I’m a big fan of doing the robot in times of celebration. 8th grade Glow Stick champion. Love is louder.
(via swingsetindecember)
21-year-old lady person! education stuff! feminism! poetry! pretty people! teen wolf?
yeah. teen wolf.
this blog is fandom friendly, occasionally nsfw, and desperate for validation.
rarely used creative writing blog
i made this ridiculously popular hedgehog post
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'The Baseline Is, You Suck': Junot Diaz on Men Who Write About Women
| The Atlantic: | It sounds like you're saying that literary "talent" doesn't inoculate a write—especially a male writer—from making gross, false misjudgments about gender. You'd think being a great writer would give you empathy and the ability to understand people who are unlike you—whether we're talking about gender or another category. But that doesn't seem to be the case. |
| Junot Diaz: | I think that unless you are actively, consciously working against the gravitational pull of the culture, you will predictably, thematically, create these sort of fucked-up representations. Without fail. The only way not to do them is to admit to yourself [that] you're fucked up, admit to yourself that you're not good at this shit, and to be conscious in the way that you create these characters. It's so funny what people call inspiration. I have so many young writers who're like, "Well I was inspired. This was my story." And I'm like, "OK. Sir, your inspiration for your stories is like every other male's inspiration for their stories: that the female is only in there to provide sexual service." There comes a time when this mythical inspiration is exposed for doing exactly what it's truthfully doing: to underscore and reinforce cultural structures, or I'd say, cultural asymmetry. |
maybe if i sigh deep enough i’ll die
(Source: hypnus, via vicioustraditions)
no see lesbians are not more accepted than gay men they’re more sexualized please do not get those 2 things confused
wowie thank u
(via vicioustraditions)
you are young, and you are so sure
that you are prince hamlet that you can
already taste the bile in your throat.
your father, gone,
your mother, peerless,
drunk off wine on a tuesday.
you have a hand for rapiers,
an eye for madness,
a smile that could drive a girl to the river.