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thottybrucewayne · 4 months

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A LIST OF PEOPLE WHO ARE GOING TO HELL: 2024 EDITION

Every zionist, duh, but esp yall who screenshot perfectly reasonable posts and go "Um, the look at this idiot who thinks genocide is wrong" yall make my ass itch and nobody takes you seriously, MOVE. 2. The entire U.S. government but esp Joe Biden that old ass man gettin spit roasted in hell (AND NOT THE FUN KIND!) 3. DIDDY AND EVERY SINGLE PERSON THAT PROTECTED AND DEFENDED HIM. 4. Tory Lanez whole family, his mama, his daddy, his dog? All them. 5. The nonblack people who run those Rap House Tv type blogs that are clearly trying to be shade room clones. 6. People who get all their news from the Shade Room and Whatsapp, sorry auntie, I'm sick of you tellin' me COVID can be cured by sticking cloves of garlic up my nose :/ 7. Every single one of you dirtbag leftist ass people, yall do nothing for nobody except you thousands of adoring "former nazi" fans that need to be told it's okay that they still say the n word in private. 8. N.O.R.E and every single hiphop "journalist" 9. Charlemagne Tha God and Dj Envy, they know why. 10. Everyone who made Ike and Tina jokes after Tina past away. Grow up. 11. You fanfic girlies. So many of y'all are seeing the lake of fire, But esp if you donate to ao3 or own ao3 merch. Like, that is just embarrassing. 12. It's 2024, If I see you coming up here saying shit like "Miku wroke harry potter!" or " Hello Kitty wrote Ofmed, actually" I'm sending you to hell myself. 13. Booktokers? This is yall the second year on this list, tighten the fuck up and stop being weird about strange men on the internet, now. 14. People who do LITERALLY NOTHING yet try to tell other people how to be activists. You contribute nothing to any conversation you're a part of, suck my dick from the back. 15. People who stopped masking because other people were making them feel bad. Fuck your mama not being able to see your smile, PEOPLE ARE DYING???? 16. Lana Del Ray and Taylor Swift. They know exactly what they did. 17. Every white girl on twt who tried to jump me cause I said the Barbie movie is white feminism at its finest. 18. Elon, you raggedy bitch. 19. Every single man who hit on me this year who isn't one of my friends. 20. People who don't know what transmisogyny means and make that everyone else's problem. I need yall to start reading so bad it's not even funny. 21. You "goth is a feeling" people. You gonna be "feeling" that hell fire nippin' at your ass, NEXT 22. You 35 defending fanservice of high schoolers in anime/manga all day every day...yeah, just get on down there, big fella. They waiting on you. 23. Cishet Black men on tiktok and twt who make it their life's mission to make an ass of themselves for minor ducats. You are a one-man modern-day minstrel show and you will be dealt with. 24. White Tyler The Creator fans. Y'all know what you do.

Dishonorable mentions: Shojo fans who never talk about the fucked up shit in the manga they recc you because "At least its not as misogynistic as shounen!" (yes, yes it is) Fashion tiktokkers I hate so many of you its not even funny Every person who put the image of T.D. Jakes getting his doonies beat down at a Diddy party in my mind. Like I literally never needed to think about that. My dad <3 and all my friends' dads. Patricide NOW!!!!! People who are still whining about having to boycott shut upppppp god damn. People who stare at me in public. You got a fuckin problem?????

That's a wrap! Here are the lists from last year and the year before feel free to add more in the tags <3

#thotty speaks #thotty's going to hell list 2024 #thotty rants #tw abuse mention #ask to tag

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streamsofstardust · 2 years

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Here it is: let me start by saying that if you’re going to advocate for something, especially if you are not in the group that it is impacting, you have to be careful with your wording. Saying “I feel the WORST for those whose bedroom pleasure is difficult…” can be very degrading. Then, to go even further say “those who attack other women who speak up about the issue…that’s actually the saddest.” So, what she basically said was “I pity those who don’t have pleasurable sexual experiences BUT I feel even worse for those that attack others (aka disagree with me).” See how she brings it all back around to her? You can bring awareness to something and not make those affected seem defective. Why not empower those and show support rather than show pity? She is anything BUT an advocate. Advocacy doesn’t mean shit without intentionality. What she’s doing is a performance. White feminism at its very finest. Words don’t mean shit at the end of the day. If she is going to bring an issue up as an “advocate” the LEAST she could do is provide information on the topic or direct her viewers to those actually advocating. But that would take the attention away from her wouldn’t it? -👀

as a white women idk how much standing i have to critique white feminism but i firmly believe if you're not an intersectional feminist you're not actually a feminist.

mascarpone has a tendency to contradict herself. a prime example being saying she "can't" wear a mesh top (in response to danny's post) where she's essentially saying she should be allowed to wear whatever she wants and then literally right after she was criticizing julia fox going out in a bra and panties and basically being like "no don't encourage that bc some people are smelly!" like hello??? women empowering women until it's something that she doesn't particularly care for which negates anything good or positive she might have said. like sorry but that fully opens the door for someone to be like "ok well i don't wanna see you in shorts or a skirt bc you don't shave your legs" which we all know she'd pop off about and victimize herself because yes, she's a complete narcissist

#the letter m

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uswntpoc · 3 years

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I don't think any black person is surprised by the erasure of Kaiya. Where's Carli with her this is a distraction from the game? Where are the ones who decided to stay off pitch for the 6 minutes last night because they didn't agree? Lol.

White women are going to white women. I hope the black players who are going through it find a place of peace amongst themselves.

I'm so tired of not being surprised. It just baffles me the way this league can rally around every issue but racism. I totally get that what's happening now, needs to happen. But where was this reckoning a month ago?? And to be quite frank, they're still ignoring the issue. All we've focused on in all of this, is the sexual abuse aspect, which is horrifying and disgusting. And while I don't want to pit any issues against each other, are we really just going to continue to ignore all of the racial trauma players in this league have had to endure?? This league and its players love to shout about its diversity and inclusiveness, but at the end of the day, it's only for its white players. And that's a fact! It's white feminism at its finest. I really hope the black women's players collective, which was literally birthed out of the fact that black women's voices were being ignored, finds a way to make some demands for its players in this league, so that the racial abuse and inequality gets addressed along with all of these other issues.

#anon #blm #bwpc #nwsl

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spaceshipkat · 2 years

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Just read an article that said that for her next trilogy Threads of Power, VE/Schwab got a 1 million dollar (£750k) advance...

For someone who fridges women left and right for Manpain, demonizes femininity and only values "not like other girls" characters, and who writes virtually 0 diversity (still can't get over the fact that Addie Larue, a story about a woman literally being forgotten, revolves solely around said white woman, with no commentary about the countless women of color who society keeps forgetting about... Yet VES claimed her story was for all forgotten women... she's white feminism at its finest)

And I think she has like 3 or 4 tv and movie projects in production rn...

Which brings me to: Holly Black announced that the Spiderwick chronicles will be a tv show soon.

I just can't get over the fact that these billion dollar industries (publishing and filming) keep investing big bucks on the same bland white authors over and over again

I dislike both these authors' writing styles too. VES gives me stiefvater vibes aka she's so enamored with her own writing that she repeats concepts and sentences ad nauseam and uses metaphors that fall apart as soon as you start really thinking about them. Black is almost the opposite, her writing's so dry and impersonal that I don't know how people get invested in her characters: they're robots.

