“We were together. I forget the rest.”
—Walt Whitman (via dondante)
November 2011
136 posts
“Like most women, I currently live in a society where violence, harassment and scary shit can break out at any moment, just because I told some random asshole “no” without bothering to be nice about it. Doing that is so dangerous that most women don’t dare; after a few scary incidents, they learn to make up excuses, to smile, to be sweet and welcoming, to act as if every single random asshole on the street is a precious new friend that they would just LOVE to stand outside of the Chipotle and chat with FOR HOURS, if only cruel fate had not intervened. That’s what it’s actually like, being a woman: Playing nice with every random asshole, because this random asshole might be the one who hurts you. And then, if he hurts you anyway, they’ll tell you that you led him on.”
—
Tiger Beatdown (via pnasty)
This is so relevant to everything.
(via mindyshabibti)
THIS THIS THIS.
This is what rape culture looks like.
(via silverqueen)
And so many men fucking do not get this.
(via northerndownpour)
Sun slanting over treetops and gabled roofs to shine through lace curtains
urges my footsteps to lead elsewhere,
to winding roads and long hills that slope
up to adventure, or away, down into the mountains.
Leave this grey city life behind for bright leaves
on the soles of my feet and snowy fingertips.
Witches’ hair, dangling frothy green,
will become mine, and pine needles for eyelashes.
The stillness of the trees teaches me how to stand.
I will disappear into the forest like a dryad’s ghost
until they come to take that, too.
O for a voice like thunder, and a tongue
To drown the throat of war! When the senses
Are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness,
Who can stand? When the souls of the oppressèd
Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand?
When the whirlwind of fury comes from the
Throne of God, when the frowns of his countenance
Drive the nations together, who can stand?
When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle,
And sails rejoicing in the flood of Death;
When souls are torn to everlasting fire,
And fiends of Hell rejoice upon the slain,
O who can stand? O who hath causèd this?
O who can answer at the throne of God?
The Kings and Nobles of the Land have done it!
Hear it not, Heaven, thy Ministers have done it!
William Blake
I guess in the end, everyone leaves everyone. I leave everyone, everyone leaves me.
The end.
What is worthwhile isn’t diminished through ending.
Fierce, unquiet, restless, wild, caged.
I miss the forest.
I want to spend about a week listening to Great Lake Swimmers and Wilderness of Manitoba and knitting, painting, writing. Instead I just have class and double shifts and too little time for the people I love who make me feel better. I want the time to clean my house and make sure I am slept and presentable and exercised and nourished and relaxed.
This is not so hard compared to many lives. It will be worth it.
It makes me doubt my worth as a writer to not have any words built up. I use up all myself on other peoples’ endeavours. I am paid to lose myself in glassy smiles and careful, quick hands. Nothing left to charm with.
