things i need: modern day reinterpretation of greek mythology where artemis turns men who street harass women into stags and turns them out into the woods during hunting season ʘ‿ʘ
#and aphrodite turns those who are shitty to the ones who love…
It’s coming up to Winter, it’s cold, and due to Government admin errors and several other hits, we’re now living below the poverty line and can’t afford to heat our home or eat.
Edit: now we’re losing a further £250 a month and everything has taken an extremely dire turn
we can’t afford anything now
we literally just got a letter telling us that we’re losing £250 a month from are benefits thanks to new cuts
we already barely survive on very little and this is just like a death knell
i’m applying to apprenticeships and jobs but none will take me over younger people [that they can pay less] or older people [with more experience]
we aren’t going to be able to make it through winter without help, hell we’re not going to be able to make it through fucking december without help
we can’t take a loan out, because the repayments would cripple us and i just
please share this lick please reblog it i don’t care if you don’t care for me or if you’d rather not or what the fuck ever please just help by reblogging or we are literally going to die this is the worst news i’ve received in months i am begging you
What did those plutocrats think was going to happen?
oh, right, just the Q&A was a “bad idea”.
Damn they was going in.
they should hire me as their social media manager so stupid shit like that could be avoided.
“The Fourth Wave is not generational. I was born in 1960, and was steeped in the womyn-cast cauldron of Second Wave witchery. […] and then sat at the feet of my younger knitting sisters of the Third Wave, gleaning wisdom from them as we needlepointed Nico on a pillowcase while bending our boyfriends over.
The Fourth Wave urges intolerance appraisals. I am constantly mortified by what old, bad ideas have managed to creep back into my cupboard, or worse. Prejudices get in like sugar ants in a kitchen: they find a miniscule leaving from a disgusted fruit and there’s a swarm. All of a sudden it seems okay for me to talk smack about fat people, or fags, and the next thing I know I’m having to Hazmat the entire storeroom. These self-scrutinies are the regular checkup, the testicle that I knead for marbles and peas, and I can do it myself now that I have the how-to manual crafted from the frontlines of the Third. Intersectionality is the paperweight holding down the pile of systems of oppression, a clear acrylic pyramid with labels floating like unhappy confetti: poor, African-American, queer, disabled, blue-collar. The Fourth Wave has no classification, no bureaucracy, and it likes to touch itself.
While the Fourth Wave resists being named at all, it knows, as all transpeople know in our marrow, the meaning of fixity. Fixed ideas, fixed genders—stasis at all—is a little death, and not in that fun, French petit mort way. Fixity is what made my bones leaden and who stuffed my body into starchy slips and knee socks when these knees were made for corduroy and band-aids. This new feminism is compassion: ever softening, ever bending to meet you, ever stroking the cheek of the outcast fairy princess boys. It is Neverland for the bullied and broken who can finally be children—not forever, but at last.”
– Sam Peterson, “The Perfect Storm”, from Gender Outlaws, ed by Kate Bornstein and S. Bear Bergman (via heart-broke-and-inchoate)
David Wojnarowicz’s Jacket —
Photo taken by Bill Dobbs at ACT UP’s FDA Action
October 11, 1988
“Stevie Nicks was the first woman I ever heard say she had chosen not to have children because she cared more about her career. The first that ever warned me men might not like it if there are things more important to me than they are. The first that ever said that that was fine: sometimes, you have to leave them behind. Wherever she goes, she surrounds herself with girls. “I can’t imagine you in a bathing suit,” someone says in an interview for Rolling Stone, when Stevie says she likes to play in the pool in her backyard. “Yeah, well, you never will,” Stevie says. “There is never - ever - a man in the backyard. If there is, he is banished to the front of the house.” Men don’t get to look at Stevie Nicks unless Stevie Nicks wants men to look at Stevie Nicks. In her songs, even when she’s talking about how she has to change, she proclaims her power, her ability, her worth. She is a queen, she is a witch, she is a dragon, she is in control. She isn’t polite. She’s competitive. She’s bossy. She claimed all the things the men around her claimed — she spent as much money as they spent, had as much sex as they had, was as reckless as they were, stood at the front of the same stage — and never questioned that that was her right. The world tells us women are there for men, but despite all the boyfriends and the jokes about how she’s so easy and the sex-symbol status, she isn’t there for men at all. She does it without ever giving in to the men that dismiss her. She’s emotional. She’s dramatic. She raises her voice as much as she can. She thinks she’s pretty, she thinks she’s a star, and when her fans crowd up to the edge of the stage, crazy, she welcomes them, with open arms. She revels in it. She’s too much of a girl for you? She revels in it.”
“I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.”
– Friedrich Nietzsche (via art-is-the-word)