VES also gives me "not like other people" vibes irl. She writes tweets like: "other people want a home and a family. I want *insert something completely different because she's oh so different and better than other people*"

Black is bff with CassClare and helped her bully and harass minors online during her fanfiction days so her career can burn to ash for all I care about.

yeah, the deal was for her new trilogy in the ADS0M universe as well as a standalone. afaik Tor hasn't given out seven figure deals before, so the fact Sch///wab got one is...just no. i really don't get why everyone seems to be so obsessed with either all of her work or, in particular, Addie LaRue bc the book isn't that special? it's certainly not what it seemed to be billed as, and i've seen a lot of people disappointed in it, yet it already has a special edition:

this article lists all the adaptations she's got in the works and, like you anon, i don't get it, but it seems to be just par for the course with publishing these days: undeserving authors getting money chucked at them. sure, the authors are good moneymakers, but that doesn't mean they deserve the accolades or deals they get.

Black's Adult debut has a first printing of 400k (by comparison, sj///m's Adult debut h0eab had a first printing of 250k, and h0sab has a first printing of 750k). here's some of what edelweiss has posted for Book of Night:

and the summary:

it feels like a lot of YA authors are going to Adult and just...going balls to the wall with ~dark books~ which is. A Choice.

honestly, anon, one of the hardest but best things i've ever done is learn to not get angry over things that are so far beyond my control as to be, like, the planet Pluto, simply bc the alternative is being mad all the time (bc publishing does some fucking nonsense with alarming regularity) and i don't enjoy being mad. i'll vent on here or with friends, and then i'll try to push it from my mind or spread awareness and try to just let things go. most recently, it's what i did with the ac0tar tv show bc, while i abhor ac0tar and would do anything to have the show not be made, i know there is actually nothing i can do about it that i'm not doing already (namely: running this blog), so i try to put it from my mind.

it's not easy, but it's the best thing i could've done for both my personal wellbeing and my professional pursuits.

but rest assured, when shit like any of the above happens, i'm very, very, very glad i have this blog to vent on and all of you to vent with.

#ask #anonymous #long post #bad books #anti sjm #authors behaving badly

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daydreamrry · 3 years

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I am SO mad at her for saying this 'activist' and 'environmentalist' shit. The woman is the epitome of whiteness and she calls herself all these things by saying and doing the bare minimum but continues to ignore the problematic horseshit she's done in past?! She does ONE good thing and brags about it for the rest of her life. She chooses which women to support and calls herself a feminist?! Miss girlboss feminism is way more than '🙌' this. She has the audacity to go on and simple handedly lie about these things and get on like nothing happened. She makes me furious. Do tell me. What environmentalist shit has she done? Drove an electric car? When? She's always papped in Range Rover or Audi buying PLASTIC toys from target? Often seen using plastic bags (the toilet paper picture ig). How is this good for environment? Gosh. Hypocrisy at its finest. She literally has no problem in flying around states every other week during a pandemic and expose others to the same as well. Tell me, do airplanes run on air or solar energy? If this woman could go partying in NYC without a mask after getting the FIRST dose of vaccine, she's anything but the things the article mentioned. I cannot believe that he could be okay with associating himself with a person like this even if its PR.

YOU TELL HER

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ilyuqi · 3 years

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I'm not the biggest dream fan and it infuriates me how much dt fans keep enabling their behavior. Even George sometimes. This is mainly about mcc and how they'll spam 'hot' under a clip of dreamnap complaining or something but even outside of mcc LIKE whats hot about these white cishet men yelling and being toxic and gamer raging. Like they're hot for acting entitled? Then in the same breath they'll shit on hannah and excuse misogyny....they're always so hypocritical.

And somehow everyone just forgets dreams prev controversies on twitter when when they take issue with ccs lmao, he used to be a trumpie for fucks sake but tommyinnit makes a few stupid jokes and he's the big bad now? Fuck offffffff they're so hypocritical. Everything they've ever been mad at a cc about, the dt have done that and WORSE. Most of the time anyway.

Idk if its because these fans are new or if they're purposely being dense but if you can find shit thats 5+ years old on people you want to attack you can easily read through dreams tweets, even last years lmfao.

I know you're from twitter and im sorry but I cant stand dttwt

firstly fuck dttwt dude i'm on tumblr for a reason

and second . yeah . literally. i don't get how people can see male entitlement at it's finest and call it hot. and then when ladies do the same thing it's like "white women feminism" like dude shut the fuck up?? dttwt holds all other ccs to a higher standard because dream is hated by the general public but like.. has it ever occured to you why?? the dude is arrogant and like we've discussed all day, super self-conceited and entitled.. like... people aren't gonna like that!! it's just basic human emotions!! people like tommy because he's fun!! but oh no he said he "gets lesbians" and now he's worse than the guy who literally said immigrants aren't allowed in our country!??!? are you insane!??! these fans are dense on purpose /srs and think that everytime they expose the cc they're doing a service to the planet . like lol these people were born in a time where social norms were changing, especially in the gaming world . like . yeah they're gonna make mistakes especially if you lookback almost 7 years ago into their past??

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realhankmccoy · 4 years

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Lefty Loosey, Righty Tighty

They’re definitely looser than ever after you pop their cherries and cunt them well. I like doing that, as it serves as a permanent reminder to the world they have to face every day that they’re a faggot, just scum, inferior and permanently obsessed with men they have to beg to obtain.

I wasn’t always this way. I used to be a mild-mannered data analyst, thin body, bit of a nerd, really. Classically liberal like John Locke and John F. Kennedy. It was Professor Jordan Peterson, who calls himself a liberal but who’s sympathies clearly lied elsewhere, who showed me the way out of my misguided belief system.

And I’ve really changed so much, did a lot of reading not that I read as much anymore. Got other priorities, so dig that. If you asked me today what I think about Kennedy, first thing I’d probably say is that he was kind of a fag and laugh. But in all seriousness, man, he was pretty much a useless blueblood. Overpulled the trigger on Vietnam, throwing all those men to die in the mud for him and ruining our chances of a peaceful economic takeover. They liked our way of life and wanted our businesses there. So many reasons not to like Kennedy...

But I digress. The point I’d like to make here is that for far too long, we’ve let these aggressive, spoiled brats that constitute the American left run amok, having us on the defence, calling us fascist, silencing our point of view. Nobody ever puts them on the defence anymore and aggresses against them, first. They have gotten smug, corrupt, lazy, censorial, regal, and entitled.

Let’s fix that:

1. Peace On Earth: to me like capitalist imperialism is the only thing that brings peace to the world. Look at Japan, the world’s most peaceful major nation, smacked down and occupied by the USA and forced to behave as a subordinated nation. Now look at the most liberal cities in the USA: Detroit, Oakland, Washington D.C. Not exactly ‘safe spaces’, are they? But that’s not our doing. That’s the left’s doing. Even the liberal elite cities like San Francisco have shit literally clogging the escalators and tent cities, because liberals don’t take care of their own. Perhaps Seattle is the finest example of a liberal city, mostly because it’s so flush with big corporate cash -- thanks Amazon, Microsoft, and Starbucks -- plus because it’s so white and Asian. But the crime rate there is still a far cry from the hypercapitalist, conquered imperial nation of Japan.

