“Most gay men are as sexist in their thinking as are heterosexuals. Their patriarchal thinking leads them to construct paradigms of desirable sexual behaviour that is similar to that of patriarchal straight men.”—
― bell hooks, The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love (via yosimar)
A thousand times yes. And they are even worse about being privilege deniers when you call them out for sexist shit.
Last night I was emailed some porn that someone drew of me because I said a thing on the internet that they disagreed with. Because, there you go, ‘justice.’ When stuff like that comes your way you don’t usually say anything because who gives a fuck, but oh well, let’s do it anyway. So, I’ve seen that shit before because I’ve been on the internet for 100 years, but it always looks like this:
“Women of today are still being called upon to stretch across the gap
of male ignorance and to educate men as to our existence and our
needs. This is an old and primary tool of all oppressors to keep the
oppressed occupied with the master’s concerns.”—Audre Lorde (via mooseknucklessss)
Frighten me? Yes you do frighten me. You act as though we will be together for ever. You act as though there is infinite pleasure and time without end. How can I know that? My experience has been that time always ends. In theory you are right, the quantum physicists are right, the romantics and the religious are right. Time without end. In practice we both wear a watch. If I rush at this relationship it’s because I fear for it. I fear you have a door I cannot see and that any minute now the door will open and you’ll be gone. then what? Then what as I bang the walls like the Inquisition searching for a saint? Where will I find the secret passage? For me it’ll just be the same four walls.
You said, ‘I’m going to leave.’
I thought, Yes, of course you are, you’re going back to the shell. I’m an idiot. I’ve done it again and I said I’d never do it again.
wikipedia’d mary oliver for the eight millionth time, noticed this:
Diane S. Bond echoes that “few feminists have wholeheartedly appreciated Oliver’s work, and though some critics have read her poems as revolutionary reconstructions of the female subject, others remain skeptical that identification with nature can empower women.”
I AM SORRY WHAT!? How the fuck can you be skeptical that identification with nature can empower women? Like, no women ever are supposed to be empowered by nature just because misogynists sometimes try to assert that women and nature should be elided?
Suck my feminist, Mary-Oliver-loving, ocean-fanatic cock, Diane S. Bond.
“As for the body, it is solid and strong and curious
and full of detail; it wants to polish itself; it
wants to love another body; it is the only vessel in
the world that can hold, in a a mix of power and
sweetness: words, song, gesture, passion, ideas,
ingenuity, devotion, merriment, vanity, and virtue.”—“Evidence (Part 1),” Mary Oliver
“Femme means a number of different things to different people. I can’t speak to what it means for others, only myself. Femme to me is a reclaimed and intentional femininity. It exists not for the benefit of others, but for my own personal empowerment and enjoyment. It’s something I do, and it’s something I am. It’s rejecting what is expected of femininity (who is allowed to have it, and how) and doing it my own damn way. Femme is how I take care of myself. It’s how I take care of my loved ones. Femme is all the soft, hard, tender parts of me. Femme is my heart.”—mygenderiskittens (via pompadoursandpincurls)
Your particular brand of insanity makes it really easy to rocket off earth into emotions so outlandish and unexpected and intense it feels like they are in space, black holes, supernovas, explosive. Your particular brand of insanity makes it really easy to spend hours, evenings, days, orbiting out there in space, more and more cyclical, more and more hopeless.
There is a reason you started journaling when you started going crazy at age 13. It’s because when you write, you start to re-enter the fucking stratosphere. Your mind, which would like to continue thinking, your heart, which would like to continue beating, and your body, which would like to continue moving and fucking and feeling, would really appreciate it if you would remember that shit so as not to end up disappearing into a black hole.
“For the lesbian of color, the ultimate rebellion she can make against her native culture is through her sexual behavior. She goes against two moral prohibitions: sexuality and homosexuality. Being lesbian and raised Catholic, indoctrinated as straight, I ‘made the choice to be queer’ (for some it is genetically inherent). It’s an interesting path, one that continually slips in and out of the white, the Catholic, the Mexican, the indigenous, the instincts. In and out of my head. It makes for loqueria, the crazies. it is a path of knowledge—one of knowing (and of learning) the history of oppression of our raza. It is a way of balancing, of mitigating duality.”—Gloria Anzaldua, Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza, 3rd Edition, p. 41 (via agradschoolbreakup)
Outward symptoms of mental illness can be scary, I get it. But mental illness can also be really scary. When you’re in a place where it is expressing outwardly, that’s sometimes a really, really scary place to be. I have been a shouter on a street corner and it is not pleasant because there is a part of you that is screaming in terror and longing for someone to come help. But you can’t say ‘help me’ because you don’t know what help looks like, you think you don’t deserve help, you’re afraid that ‘help’ might take a form that actually hurts you, so instead you shuffle through life, invisible, thinking this can’t be the only way.
And especially this:
The funny thing about bottling up self-expression is that it can become highly explosive under pressure. The longer you front, the longer you act sane, the longer you pretend so you can ‘integrate,’ the harder it can become to manage your mental illness. And the lower your self-esteem sinks, because you’re reminded on a regular basis that you aren’t a real person, someone who deserves equal footing in society. You’re either a pretender who fakes it, or one of those scary crazy people that everyone politely pretends doesn’t exist, because confronting the reality of mental illness is too much for them.
I had no one to help me, but the T. S. Eliot helped me.
So when people say that poetry is a luxury, or an option, or for the educated middle classes, or that it shouldn’t be read at school because it is irrelevant, or any of the strange stupid things that are said about poetry and its place in our lives, I suspect that the people doing the saying have had things pretty easy. A tough life needs a tough language – and that is what poetry is. That is what literature offers – a language powerful enough to say how it is.
“Femme is defiance. Femme ignores the male gaze & tells patriarchy to fuck off. Femme is a refusal of the pressure to be thinner, whiter, pimple-free, wrinkle-free, smaller, quieter. Femme says that we’ll take the short skirts but you can keep the catcalls to yourself.”—BOSSY FEMME (via clairebearstare)