I'm a 28 year old writer, photographer, philosophizer, social observer, nerd, cat herder, and soapbox ranter. Probably a few more adjectives I've forgotten.
Reblogged from vovat
So today Angelina Jolie had double mastectomy, which is the removal of one’s breasts, to prevent Breast cancer. So instead of praising Angelina on her bravery, men on Twitter decided to ridicule her, even calling her stupid for removing her breasts. For those of you on Tumblr that are attacking Feminists about being delusional about sexism against women and misogyny here’s your fucking proof that sexism and misogyny exists.
This is distressing and awful to see this..
Horda de gilipollas…
Not the best, but it doesn’t make her a hero worth praise for saving her own ass. It’s an operation, not something heroic. ”Oh, you’re so brave!” It’s a self motivated action which results in your survival. Otherwise, you die. How is that worth praise?
These guys like her boobs. They’re idiots, but the commentary could have been worse. I’m not letting them off the hook, just don’t turn every act into heroism and praise…because you’re women who should be as one…except you’re not because class and race are factors…Just like it is for men.
Another thing about men, they work through humor like this. It isn’t about being insensitive (yet they can be and often are), but about a laugh. If it were Brad getting his testicles removed, men would still make jokes. Misogyny exists and it’s everywhere. But sometimes, looking at the minutia underscores the actual things that matter. Like how an entire middle eastern culture can surpress the rights of women through burkas, stonings, depriving education, social stigmas unlike anything we see in the west.
So please, cry me a river if I don’t get choked up over a movie star loosing her boobs and the actions of stupid men making 120 character comments over her saving her own ass by loosing her breasts. Because really, these are the big social issues at hand and not those invisible people a world away whose voices are suppressed and their freedoms deprived by men. Oh wait……
Reblogged from wht-rabbit-obj
I grimace and silently nod, because that’s exactly right. I appreciate the people who have stopped to smell the roses, commenting on how my writing stood out to them or is so beautifully put together. It makes my day and night. It truly does. I am not a man who takes compliments lightly or accepts them with ease either.
But the hidden pool it comes from is muddied and covered in a layer of noxious gasoline, a fire dimming with each year that comes from less than pleasant formative years. It is the look of a forest still glowing hot with embers strewn, the destruction past, but there’s life if you know where to look. It inspires. It’s maddening that everything must be marred, but in return you receive the seeds to write and sow forests into each page.
I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. I am compartmentalized because of it. A charred nest of sticks, stones, rags, riches, paper, plastic, glass which I call my own.
Reblogged from papaskitty
I want someone to look at me like that…
There’s something telling about the socially engrained desire from a woman to be wanted, idolized, praised, lusted after, hungered for by the male gaze. It becomes a point of obsession. Summed down, if she is not an implanted thought in the corner of my eye, she’s nothing. As she grows older and less youthful, less child-bearing, so do the desires of men vanish. They become echos of another time when her lips were fuller, breasts perkier, figure was taut, and she had no experiences to call her own.
She’s no longer the prized pet in the window, viewed and vied for. It’s saddening, but not as sad as the lengths women strive for to look 10 years younger and add a couple extra years to their caged crystal ball gaze. The creams, concoctions, mass marketed hand tailored diets, overdone injections and over tucked surgeries - all of it to feel wanted. Loved. Financially taken care of. But when you’ve spent all your life being someone else’s fantasy, it’s all you know how to play into. Aged Hollywood starlets and serial gold diggers being prime examples. Everything becomes about finding the fountain of youth, no matter how ridiculous the cost. The quest millions of women go on is one Ponce de Leon went on and never attained.
The core of this mad goose chase is a basketful of ugly truth eggs we choose to ignore, rather than let hatch. What we end up nursing are beautiful gooses who find themselves ugly ducklings in a grotesque pond polluted by a social expectation to be wanted and yearned for.
There are biological impulses at play here mind you, manipulated for one reason or another. It’s not as if society suddenly came up with standards of beauty. They came from biological cues within us all. Men and women take advantage of this knowingly and unknowingly. Whether we want to have kids or not, our genetics gear us to look for potential partners at every turn. We’ll even sabotage others to get the leg up.
I once watched a documentary which addresses the sheer number of people most of us meet in a day on top of the unimaginable number of faces / bodies we see because of print / websites / television. None of our ancestors had access to this many people in a lifetime and we see it daily. Put this way - the dating pool was a kiddie pool with slim pickings in years gone by. If you come from a small town, you know what I mean. The sheer volume of faces we see affects our expectations of the competition. It’s because of our ballooning volumes we think someone is prettier, sexier, hotter, nicer, better looking on the eyes. Even men face this selectiveness when women can be inundated by swarms of men from every corner of the globe thanks to the internet (hello Tumblr). So the expectations are higher and so are the stakes. Everyone expects more because we’re exposed to so much more. You don’t settle and in many ways, I think that accounts for the divorce rates of today. The multitude of free choice has given us the impression that we can forgo a partner because there’s always something better on the horizon. Rather than what happens in a British realist novel where you marry out of proximity and the lack of diversity in your village.
A friend of mind posted the first bit on facebook and the 2nd half is my respsonse back. It seemed worth posting here, even though I’ve written on such topics before.
“I have a tendency to build people up in my mind so that they can never live up to the myth I’ve created for them.”