2. Gender Roles: If women are such goddesses and bring such peace to the world, why can’t they bring even close to the amount of peace that patriarchal Japan brings? For that matter, if there are no good men, why haven’t, out of millions of men being born and raised year, female goddesses been capable of raising so much as one good man. Because they’re histrionic, hysterical, and narcissistic. They only see woman in the world, which is why sons usually kill themselves, fail in school, need a ton of ADD pills, or transition to female, these days. They can’t even get mothering right, and their own children have to pay for that. That’s how bad a woman poisoned by feminism will blow even the most basic tasks of parenthood. As far as the girls they raise, they’re so jealous of men that they’re only raising little hellions with mannish voices who want to clobber somebody. Good thing is, they can’t hold a candle to a man in that regard. In the arms race, and the race to lower the sounds emanating from their vocal cords, which they’re trying to compete in, they’ll never win. They, with their transmania, like to talk about ‘passing’ as a man or woman. Well, on the right, we get it right about 100% of the time. They’re in such grey murky waters that they are constantly failing and tearing each other apart for failing. Funny to watch them pull each other’s hair in their hateful mudpit of gender confusion.

3. Bullying: The leftists are the ones inventing all the new words that really persecute minorities and cause the suicides. Tucute and Truscum are just a few examples. Normies and snowflake are two more -- because it’s crimethink to be a normal human being to the left, and snowflake, well, we’ve taken that and thrown it right back at them. We should do that more. They love calling each other fishy, hon, daddy, etc. etc. all in an effort to make each other feel as ugly as they all look. Their insides truly do match their outsides, plain and simple: ugly. hateful. There’s nobody on the right who’s raking trannies across the coals like the left itself does. Oh, and they think tranny is an insult because their sense of history is so shallow. They would tell Marsha P. Johnson herself that she can’t use the word because it’s offensive, I’m sure. Uh, no, it’s what many of the originals called themselves. Buck up on your history, kiddo. The left has become a sort of a giant suicide factory, bullying itself until itself pops itself off and exists this world. It’s impossible to plausibly position yourself as the solution to hate speech when all the worst of the hate speech is being invented by your own side of this polarised, political dualism.

4. Bodies: No explanation needed if you value pure masculinity. If you value that, you’ll never find it on the left anymore. The left used to have some real man, but now we’re well into fourth or fifth wave feminism. Too many years of trying to cancel and reform all their men, really, and failing in every case as there still are ‘no good men’. There is not one real man left among them today. You’ll only find non-binary Marxist dorks, sugar mama gangsters raised by welfare queens, and feminized Vichy Males who don’t know how to fuck.

5. Having Sex: Here’s the big one. You will never see a leftist who knows how to have sex anymore. Last time I hooked up with one of their precious Canadians in their precious Seattle, he told me to only use my smile for good instead of evil, presuming, as they always do, that everybody but themselves is the problem. I was thinking, hmm, a manbaby over 50 years old who can’t stop blithering and bathering away about the fireworks he was building by hand at Burning Man that could have blown up and lost him a hand and this was living? It costs how much to even get IN to that event, money that surely belongs in a generous charitable donation to South Sudan or literally any other truly poor -- here’s an Orwellian term for them, trupoor -- group instead? A manbaby far older than me who’s attempting to pull my hair in the shower like a klutz, told that this is not erotic, says guys like it and tries it again? Sigh. I can’t even begin to delineate the number of leftist fails in the bedroom, which is why I don’t hook up with them at all anymore. You never see them talk about erotics. When they write erotica online, it’s always some embryonic baby shit that never gets to the actual sex. They wouldn’t have a clue how to have or describe sex. They’ve become a dorky, sharp-fanged little venomous version of hikkomori, content to jack it off. The bodies they most get off to are muscular, jocked up, douched up bodies like ours, so at least that part of their brain still is functional, as much it must pain them to realise they have failed and that they need us now. The left used to have the lead on hot sex in the late 60s and early 70s, but year by year, as their bureaucratic, cerebral, nerdy ways took over and feminism further drained the viable sperm right out of their balls, they just became these skinnyfat bottoms that just want to lay there and beg for a daddy. None have the courage to even top anymore, and if they did, they wouldn’t know how to do it correctly. It’s just a mess, man. A grey, communist, frazzled mess. Fun to laugh at them, though. Definitely gets me hard to think about how all the hot, sexy energy has moved to our side, as we’re not as Christian as we used to be, so we said goodbye to missionary, especially in the nineties. As alt-right as we are, we get better at fucking, both as bottoms and as tops, by the year. We’re way ahead of them now. Gets me hard to think about how much better than them we are. Since I jocked up and since my sex life starting moving from leftists to rights, it’s just gotta more and more fulfilling. Fuck. To even think I had been that scrawny, pale weakling for once, settling for their giggling snapchats and clueless blowjobs. I feel just so fucking hard, man, and hot over what I’ve become. Over how I have real men, real bros, to get these paws on, squeezing their muscle, slobbering all over their jaws and pecs and pits, wrestling down, drinking with, having sensual, steamy sex for hours... fuck. I implore you, for your own mental health and sexual well-being, to turn to the right and join us. Lots of guys like us now and more every day. And fuck your phony gay marriage, too. A real fag, a real stud doesn’t need prissy paperwork like an elitist, pedigreed, liberal dog.

#maga #trump2020 #politics #transformation #nerdtojock

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incarnateirony · 5 years

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lmao

I take it back -- those positive things I said about screw ‘em. Those benefit of the doubt statements. The same fandom(s) that lost pace to Destiel naturally yesterday come night time because of SPN’s strong international fandom clearly all just set up macros en masse, like literally -- this is barely even speculation, this is basic observation. Every other day they’ve died down on their voting after a certain time, and yet today they ramped up before that time and never took a breath, and quite literally clearly calculated what SPN’s voting threshold was. And, considering Destiel fandom keeps its nose clean and won’t use macros, as far as I can tell -- I’m gonna laugh and consider it over. Antis will, I dunno, rejoice basically that Destiel fandom is too honest for its own good. We’ll roll our eyes. Clexa fandom will continue to be toxic as hell, just like they became famous for last year, and the cycle continues.

The next step, now that they’ve anti voted out most actual competition, is for them to flay any remaining non-WLW ships but the second any of the ships that actually spearhead this garbage unsporting behavior over what’s supposed to be a fun poll have to face another WLW ship that has barely any genuine support of its own, they’ll break out their fangs and bots and turn on it just as quickly -- like last year.

If any Destiel fans want to keep up the fight and prove me wrong, by all means, I encourage you to, but as somebody who tracks numbers by the quarter hourly stretch through an entire event this is more transparent than saran wrap and I’ll just enjoy watching them eat each other once they’ve botted down everybody else. Enjoy the macro battles, guys -- and seeing who has the most-fastest computers, because that’s about what it’s reduced to ever since Zimbio pulled the captcha. Which of course, makes them more money. Which, like myself and others like mittens have said, is all zimbio’s after in this. There’s no award for unsporting behavior but an increasing bad reputation. And lo, though they throw insults, claiming toxic bitches in X other fandom, they’re the ones breaking out derogatories, turning ship support and love into an aggro competition of macros for an end prize of... um. IDK. Nothing really.

The bitter irony that this charade of “WLW sticking together” ends with them upvoting the show that, due to pure white male greed at the loss of another franchise, axed a genre-changing all female multi-ethnic show trying to fix SPN’s cultural and rep issues complete with immediate canon LGBT rep for... well, that. Wow. Like. Mob mentality and faux feminism at its finest, and they’ll turn around and gut Legacies in a round or two when it actually faces Clexa or any of the toxic-ass ships that have infested the last few years of zimbio with bot wars.

I’d like to give a shout to Garcy fandom, who also kept their noses clean and fought a good fight. It’s made me willing to watch Timeless, like actually instead of passingly whenever Kripke told me to. Y’all guys were awesome. Maybe we should find a way to joust on more friendly terms without people bot rigging everything like it’s some sort of presidential election.

Inb4 someone yells “nuh uh” or “u just mad because (insert horrifically agist, homophobic, body shaming insult)” as has been the way any time basic common sense has been pointed out.

