ursulavernon:

hell-is-okcupid:

I use a burner account for this site, I didn’t notice this reply to a comment I made until recently.  Did you know women bring misogyny upon themselves by not going on pity-dates with men they don’t find interesting or attractive?
That’s right ladies, sexual harassment and violence against women will end when you start fucking geriatrics, Juggalos, DTFers, married men, horny teenage boys, and entitled Men’s Rights assholes.  For Queen and Country.

FUN HISTORICAL FACT: During the height of the Great Depression, long lines of men would gather to scream “DTF?!” at prospective employers, then rub their exposed genitals on the windows during working hours. Only those who screamed the loudest and most vulgar slurs, or held up home-made signs reading NINE INCHES IN UR BUTT BOSS could possibly hope to be hired in those grim economic times.

ursulavernon:

hell-is-okcupid:

I use a burner account for this site, I didn’t notice this reply to a comment I made until recently.  Did you know women bring misogyny upon themselves by not going on pity-dates with men they don’t find interesting or attractive?

That’s right ladies, sexual harassment and violence against women will end when you start fucking geriatrics, Juggalos, DTFers, married men, horny teenage boys, and entitled Men’s Rights assholes.  For Queen and Country.

FUN HISTORICAL FACT: During the height of the Great Depression, long lines of men would gather to scream “DTF?!” at prospective employers, then rub their exposed genitals on the windows during working hours. Only those who screamed the loudest and most vulgar slurs, or held up home-made signs reading NINE INCHES IN UR BUTT BOSS could possibly hope to be hired in those grim economic times.

(via warriorsmurf)

Finding one’s voice isn’t just an emptying and purifying oneself of the words of others but an adopting and embracing of filiations, communities, and discourses. Inspiration could be called inhaling the memory of an act never experienced. Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void but out of chaos.

The Giftby Lewis Hyde

[rereading this right now and can never get enough of it]

design-is-fine:

Loewe Opta, portable radio Koffersuper, cover of the catalogue, 1958. Museum für Energiegeschichte(n)

design-is-fine:

Loewe Opta, portable radio Koffersuper, cover of the catalogue, 1958. Museum für Energiegeschichte(n)

I don’t think the comment “bisexuals have straight privilege unless they’re in lesbian relationships” makes any more sense than saying “lesbians have straight privilege while they’re single”. This makes the assumption that all bisexuals who are single or in opposite-sex relationships actively hide their sexual orientation.

If a gay woman keeps her sexual identity secret while she’s single in order to avoid discrimination, we don’t accuse her of co-opting straight privilege – we sympathize with her for feeling the need to closet herself. So why the double standard for bisexuals?

It might not apply to you, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t straight-looking femme lesbians, or androgynous-looking, rainbow-wearing, alternative-haircut-having bisexuals. My point is that that comment oversimplifies and overgeneralizes things in a way that seems unreasonable to me.
Chandra on Autostraddle (via my-drop-is-full-of-tree-branches)

(via knitmeapony)

Here we all were, ignoring that water, paying as little attention as possible to the pair of black eternities between which our little light intervened. Our debt, though, to that light: what of it? We owe ourselves our lives.
Teju Cole, Open City

(via absurdhowl)

heyteebs:

The stars are dying

like always, and far away, like what you see looking up is a death knell from light, right? Light

years. But also close, like the sea stars on the Pacific coast. Their little arms lesion and knot and pull away

The insides spill into the ocean. When I try to sleep I think about orange cliffs, bare of orange stars. Knotted, glut. Waves are clear. Anemones n shit. There are seagulls overhead. Business as normal. I swore to myself I would never write a nature poem.

The sand is fine. They say it’s not Fukushima. I feel fine, in the sense that I feel very thin. I been doin Tracy Anderson DVDs and keeping my arms fit and strong. She says reach, like you are being pulled apart

I can’t not spill, sometimes it sometimes. There are sometimes insides.

The language of dreams is so different to the language of academics. It’s beyond me. But the difference of spoken language and the language of the head is vast.
Sam Shepard

(via magictransistor)

James Patrick Gordon. Writer. Artist. Internet Guy.

twitter.com/thaumatropia

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