“Everyone does this. It’s what drives every interest in a person. Read up on gothic literature as it gets into the psychology of this. We all perceive other, everyone that isn’t us, and what we don’t know about them, we fill in the blanks. but how? With ourselves. We fill it with stories, beliefs, perceptions that come from us. And that’s what builds this person into these bigger than life characters…they become grotesque versions of themselves. They become echos of themselves, and for some, they become narssisus, falling in love with an image created by themselves, in love with themselves. It’s what drives stalkers.
Anyway, I feel for you Ms Amber…and I wish at the end of the day they could live up to the paul bunyan tales in our heads…even if for a moment. It would make the cognitive dissonance between the two easier to work anyway.”
Reblogged from her0inchic
Albert Camus (via her0inchic)
Camus was wrote about the Sisyphusian challenge that is life. To roll the challenges of life up a mountain only to have to see it charge full speed back down the other side, then repeat this over eternity. Finding meaning in a world devoid of truths is our boulder and burden. Which lends one to ask why is life worth living or not living if there is no meaning inherit to existence.
Sartre came at it from the approach that we find meaning because we give it meaning. Post Modernism gives humanity back choice, but presents no truths, which muddies the water because everyone’s meaningful truths hold the same meaning. Even then, meaning and truth are lost in translation as soon as they are uttered between individuals because they cannot be conveyed without changing meaning during the exchange.
(I should go read some Camus, it’s been a fair while…)
I just caught some post about how the previous generation lead us to believe tattoos in the workplace were wrong and we would remain gainfully unemployable because of it. We see various examples of tattooed professionals as managers, in the medical field, as Santa.
It does prove their point and it enforces the Western view of individualism should be celebrated, not shamed. After all, it’s just pigment on the skin and something that humans have practiced in one form or another for centuries.
However, It’s not as clear cut as the post makes it seem. All these professional persons are covered up while at work. Pardon me? Their tattoos are hidden out of view for the most part by work attire. So it isn’t as if their inked bodies are out in the open. They aren’t loud and proud. It isn’t even quiet and visible for any passerby person to gawk at. So tattooed professionals aren’t exactly showing off their work while in the workplace (unless asked of course).
It’s not as if that’s uncommon. The commonplace thing I’ve heard in Japan is to go to work fully attired, head to toe, to be the poster boy or girl of professionalism. Come home, strip them to their skivies, and you see anything that wasn’t covered in clothes is covered in embedded dyes. They consider the ramifications and taboo hanging overhead in their culture because of the association with the Yakuza. It isn’t a light association either. It would be as if you had a tattoo in the likeness of a Los Angeles gang’s insignia on your person when you aren’t in the gang. Bathhouses in Japan will not allow you to enter if you’re tattooed (who can blame them, would you want to take the chance of gangsters in your establishment?)
Yet someone on Tumblr had to call Japanese culture stupid and say they didn’t want to go into the bathhouses because they discriminated against tattooed individuals.
Listen you western little bastard, just because you’re American and this culture is all about celebrating insignificant individual expression doesn’t mean it applies everywhere. It isn’t as if they want to target you out, but if you’re wearing something that looks to be a gang element, it’s not something they want to deal with. If the 18th street gang kept coming by your work and you could spot them out wearing hats, would you not contemplate a no hat policy? Or would you continuously let them cruise around because they’re just doing ‘their thing’? I thought so.
The difference is American and European culture doesn’t have the strong association with tattoos and gangs. For us, it’s sailors. Not exactly threatening there.
Back to my main point. You can use whatever justification you want to wear your tattoos. Wear them proud. Love them. However beautiful or ugly (I’m telling it to you straight, many tattoos look like you gave a an 8 year old peyote to draw on your skin), it’s yours and something that holds significance (however drunk you were) to you. But spare me the persecution talk, that you’re being singled out, and “No! I must stand up for what I believe in, against oppression”. Against the old guard, because they did this to us and they surely were wrong and I am right because I know better. Can you smell the hubris? Some day you’ll be the old guard and found to be charged with crimes against humanity you over-pampered and over-endowed brat.
For the record, I want a tattoo myself. A lotus in the indian style, because of the symbolism, the area I grew up in known for lotuses, and a reminder of who I am regardless of where I am. It’s something I want to do and have thought about for a year. But because I work in a professional field (albeit on the creative side), I have to mind bodily locations which are coverable. I recall 7 years ago, looking for barista jobs and several employers expressing their disdain for tattoos and piercing be removed (I only have 2 in my hear that can be hidden by hair). They were just coffee jobs for peet’s sake! A previous employment at Barnes & Noble required all tattoos and piercing covered at all times. To not do so meant being written up and eventually fired.
Your own opinion doesn’t hold the same merit as someone else’s view, especially when they hold the cards. It’s fine and dandy to have your opinion, but don’t express it as if it were a god given right that you need to express because everyone should conform to your narcissistic ego.
That’s what our society has created thanks to the baby boomers: self-indulgent, whiny, pain averted, egocentric, individualist-at-all-costs, self-centered, self-righteous children who can’t understand why everyone doesn’t think like them and cater to their every need and want.
Four words of advice to you children of the corn: grow the fuck up.
Idris/TARDIS, Doctor Who, Season 6, Episode 4.
I wonder why no one’s quoted this. It’s one of the more memorable quotes from that episode and displays the Doctor’s relationship with the TARDIS in prospective. He’s lost it all - family, friend, planets, companions, civilizations, the humans he saves countlessly - and yet even onto the end of the universe, he still has her. A boy and his little blue box…