Props to any fandoms that ran a clean game and hell, props to any that keep fighting till the end, even within my own lane. Myself, I need sleep, so hey, maybe I’ll wake up surprised.

But hey, don’t be disheartened by me, Destiel fandom has never failed to impress me, even before I was part of it. Maybe I’ll wake up to it being in the lead again tomorrow because y’all are some contrarian motherfuckers, who knows.

#destiel #garcy #zimbio

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marscia · 5 years

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hello I love your blog a lot! it is very aesthetically pleasing. I'm a little new to reading, and I really am interested to know what kind of books you read and if you may suggest any. if possible, I hope they're not YA or YA-related, thank you so much

aw hello claire! thanks for the sweet message 💛 of course i’d be happy to give you some book recommendations! fortunately, i don’t read much young adult so i can definitely recommend some that aren’t of the genre! here we go:

one more thing (stories and other stories) by b.j. novak - this is currently what i’m reading and it is so good! it’s a book of short fiction stories and i totally recommend it. i’m enjoying it a lot.

white nights by fyodor dostoyevsky - literally my favorite novella of all time! it’s short and sweet, and a little heartbreaking, but it’s sure to connect with you on a deep level.

lolita by vladimir nabokov - the theme is a little scandalous (haha) but what i love most about it is nabokov’s way of writing prose. beautiful, beautiful words.

madame bovary by gustave flaubert - i remember not being able to put this book down when i was reading it! such a refreshing classic to take on.

a room of one’s own by virginia woolf - i love reading about feminism and this is one of the finest books i’ve read on the topic. definitely give this one a try 💛

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jewfrogs · 5 years

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i kinda wanted to read the lady's guide to petticoats and piracy since i already got through the first book, do you think it's as bad as book one in the way of white savior-y racism? i know you answered smth abt this before but if you don't mind, could you elaborate?

i’d be happy to elaborate! i do want to preface this by saying that i read it a few months ago & i borrowed it from the library, so i don’t have a copy to refer to on hand atm, so apologies in advance if any of this is inaccurate; it’s not intentional, i just straight up forgot.

but honestly, i think the lady’s guide is worse in terms of racism and white savior tropes. a huge part of the central story is felicity and joanna (two upperclass white european women) working against sim (a black muslim woman treated as deceitful and untrustworthy) to find these dragons that basically have the secret to immortality in their scales iirc? and they essentially colonize the area that the dragons are in against sim’s wishes and the wishes of the people who live there, and the narrative is just like. yeah this is fine. they end up being the only people who can save them, because these white women who just showed up know more than the black people who have lived there for generations and done this work their whole lives.... okay.....

the hijabi character is also treated terribly, and the book really does its best to pretend that her treatment as a black muslim woman is Just Like felicity’s experiences as a white woman, and ignore the privilege that felicity has over sim. there’s a moment where felicity literally just has to rip off sim’s hijab, because Of Course, and then it describes her hair in detail... also, the author did NOT get a sensitivity reader and it is painfully obvious. she doesn’t know how hijabs work. at all.

the book is heavily centered around feminist themes, but it deals with them so clumsily and tries so hard to skate over the issue of race that absolutely none of it works. it’s white feminism at its finest.

here are some goodreads reviews that go into more detail about the issues in the book: one, two, and three.

#books #racism #anonymous #ask

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yourmomisastrongwoman · 5 years

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How Science Fiction and the Theoretical coexist Within Feminism.

My first piece of writing that I’m submitting to this blog, journal, log (what ever this collection of my thoughts and opinions should be called), is a comparison of two texts. Over the span of a couple of weeks, my First Year Seminar course was assigned to read author James Tiptree, Jr’s: “The Women Men Don’t See”, as well as a collection of writer and poet, Audre Lorde’s work. From Lorde’s essays, I decided to focus on “Poetry Is Not a Luxury” in order to think and to discuss how different themes of feminism overlap with Tiptree, Jr’s “The Women Men Don’t See”.

The texts differ in genre - In Tiptree, Jr’s story, we’re brought along on a journey from the perspective of Don (your token, small minded, white man trope), as we read how he goes about reluctantly coexisting, let alone surviving, with three other victims (Ruth, Althea, and Esteban) through a spontaneous plane crash in Mexico. Tiptree writes an engaging story written from her take on a cis, hetero, white male perspective, that dives into the subconscious snap judgments made on women in society everyday. Lorde, on the other hand, writes a powerful essay on her feminist beliefs, more specifically how she believes that art - even more specifically - poetry, is a means of emotional communication that is too often ignored, or put on the back burner.

In both Tiptree and Lorde’s texts, the authors explore the process of finding stability in things that are alien (literally in Tiptree’s) in relation to the #strongindependentwoman - more eloquently put: the female autonomy. One wouldn’t immediately think that these two pieces of writing are similar due to the obvious fact that, on the surface, they’re wildly different from one another. However, the two unite/communicate surprisingly cohesively.

I was reluctant to love Alice B. Sheldon’s (more commonly known under her pen name “James Tiptree, Jr”) story, “The Women Men Don’t See”. Initially, I was slightly hesitant to read on as I, a 17 year old self identifying feminist, was caught off guard by the irritatingly familiar “mansplainy” tone in which it was written. Within the first page of Jr’s story, we get Don Fenton, our narrator’s, descriptions of female characters which include, but are not limited to: “small, plain, and neutral-colored”, as well as “I see the girl has what could be an attractive body if there was any spark at all” (1). Right off the bat we’re coming in strong with a problematic approach to merely existing with women. Don’s character doesn’t stray from comments like these throughout the story; it’s his point of view, it’s constant, and it’s annoying. (Yet, also simultaneously a little funny because the female reader understands that some people actually do think this way, and that is … ridiculous). What enables (and heightens) Don’s line of thinking, is his current situation and the equalizing of powers. Don is a white man; his privilege protects him on a daily basis. However, he’s currently just experienced a plane crash, accompanied by two women (Ruth and her daughter Althea), and their Pilot, Esteban (who is routinely referred to by Don as “The Maya”, unpacking a whole host of other problematic things). It’s clear that he can not stand the fact that all previous structures of a gender/racial social hierarchy have been stripped from the four, and now all are equal in survival mode.

As the story continues, Don and Ruth end up leaving camp in search for fresh water. On their separate journey Don becomes increasingly annoyed that Ruth doesn’t seem to uphold a woman’s “typical characteristics”, while his thoughts regarding her become more and more sexual. “Mrs. Ruth Parsons of Bethesda, this thrumming, private woman. How crazy can I get? … I blink away the fantasies and see a scared little woman in a mangrove swamp … she sits obediently, like a kid in a dentist chair … she nibbles her lip” (16).

The culmination of Tiptree’s story ends with literal Aliens arriving at Ruth and Don’s camp. Within the alien’s presence, Ruth’s instinct reaction is to empathize with the agitated creatures, while Don’s instinct reaction is conquer them (colonialism at its finest).

NOW HOW DOES ALL OF THIS CONNECT TO THE WONDERFUL AUDRE LORDE, AND HER INCREDIBLE ESSAY ON HOW ART IS A MEANS OF ENHANCING OUR WOMANHOOD? Well, I’m so happy this finally got brought up! Lorde spends “Poetry is Not a Luxury” detailing how by devoting time and energy into poetry, the woman equips herself with a multiplicity of tools, helping her dismantle the patriarchy that affects her everyday.

