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7.22.2014

walking around sf with a maniacal smile
i love it here
gang of latino men in mesh jerseys walk by at dusk one wearing a string of unlit christmas lights around his neck
i turn around to look at them and they’re all looking at my ass
bad feminist, i like cat calls, i like a challenge
around the next corner a sun kissed blonde on a motorcycle just posted by a curb, looking like a novel, locking eyes for two blocks
california’s vibes are so right
romantic about how skimpy the yards are here in bernal heights
because it means acute awareness of your chance to make every square inch flourish
how many flowers can you fit in a 9x9 plot flanked on all sides by concrete
though its easy to overdetermine anything once you know it costs a lot
i remember saying when i went to laguna beach for the first time
"i have never understood what was meant by ‘the good life’ until now"
maybe because the walls were made of succulents, cause of the balconies overlooking the ocean, a bed resting right on the beach…
w/ sheer, almost opalescent drapes flapping in the wind and a white body tanned, sleeping in the sun
before all of that, though, when i walked into the place where i was staying in laguna niguel, my friend’s parents’ mansion, i cried
that amount of wealth made me feel sick
there wasn’t a piece of trash in the whole town
and the weeds really were succulents

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7.19.2014

i’m goin to LA today and the bay all next week. you guys have recs for what should i do/see/touch/drink?

7.18.2014

i reblogged fette's sylvia plath quote because i acknowledge its truth but i disagree 

set your own scene, sleep in open fields, travel west, walk freely at night

i have to say this because, is anyone saying this

i hate the new inquiry’s lana del rey supplement because i find dragging helplessness to be disempowering

thank you. i am disempowered enough

sure, her work highlights the emotional labor of beauty, femininity, and dependence

but concluding that del rey’s beautiful, wistful, revenge-laced work equates to a threat that “everything that you have ill-gotten is going to be taken from you—at gunpoint if necessary” and that it expands into structural revolt

is a real fucking stretch

in this instance i care less about what we can dream lana del rey feminism to do and am more concerned with asking

what it actually does

is one of the primary ways her work operates not to foment desire for stereotypical beauty and wealth

envy, lack, hustling, despair

performing exaggerated, restless feminine mystique housewifery is death

& to consent to such severe frailty at the hands of male desire is to feel all the muscles in my body atrophy and my limbs become limp 

the unused percentage of a still-there self on the incline 

ghost limbs, ghost girl, ghost life

fuck a sad girl ghost girl life

i want to purge every trace of feminine hyperimpotence inside me

7.18.2014

fette:

Top, Carina Zurino, Curtain Falls IX, 2013, Blue Pigment Print, Size 80 x 84. Installation view from the group exhibition Touching Light, on view at Peter Lav Gallery until August 16th. Via. Bottom, Scene from Macbeth, 1988, with choreography by Johann Kresnik and scenography by Gottfried Helnwein, Volksbühne Berlin, 1995. Via.

Being born a woman is an awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.

Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1982-2000. Via.

7.18.2014

mashatupitsyn:

Posting this again. Again. Again.

"What you desire creates quality. You are not made by yourself, but by the thing you desire."

-Fanny Howe, The Wedding Dress

7.16.2014

like, the problem is that sometimes it is just about somebody “getting [their] own way”—tell me you haven’t met a person who is anti-antiblackness but only because antiblack racism has had its whole slew of effects on them, not because they abide the mantra “your struggle is mine.” and um, only caring about your own liberation is the story of white liberal feminism. and then who hasn’t been disappointed to find out their favorite academics/activists are interpersonally, ethically bankrupt? 

also, we do want power; power is not a bad thing to want; and critiquing it and wanting it are not mutually exclusive.  

7.15.2014

7.15.2014

martyrd:

We all want to be Edna St. Vincent Millay, beautiful and bisexual, burning the candle at both ends & taking the ferry back & forth, wearing ties, being handsome.

7.15.2014

THE END OF THE U.S.A.
——————————————
ALL YOU RICH FUCKERS SEE
THE BEGINNING OF THE END AND
TAKE WHAT YOU CAN WHILE
YOU CAN. YOU IMAGINE THAT
YOU WILL GET AWAY, BUT
YOU’VE SHIT IN YOUR OWN
BED AND YOU’RE THE ONE TO
SLEEP IN IT. WHY SHOULD
EVERYONE ELSE STAY BEHIND
AND SMELL YOUR STINKING
COWARDICE? HERE’S A MESSAGE
TO YOU—SPACE TRAVEL IS
UNCERTAIN AND ANY REFUGE
OF YOURS CAN BE BLOWN
OFF THE MAP. THERE’S NO
OTHER PLACE FOR YOU TO GO.
KNOW THAT YOUR FUTURE IS
WITH US SO DON’T GIVE US
MORE REASONS TO HATE YOU.

