and today, the full-of-change 1950s. The photos begin after the jump.

Source: http://jezebel.com/5099377/the-way-we-were-life-magazine-photos-of-women-in-the-1950s

Search millions of photographs from the LIFE photo archive, stretching from the 1750s to today. Most were never published and are now available for the first time through the joint work of LIFE and Google.

Gallery: http://images.google.com/hosted/life

My Forbidden Diary

Day 1

Today I was picked up after school by my stepmom and dad. I was a bit surprised, but they quickly explained that they were pulling me out of school for a few weeks to attend a special camp. While being a bit perplexed as to why my 3.5 gpa would require me to spend time in a special I found myself quickly reassured by what my stepmom described as the fun activities of canoing, rock climbing, and hiking. Ironic that before my dad married the bitch we did that sort of thing all the time.

I must have fell asleep at some point during the ride because as soon I opened my eyes I found two large looking fuckers staring at me through the window. I looked around and found my parents gone. The bigger of the two men pulled the door open and told me that I could either get out of the car on my own, or be pulled out. It didn’t take me long to make up my mind and I jumped over the back seat of the mini-van and locked the door.

Stoc Marcut: West Baltimore Fadeaway

“Stoc Marcut, rest in peace. There will always be Fear of God. Goddamn the war on drugs.”

- Dr. Rev. Chuck, M.D., P.A.

I had a friend named Scott Marcus, and he called himself Stoc Marcut. He od’ed himself in 1995; rumor had it that he did this after stabbing this other guy I knew to death. Stoc had been crashing on this guy’s couch at the time. I don’t know if it was ever actually proven that he killed the guy, but most people I knew who knew anything about it seemed to think he did. Or it could have been done by someone Stock owed money to for dope, who knows. When I heard that he died, I was in belief. It was only a week before when I saw him for the last time nodding out on someone’s (an ex-girlfriend’s) couch one night near where I lived and worked, down in Hollins Market. I lived around the corner, situated only two doors away from work (washing dishes at Gypsy’s Cafe, which has since crumbled to the ground due to a hapless error in renovation) I spent some time hanging out with Stoc for those last couple of months, beginning with that bitter-cold February day when he shouted my name from up the street….

Straight, Inc.

The inmates at Straight were florescent-tanned and brainwashed with sleep deprivation, lack of food, and indoctrination; we were required to flap our arms in the air like crazed monkeys in effort to get “called on.” This enforced act of debasement was referred to as “motivating.” On first phase, they made you sit bolt upright in a chair for 12 hours a day to participate in the “raps.”

Occasionally, a kid’s refusal to comply developed into violent incidents involving restraint carried out by the other kids in “group” at the direction of staff. It began with a knuckle to the back… and sometimes ended up with the kid being restrained by four or five other kids in his seat, or on the floor with the rest of the kids sitting on their limbs and maybe covering their mouth if the kid was yelling. It seems there is potential for personal injury there.

You were allowed to urinate or crap only when that was considered convenient to the group; you had to pay attention to the person speaking at all times. If you were falling asleep in group there must be something “going on” with you. Unqualified peer-staff (as well as the other kids in group) went on with their jive about you or whoever being a “druggie” and a failure to your or their family. You sat and listened to (and participated in) this bullshit day in and day out with little in the way of remission.

Virtually anyone who ended up in an “intake room” was considered a chemically-dependent, powerless druggie who needed Straight to save them from jail, insanity, or death. These mini kangaroo court sessions were beyond ridiculous. Straight took anyone they could get their greedy hands on and immediately set about coercing them to admit their “druggie thoughts.”