One of the biggest ways in which Lorde and Tiptree’s texts overlap, are the overarching themes of devoting oneself to something alien in order to distract. Lorde writes: “As we become more in touch with our own ancient, black, non european view of living … we learn more and more to cherish our feelings, and to respect those hidden sources of our power from where true knowledge and therefore lasting action comes” (1). This quote exists in harmony when paired with the culmination of “The Women Men Don’t See”. Ruth’s character doesn’t reach to find her “ancient, non european” roots, however, she does reach - metaphorically - and ends up exhibiting her inherent character values which include empathy. Ruth’s been so caged by Don’s male presence, when the aliens arrive it’s clear that she prefers the company from strange, extraterrestrial beings, to the white man. “‘Ruth, get over here behind me!’ She doesn’t look at me, only keeps sidling farther away. My terror detonates into anger. ‘Come back here!’ … she doesn’t turn but straightens up warily, still hugging the thing … is she actually trying to talk to them? ‘Please…’she swallows. ‘Please speak to me. I need your help’” (23). Through the natural act of empathy, Ruth is able to easily connect with the creatures through “the hidden sources of power from where true knowledge and … lasting action comes” (to quote Lorde).

Another connection between Lorde and Tiptree’s texts are the effects of power on women, and how we survive experiencing them everyday in society. Lorde writes: “As we learn to bear the intimacy of scrutiny, and to flourish within it, as we learn to use the products of that scrutiny for power within our living, those fears which rule our lives and form our silences begin to lose their control over us” (Lorde, 1). We know as women, that even though Don in “The Women Men Don’t See”, never flat out says the diminutive things that he thinks about Ruth, and frankly, women in general, it’s clear that his demeanor and overall (and I’m putting this in what I feel is best described as) “aggressive manly man white male trope’s” presence, has an effect on Ruth that she’s all too familiar with. It’s obvious that if this story was written from the perspective of Ruth, or truthfully any woman, his mannerisms would be picked up on immediately, and we would have insight on why Ruth’s character acts the way she acts. We, the female reader understand her soft, non intrusive demeanor, because everyone of us has experienced the looming presence and energy of an overly confident, stubborn, male. We sympathize with Ruth’s thoughtfulness, and end up relating to the strength that she displays by the end of the story. Lorde’s words perfectly summarize the way in which women (in this case Ruth), become accustomed to the sexist and demeaning language, portrayed through tone and energy. However, through patronization Ruth flourishes, creating bonds with the creatures, as well as ultimately escaping with her daughter to another universe. As Lorde promotes, Ruth literally devotes herself to an alien idea to distract herself from the white patriarchy, and only until she does that, she becomes free.

Through Lorde’s theoretical, and James Tiptree Jr’s sci-fi/fictional texts, we as women can learn, as well as relate to the ideas and the strategies that these authors spell out for us. Tiptree paints a character that every one of us, in one way or another, is familiar with. While Lorde stresses the importance of experiencing as well as identifying emotions along with what enables them. Both are thought provoking works that every woman is able to absorb and connect with.

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le-petitmort · 5 years

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Ye olde smut time machine II

***Back in the day I wanted to prove I could write any genre of erotica. Of course, I did. Here's a tidbit of my take on a sadistic psycho dominatrix with multiple personality disorder. Enjoy. ***

He had a noticeably Estonian first name, with a surname which made me reminisce of a prodigious, departed stranger from a winter’s night tryst in Bruges. A marbled chest, of which The Louvre was unworthy and that smile. That smile which screamed “rape whistle, where are you!?” Inhibitions to the wayside in the name of conquest and danger.

Yet why worry? As always my trusty girl, the dagger of my dreams was by my side. “Baby Doll I love you.” No silly, it wasn’t this dusky manchild baying his affection in a not very subtle attempt to woo and conquer. It was Karo, La Karolina, adjusting unblemished eyeshadow before sliding my crimson tipped index and middle finger over each faultless framing brow. One soft luxuriant palm dropped to pat the pearl encrusted handle of the trusted dagger at my hip. ‘Baby doll, I love you.” A girl and her poniard should never be underestimated.

I had allowed my suitor to accompany me home. Coy moves along the way ensued. He would twirl me into his arms. A dip low enough for my highlighted tips to nearly touch the filth of the sidewalk below. Natch, you naughty boy. As much pleasure as you seem to take in your own personal grooming, treat the Goddess with respect. It was as if he could read my mind. Chiseled forearms steadied me back atop my stilettos.

Slam, I crushed him against the nearest brick wall. Looking into his filled with shock eyes I bit hard at his collarbone. An abrupt release of my incisors from his salty skin followed.“A love bite, lover.” No sense in being bashful, my mouth attacked his. Voracious, open mouthed seductions between two tongues. He was smitten. I was decisive.

Back at the Palais de Figaro I asked that he make himself comfortable. By comfortable I meant shirtless. I made my way towards the bar. One of those girlish saunters that sent the finest of my assets swaying for his delight. U’luvka vodka was in order. On the rocks. The humorous thing about U’luvka is that in my mother’s native tongue, Polish, it quite literally means legless. My head tipped in a ponderous moment. I wonder what this manly piece of cheesecake would look like legless?

Would it be like the odd little knight in the Monty Python movie. Filled with a false bravado as each limb separated from torso? Or would he succumb to his failure? Sobbing a mournful bale of regrettable sadness at his impending doom. Begging for his last breaths to be taken by the shiny, delicate blade of Baby Doll. Fuckwit.

Slim fingers silently searched into the bartop drawer, identifying an small folded envelope whose contents were emptied in a slight of hand motion into loverboy’s drink. Stir and prepared. I made the same coquettish steps back towards my new man, handing over his tumbler, then dropping to my knees.

I sipped at the glorious clear liquid while my free hand latched to his buckle. Chin lifting I urged, “Drink my lover. Pić oraz moją miłość.” A tender smile cracked before dropping my head to engulf the incessant growth of his virile manhood.

Some say it’s all in the wrist motion. That light twist and grasp as your head bobs ruby lips and porcelain teeth to graze past the coursing with blood veins of his shaft. There is the requisite gasp before beginning. “It’s so large Baby! Can I even fit it in my mouth? Oh my?” That’s right before you go deep, burying your nose into the musky essence of his mons pubis. For effect I will allow him the auditory pleasure of my gagging, as if I were a trashy porngraphic harlot. Yes, big boy. Roll your fingers through my hair, scrunching it, messing it up, ruining it, you indignant fuck.

I pull back, a faux heaving breath as the trail of my spittle dangles precarious like an Amazonian bridge in the wind from my pouted lower lip to bulbous head of his cock. Deft digits pump at the shaft, I go back to work, head jackhammering over his rigid molten shaft until my tresses cascade back like a winged phoenix behind me. Breathe. Assess.

There we go little boy. Those kind eyes are beginning to falter. Lids drooping like the shades of my bedroom window when the perv next door removes his trash, standing at the curb far too long for my liking. I give a shake of his once proud, now diminishing cock. A suitable result, enough to plaster a smirk to my face. I rise, towering between his spread legs as he falls faster towards slumber, arm stretch to swipe away the remains of his drink. Then I spit. Not once but twice. A projectile towards his weak shriveled wanker and one to his cheek. Lotharios are not made to be loved.

Used is their purpose. I watched his jaw draw slack and the first audible snores, throaty and masculine. Good enough for me. With my own drink now in hand I retired to the den, snatching the remote from the mahogany coffee table and tuning in the DVR for a marathon of Young and The Restless. Time was on my side. 1:14 AM.

Three hours of that inglorious bastard Victor Newman later I returned to my sweet prince. If a daily regimen of pilates, crossfit and yoga have done anything for me it’s made this slim, flexible body more than just a fuck toy. It’s made capable of taking care of any situation and more than capable of heaving twice my weight across lean shoulders for the fifty seven steps towards my pleasure room. Stilettos included, because no pain, no gain and balance training is unf.