— Jenny Holzer, Inflammatory Essays (via communalperversion)

enjoying the way this reads like a white male unabomber manifesto 

7.15.2014

iwasbornbut:

Finished: Am I a Redundant Human Being? Mela Hartwig. 1931. (German, English translation by Kerri A. Pierce)

"I went a hundred or so steps in the usual direction, and then I turned away.  I figured I’d sit on a park bench and read. I’d brought a book, but I passed the entrance of the park and kept walking.  The walk did me good, it invigorated me, I didn’t know why.  I walked and walked and never got tired.  It occurred to me that I was straying into unfamiliar territory, that this was probably the reason I was so intoxicated, aroused. When I finally felt grass beneath my feet, soft waves of grass and flowers, I threw myself sobbing to the ground. I was so happy, so inexplicably happy, that I wept.  I suddenly felt that this day, this whole day, belonged to me, me, me.  My God, that was beautiful." p31

(via cedars)

7.13.2014

brujacore:

Sad that the only sleepovers I have are sexy ones and I realized how much I missed platonic ones

7.11.2014

REVOLUTIONARY LETTER #19

if what you want is jobs
for everyone, you are still the enemy.
you have not thought thru, clearly
what that means

remember
you can have what you ask for, ask for
everything

Revolutionary Letters, Diane di Prima (via notesonresistance)
i think about this every day (via communalperversion)

(via disjunct)

7.9.2014

summer looks

7.9.2014 one of the main reasons i base my feminism in the experience of young girlhood

I’d never felt very strongly identified with being a woman; I’d always had this mildly gender dysphoric womanhood. I’d dated men but found it stressful, and tended to ascribe that stress to myself in terms of I’m not good at being a woman. And that was partly about race, of course; I went to a very white high school, so I didn’t have a lot of images of what it was like to be both a woman and a mixed-race black person. I was the little girl who would drape a towel over my head and pretend it was my long, beautiful, white-girl hair. I had this sort of slightly tragic relationship to blackness.

And then I found myself in this relationship with this person who was not very nice to me, and it made me feel like, oh, I guess I’m a woman. It was through this completely awful, kind of abusive scenario that I felt, I must be a woman because you treat me how you treat women. In that sense, this ‘Thingness’ of being a woman is what a lot of young women who engage with feminism struggle with. Because you start with this almost ecstatic repudiation of what suppressed you: Fuck you! I’m not doing this! I’m not doing that! But in what is basically still a completely patriarchal world, there’s really not much outside of patriarchal social validation. So it’s not an analogy with capitalism, but is literally happening with it. You have to almost consent to this self-erasure in order to survive in the world.

An Interview with Hannah Black | aqnb

i want a feminism in touch with the violence of gender, not one that, after a lifetime of thingness, speaks of the pleasure in acclimation as if the pain of girlhood were just a phase—hystrionics, estrogen, earnestness, etc. i understand and identify with the fatigue of fighting, the aspirational normativity of getting older, but i think we make the world a shittier place when we act “over” basic concerns of girls just because we’ve been alive longer and might have found ways to be less destroyed. a friend of mine recently lamented a thinkpiece she wrote on body hair when she was a teenager because it’s all over the internet and it’s embarrassing and irrelevant to her now. like, as in, making the argument that women should not be rendered invisible or repulsive because of what their bodies do is a cute concern. it reminds me of a discussion a few months back around a visiting scholar’s manuscript; a group of us were doing a workshop with her and starting talking about how queer theorists stopped talking about queer people, how queer theory saturated a range of politics wider than LGBTQ. one of us said something about these 90s scholars feeling tired of talking about gay people, like queerness wasn’t really supposed to be relegated to a demographic anyway, and another was like, “but what makes something ‘feel old’ should always be interrogated.” though i don’t think this is always the case, i do think it’s important to remember that there are political reasons for expiry.

7.8.2014 “let us live in all ways more like the dead”

anneboyer:

 

Here there’s a feeling that nothing could happen any minute.

History stalls in acceleration: progress’ eternal return.  

///

in our decorous correspondence of likes

@collapse from the angle of fate

what’s left is the birds sing

                        and the violence called gender that capital calls love