Suzer

fastcompany:

There’s nothing fashionable about the millions of tons of plastic trash fouling the earth’s oceans and littering her shorelines. But a revolutionary denim clothing line called G-Star RAW for the Oceans is bringing the ocean’s salvaged plastic debris, from algae-covered drink bottles to doll heads, center stage. The result is a denim line that not only helps clean up the world’s oceans and shorelines but also is desirable to customers, says the company’s chief marketing officer, Thecla Schaeffer.
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fastcompany:

There’s nothing fashionable about the millions of tons of plastic trash fouling the earth’s oceans and littering her shorelines. But a revolutionary denim clothing line called G-Star RAW for the Oceans is bringing the ocean’s salvaged plastic debris, from algae-covered drink bottles to doll heads, center stage. The result is a denim line that not only helps clean up the world’s oceans and shorelines but also is desirable to customers, says the company’s chief marketing officer, Thecla Schaeffer.

Read More> 

There are four thousand of them lying on straw in the outer hall, in a space larger than Olympia. They are laid out in rows all around the four walls, and on every foot of ground between; men, women and children together, packed so tight that there is barely standing-room between any two of them. Here and there a family huddles up close, trying to put a few inches between it and the rest; some have hollowed out a place in the straw or piled a barrier of straw between themselves and their neighbours, in a piteous attempt at privacy; some have dragged their own bedding with them and are lodged in comparative comfort. But these are the very few. The most part are utterly destitute, and utterly abandoned to their destitution. They are broken with fatigue. They have stumbled and dropped no matter where, no matter beside whom. None turns from his neighbour; none scorns or hates or loathes his fellow. The rigidly righteous bourgeoise lies in the straw breast to breast with the harlot of the village slum, and her innocent daughter back to back with the parish drunkard. Nothing matters. Nothing will ever matter anymore.
[…] The dear little Belgian lady, your guide, will not let you miss anything. 'Regardez, Mademoiselle, ces deux petites filles. Qu'elles sont jolies, les pauvres petites.' 'Voici deux jeunes mariés, qui dorment. Regardez l'homme; il tient encore la main de sa femme.'
You look. Yes. They are asleep. He really is holding her hand. 'Et ces quatres petits enfants qui ont perdu leur père et leur mère. C'est triste, n'est-ce pas, Mademoiselle?'
And you say, 'Ou, Mademoiselle. C'est bien triste.
But you don’t mean it. You don’t feel it. You don’t know whether it is 'triste or not. You are not sure that 'triste' is the word for it. There are no words for it, because there are no ideas for it. It is a sorrow that transcends all sorrow that you have ever known. You have a sort of idea that, perhaps, if you can ever feel again, this sight will be worse to remember than it is to see.

—May Sinclair describing her first day in the Munro Ambulance Corps in 1914 (A Journal of Impressions in Belgium). (via the-library-and-step-on-it)

tilly-and-her-books:

Today I saw The Giver advertised as similar to The Hunger Games. WHAT!?!

I don’t think they read the same book I did…

i have been working on this novel for about a year.....

acciobooksandsunshine:

and at one point i even sent our queries to publishers, but i haven’t had any interest.

it really breaks my heart, but

i think I’m going to move on. i have other stories to tell, and i don’t want to ignore them just because my first story didn’t work out.

it’s really difficult because I’m…

I always wonder why more people don’t self-publish. Some of the sites are free. It’s a start.