My heart rate bumped a slight acceleration in what turned out to total fifty nine steps with this lumpy sack of potatoes slung over me. Was it lumpy or was it the cut definition of his rigid abdomen and toned like Adonis pectorals? Clinically speaking as a physician I must err towards the latter.

With a thud I dropped Mister Beef to the safety and comfort of the adjustable examination table. His jeans were thigh high like a lingerie on a Victoria's Secret model, easing my ability to yank them away for the proverbial toss to the corner out of sight. I liked him better this way. As he was brought into this world and how he, time and date dependent upon my mood, would depart from it.

The task of moving him into place went by with ease. I took time to marvel at his feet as I strapped them into the stirrups. Hairless with a crescent curve to the instep leading down to the display of his obvious penchant for pedicures. Pretty nails deserve to be painted. Twisting my head back towards the clock, 4:47 AM. Time enough to pretty up my pretty boy.

In all of my lust induced revelry I had failed to notice the one predominant trait of my newfound friend. Tattoos. Yuck. No rhyme or reason to them. Now, as an educated woman I understand we all have the right to choice. Yet, these. These were random with no story to tell other than possibly a bad decision on drunken night. I am an artist of pain. Preference is given to a clean canvas. Tonight I would take the sullied, and revile him further for poor choices. Whether he could hear me or not.

I sucked in a long, tedious breath through the nostrils of my perfect button nose. “Relax Karolina. Oddychać Karo.” My entertainment had yet to begin and already I was becoming a manic mess.

“He wants to enjoy your gift Karolina.” I walked beside my paramour, finger sweeping away errant hairs from his brow. “How serene you look my lover. At peace. Rested in wait for me to give myself to you.” I clutched each thick wrist in a firm hold, a brusk yank over his head to bind them encased in supple brown leather cuffs. “So pretty. So, so pretty my beautiful boy.”

Six o’clock came and went, the golden sun rising in the east as I stripped and adjourned to the sanctity of my poolside patio. Saturday morning meant Ashtanga yoga. Strenuous poses performed rapid fire between exhale and inhale. Vigorous and absolute focus like the steeled eye of a killer. Perspiration beaded upon my golden skin. Sensual drips sliding over me in a cascade as I bent myself into a fevered pitch. “Namaste Karolina. Namaste.”

Namaste is a word which I love because it has a rough English translation of “Bow to you.” I’ve never been known as one to bow but, I have a sincere appreciation for those who do. Bow to me, that is. My benevolent and guiding hand will lead them along their path. Is it towards righteousness? Hardly. I only deal in the sinners. The wanton. The divisive. The scum. “I, Karolina Figaro, born upon this earth of Italian and Polish heritage seek the guidance of our lord and savior in purging the earth of misdeeds until I take my last living breath. Amen.” I am a proponent of spirituality.

Spirituality and grooming. Mi amore would soon begin to awaken, becoming aware that our tryst to his delight would continue through the daylight hours. Lucky man. To have me catering to sexual needs. Bringing him hurtling toward crescendoed skyrockets of orgasmic bliss.

I cracked two eggs on the skillet waiting until they began to congeal and covered them to baste. A girl needs her protein and from dripped taste of my inamorato I needed a little something more. Breakfast complete I climbed the stairs to the bright lights and mirrors of my elegant white dressing room. A pop in the shower cooled my skin as I adjusted the jets, soon adjusting the water temperature higher until steam billowed at my feet, flowing lazy cloud-like circles above me. “Heaven. this must be heaven.” My mind clicked. “The time Karo. Damn it you insolent child. You have a visitor waiting!”

“Get ready girl. Get ready. Now ragazza stupida!” I could hear the stern voice of my childhood governess chiding me. I felt mortal, small, as weak and low as a meaningless insect. “Yes ma’am. I’m sorry ma’am.” I rushed ahead preparing myself and in the tradition of a fine Figaro woman, making myself a stunning display of feminity for my man. My man. I couldn’t even remember his name now. Just those god awful, disgusting gutter trash tattoos. Freak! You freak!

Penciling mascara around my luminous sapphire orbs brought me back on pointe. Babycakes was sure to be up, groggy no doubt but, awaiting me. I did the final preparations, sliding on only a pair of six inch Louboutins and flew towards the stairs. Hey, I needed the shoes. Don’t judge. Extra height, leverage, kinky fuckery. A man appreciates a lady in heels.

As I approached the room I slowed my pace. Stay confident Karolina. He’s going to love you. How can he not!? “You fucking whore bitch!” It was the first words uttered from his foul mouth in hours.

I felt hurt. troubled by his verbal lashing “Baby, is that any way to talk to me after all I’ve done to take care of you.” I rushed forward throwing my arms over his straining physique.

“Let me out of here you fucking cunt.” He screamed. That word. The C word resonating like the chime of a bell tower. It was cause for me to withdraw my earnest goodwill and tidings.

“Cunt? Did you call me a cunt you pathetic excuse for a mammal.” My hand cracked splintered pain across his cheek, a gob of my spit meteoric in travel towards his eye. “You sub-human piece of shit.”

Thankfully, my examination table is well stocked. I threw open a drawer, grabbed a ball gag, which in turn I jammed in his vulgar mouth. “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all darling.”

He truly did look like a Greek Olympian or Roman gladiator. Dark skin and solid muscles struggling against his restraints, fighting as if he were in a colosseum battling to the death. I could imagine him a victor valiant. A Goddess bestowing an olive frond upon his head. Then I remembered that he had called me a cunt in a not so nice tone.

“Time for your examination.” I sing songed the words just as I had when I was a lowly Johns Hopkins resident working with underprivileged pediatric patients. “Don’t you worry now lovely. Everything will be alright. Doctor Figaro is going to take wonderful care of you. Loving care.” Reaching into the still open drawer I slipped on a pair of latex gloves before grabbing a fresh tube of lubricant.

I gave my swain a benevolent smile hoping to subside his pain. “Don’t be embarrassed now. I’ve done this many time before.” The lube squirted onto my fingertip, thick and clear. “Let me warm it slightly.” Rolling it over my finger I felt the substance lighten then dropped my hand between his sinewy thighs.

Index pressing at the tight balloon knot between his bubbled buttocks, I began to circle clockwise. Urging, coaxing him to loosen. To not resist like a burdensome baby. I spoke with stern authority. “Let me slide it in. Do not make me force it.” I could feel his ass cheeks clamp together harder. Frustrating little shit. My free palm rose. Not one crack, not two, nor three. Five solid and crushing slaps to his limp little scrotum had Mister Gorgeous hearing my message loud and clear.

The barked order flew forth. “Push outward. It slides in easier if you push like you’re taking a shit. God! Everyone knows that idiot!” I grasped those reddened balls like low hanging grapes and twisted. “Stop being a little bitch. You want this as much as me.”

There it was. A slip past that first ringed muscle. Twirling my finger I began the process of loosening his insides as he groaned. “Delightful isn’t it?” I queried, accompanied by an eager smile. “There we go.” The digit slid deeper, his flaccid cock beginning to grow. “Mmm, you really do like it you naughty boy.” Loverboy’s hips jutted then instinctively clenched at my words. His bony hips lowering flat as an iron, in a thinly veiled attempt to subdue any further delving inside his virgin back door. It was time to help him find pleasure.

Grasping his excited tumescence, I began with languid strokes. Base to tip, insuring my thumb ran over that bundle of nerves under the head which would set his head spinning in sensual erotic craving. “There we go. Let it go. Let your hips rise to each stroke like you’re fucking my mouth. Close your eyes. Imagine us making sweet love in the ocean. Blissful waves crashing over us. Envision how you want to come inside me. Claim me. Make me yours.” His panting and engorged cock was the clue. He was soon to explode jets of his seed, like a fountain, spraying across that hot heaving six pack. “Stop!’ I quit pleasuring him and discontinued the enraptured loosening of his backside.

Sure that he wasn’t going to waste a drop I restarted on his ass. A withdrawal brought two fingers into play, scissoring his sphincter as he gasped in gratification. “Feels so good, doesn’t it? To get your boy pussy finger fucked? Do you want to be taken? Fucked?” the words were but a murmur from my lips. His consent evident in the higher, responsive thrusts.

I managed to step to the side of the table without missing a beat. Pulling from the drawer a heavy, black eight inch strap-on. I believe I heard an incessant no but, no means yes when you make love to a beautiful woman.

The harness slid up my slender, shapely legs. The same legs which many a man had worshipped and which would forcibly guide us towards a climactic denouement. Another squirt of lube and I tossed my soiled gloves, beginning to oil my own phallus before leaning forward to place it at his randy hole.

“Do you want to fuck baby?”

He shook his head vigorously.

“Do you want to get off?”

The shake continued.

“Let me pop that cherry and you can return the favor. Maybe. I’ll let you bathe me with that nasty tongue. Call your Daddy. Be your nasty little slut.”

Like that, the imagery of retaking his rightful place as a man overtook all thought process. My faux cock driving further into his milking, constrictive depths. His cock reacted to the prodding. That lightning bolt as the rubber thundered at his prostate. I could sense the tingle flashing throughout his body. That insidious, body enveloping way, much like hitting my own g-spot, which could make him squirt a cascade of his sinful juices. Withdrawal time.

I slipped back and held before pushing forward rhythmical. An insistent rocking motion as I latched to his hips. My pointy nails dug into the epidermis of his skin, ripping coarse gashes of pain that made his howls grow between the cosmic satisfaction of my downstrokes in his fiery little fuck hole. I was making him my decadent squirming bitch and he was all in. Hot.

My own salacious enjoyment could not be denied. Head falling, sweeps of hair a metronomic brush across my back. Feral moans emitted as I cupped my flushed perky tits providing a forceful twist to the coral pebbles. A storm of release was brewing. The sensation of touch like mind addling drugs to the overexcited nerves between my supple thighs.

“Say my name. Say Karolina. Say you want me to own your boy cunt.” I pounded harder.

“Say my name bitch. Say Karolina I adore. I love you Karolina. I am yours Karolina.” Nothing but tedious groans. Those tight nuts were back in hand in a nanosecond. Squeezing and caressing the fertile life out of them.

“No coming.” My eyes pierced through his. Into his cuckolded soul.

“Karolina.” I grunted guttural. “Say, you are my Goddess Karolina.”

And he did. Profusely exclaiming his assent to my commands with wide eyes and mumbled, gargling words. He was into our rite of passion. His body bucking, jerking on the edge of a stars shooting through the sky explosion of desire. Which is when I reached for the tray next to me, grabbed my beloved Baby doll, pressing down hard until his jugular bulged.

“Fuckwit.”

A sudden sound erupted behind me. Steel clanking a loud clatter as I became bathed in the glow of white light. My neck jerked, eyes hazy on the fevered edge of carnal obsession.

“Figaro..time for your lineup.” Those fucking dyke jailers. This dream was too good to be true. Oh, but soon. Soon enough I would be back on the street. Mommy said so. But, only the guilty do sleep in jail.

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violetsystems · 5 years

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#personal

I had a vivid dream in New York while sleeping by myself in a hotel room overlooking the World Trade Center. There’s a large period of my life where I didn’t dream at all. Purchasing a Chinese branded bed frame from everyone’s favorite bad guy helped for the record. Everybody has their feelings about this, that and the other thing these days. In all that I empathize but have never really felt much love back. It’s very one-sided like I’m just sitting here in the stands. Often I live my life on the sidelines of something I can’t quite connect with. Like witnessing a trio of white people on bikes harassing an Asian cab driver for what looked like a centimeter infraction into the bike lane. Or by witnessing a motorcycle crash on my way to cross the Brooklyn Bridge and casually instructing people not to try and move the injured. None of these are dreams mind you. Including the man urinating himself at five in the morning at the Woodside bus stop off the seven. If this seems like some dream to you then welcome to my nightmare. This is America unfiltered. That’s the name of my coffee blog. I travel the world in search of the finest, most expensive coffee and drink it by myself. I don’t own a coffee blog. But I do have dreams about you. This one was strange in that you were projected from someone else’s phone. Your face on the screen speaking to me with someone else holding it. A mediator between the screen that I understood could be trusted. But there was a wall between us but more for our protection. One that somebody else crossed for me as if to beam you to me like a satellite. A woman’s arm and voice helping you to speak on a crowded bus. A cry out through a series of codes and hidden messages perhaps. Possibly from a satellite high about powered by Verizon or something. Unlimited LTE is some real shit. 5G in America not so much. Security in America is top priority. That’s quite apparent as you sit on a roof by yourself looking over the damage of years of shitty foreign policy. I never got to see the towers in person. I never had that kind of relationship with New York until now. I would sit both mornings at Blue Bottle over coffee trying to write you something. And sitting in a literal ghost yard I couldn’t help to think the same mantras we’d been taught. Never forget. We shall overcome. I have a dream. I didn’t have what Martin had. Martin Luther King has always been a hero. Malcolm too. But they were part of a fight that never seems to end. A fight for human dignity. A chance for us to live in peace together. At what cost I ask myself often in the checkout line. A dark spectre of consumer capital looming over me and a watchful eye from the shadows. Maybe that’s why I go to bed at a decent hour on a Saturday night and dream about you. However complicated these things might be.

I remember you talking about dream jobs. I head back to work on Monday. I wore my school’s sweatshirt on the flight home. When you talk about school spirit, it’s easy enough to talk about it or write an album as a dropout. That’s neither here nor there. I never quit. The truth is I’ve been employed for a really long time. I’ve seen myself grow in and out of things like an untrimmed invasive plant. Sort of like Dhalsim from Street Fighter. I only have had the time to practice a few basic poses but yoga and dance for me are interlinked. So is running. I got to run Central Park Saturday morning. I walked around twenty more miles that day. I navigate a city like a cat. Dodging and weaving through crowds sometimes undetected. Sometimes with dirty looks. Often times completely invisible to the naked eye. Overlooked for sure as we have all come to know and love this about my aesthetic. I’ve worn a certain Japanese brand for years. People’s interpretations of that have evolved into a mutation of sorts. A nightmarish hallucination of public transparency. I’m famous but not at the same time. People acknowledge I exist but prefer not to talk about it. These days some of my biggest “fans” in the real world could be adversaries if you looked at them the wrong way. I’m tough but nobody knows the reason. They have their theories. But nobody has put up with my writing enough to have empathy for the winding journey I’ve set myself up for. I did end up getting my pin for 30k in March. Everybody was nice at the Nike store in Soho in my sweaty, stinky Gyakusou shirt. There was an amazing display for the 720 which introduced me to Frank Rudy, an aeronautics engineer who is responsible for the air sole technology. I walk a lot. The only car I ever own was taken from me in a failed relationship. I figured that was a sign to move forward. Shoes helped me do that over the years. So did clothes and obscure aesthetics that boosted my visibility for better or for worse. Up in the mix of things in the streets isn’t something I’m new to. But people underestimate me still after all these years. Just another white guy I suppose. As far as my dream job this honky returns Monday morning like nothing ever happened. Just like I used to disappear to Korea for a month at a time. Except it’s not safe for me to leave the country these days by myself. Queens at five in the morning I’m in my element. Urine aside. For all the shit anybody talks in this world there are people out there living it. One drop at a time.

And from what I’ve seen with my own two eyes there are things I’ve never wanted to be a part of. I also didn’t want to be a showoff or throw it in anybody’s face prematurely. The court of public opinion has burned me more often than not. And I feel whatever bridges I’ve burnt have burnt themselves at this point. I’m more interested in the ones I’ve been building just by being myself. Walking the urine stained streets like it’s some runway in gear nobody gives a shit about. I walked the Brookyln bridge by myself eating Burger King. BK to the fullest. Someone from Instagram randomly commented that it was a vibe. I felt that was a real observation. Sometimes that vibe causes trouble simply by breathing. If there’s any great secret there are a ton of people that just don’t like me. They’re jealous, envious, awkward and judgemental at the same time. And there’s a ton of people on the street that do. It’s not something I can’t even recreate at this point. It follows me around. The book I’ve been reading has talked a lot about the effects of globalization. How the innocence of private space can often be encroached on if spaces overlap. Chaos, noise and culture ensure. How do you find privacy let alone intimacy in all these overlapping systems of public space? How they are accessed, controlled, and moderated is subject to power. Whoever holds the power dictates the rules. In a relationship focused on respecting feminism and independence, one might revoke control to their romantic partner. I would do that for the record. I don’t think many could do what I do. People build intimate partnerships on compromise and understanding. And then people build malls on grave sites with very little understanding of the underlying issues that toppled these structures to the ground. People have often told other people they understand me. They know people like me. So and so is into this too. You should meet so and so. There’s another Tim out there just for you. A better one that plays nice with the power structures that circumvent respect for people of color, genders, and religions. One that doesn’t resist the obvious. That the dead are restless. The memories offer no closure and no understanding for the pain suffered. That I am haunted and in pain in a very similar way. More of a philosophical way than a Poltergeist sort of way. Although I did mysteriously break my chemex making coffee at 3 in the morning before this trip. Maybe I’m just white and clumsy. Maybe I’m just lucky and in love. <3 Tim

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jaynavcd-blog · 7 years

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The Illusionists, Directed by Elena Rossini

A documentary about the commodification of the body and the marketing of unattainable beauty around the world.

“We see the selling of the westernised image as the badge of modernity in India, Singapore, China, Japan where the notion of how you join globalised culture is taking of the western body.”

Power comes from westernisation. People who are happy and secure aren’t good consumers, they aren’t look for products to make them feel better.

The Birth of a Myth

Beauty lies within the eye of the beholder, but it also has to do a lot with the beholders cultural environment. We cannot understand the evolution of beauty ideals without discussing the rise of consumer culture.

In New York City 1920, people were purchasing products out need. Advertisements were described through illustrations and long explanations about the product’s features and functions (rational side of consumers, got their hard earned dollars). But there was too much supply and not enough demand, recession and unemployment.

Productions to Consumption

Edward L Bernays from Austria taps into people’s subconscious desires, channeling the emotional side of consumers. He jumpstarts consumer culture, by turning products into status symbols (how a production enhances one’s social standing).

Ernest Dictor came to the USA in 1938 (pleasure to consumption, with the idea of “keeping up with the Jones’s” embracing consumer items) expression of pleasure- sexualized way. In the 20th century, the human body becomes a center of consumption.

A myth is born. To be happy, successful, modern, like we fully belong we need to buy products. In the 20th century the body becomes the center of consumption.

Ideal beauty is no longer associated to vanity or narcissism it’s rebranded as an accomplishment- status symbol, Jean Baudrillard (French Philosopher calls the body the finest consumer object.

Susie Orbach, psychotherapist author of “bodies”

Commercial pressures, we need to look like we are on a movie set whatever we are doing, we look at ourselves from the outside and evaluate ourselves. That means our experience isn’t that our bodies exists and we use them and we play, decorate, have joy- our bodies have become a type of project that we have to work on all the time.

Jean Kilbourne, filmmaker, author and activist

There is nothing wrong in wanting to be attractive, but it’s compelled and exploited by the commercial culture.

INSECURITY SELLS

People spend more when they feel sad. The ideal consumer is unsatisfied, addict that needs the product; it’s a craving to them.

Magazine Editors are not the only ones to blame. Many industries have a major impact. Women’s bodies are portrayed to feel gross.

The media act as gatekeepers blocking out anything that is ‘real’ (real people) who don’t fit the official body who is not fit to sell products.

Advertising

Manipulation, digital retouching is common

“Ok this is the body I can have, this is my right.”

1. Censorship

2. Manipulation

3. Saturation

Products that promise consumers a way to achieve this ideal beauty

This is how the cycle is complete; this is probably what women want.

The advertising agencies have conceived women that they should be dissatisfied with themselves and they should purchase more products to look more beautiful- Harrison Pope.

The average person a week spend over 60 hours looking at mass media, in 2020 this will raise to 90 hours per week, which is 80 percent of our lives.

Jean Kilbourne

The American image of ideal beauty has become a great extent of the international ideal beauty so we get Asian women getting surgery etc.

The Official Body

Hala Ajam, Makeup Artist in Lebanon.

In the part 15 years Lebanon has changed, women are either likely to look European casual or like a European movie star if they have the money tpo achieve this look. Appearance is important to socialise and look successful.

Susie Orbach

One of the tragedies at the moment is that we are loosing bodies, just like we are loosing languages. ‘Europeans’ are coming into stand for the great variety of human bodies.

Black and White

Ruchi Anand, professor of International Relations

India, Mumbai. Skin whitening products showed a growth in the 1970’s for fair skin. Indians have internal racism. The westernised image is more superior. India is an ex colony of the British. There is a fascination for the white man and women and how they look. Indians tend to go for the westernised modernised image, as that’s where all the power comes from. The highest paid Bollywood actors/actresses are in skin whitening commercials, which have been digitally retouched. Skin whitening products promise finding love, professional success, civilized, modernised. North India is lighter skinned than South India, so they are seeking to be lighter leading to dangerous products. Why don’t you accept the skin you’re born with, brown and black is beautiful.

Susie Orbach

Internalised racism (imperialism) a form of body colonialism, it is affective as it is driven by huge industries that from their perspective want to make one world to sell these products.

White Beauty commercial had a successful run in Thailand; it has commissioned advertising agencies in India and South Africa to create an identical commercial, which is identical in the most literal sense (never mind the different racial make up in the three different countries in question). The campaign has reached half a billion people around the world. One world, one beauty.

In Paris, advertising in mass media has played a role in this. Everywhere you see black women who are ‘not too black’ so they are accepted by mainstream media. The prominent women in mainstream media today are all have fair skin and have a huge influence i.e. Nikki Minaj, Beyoncé and Rihanna are all white washed at times.

Porcelain white skin has been valued in many parts of Asia for centuries. There is a saying in Japanese where ‘white skin hides your flaws.’ They don’t care what colour your skin is, as long you are insecure about it (west= tan). Ideal is impossible to achieve, but the illusion of beauty can be bought if only people keep consuming.

Forever Young

Lack of Diversity

Never Too Thin

Global culture of beauty circulating through out the world.

Getting Them Young

Aspirational marketing, exploiting children, as they want to act older.

Barbie dolls, Lip Smackers. Turning children into consumers at a young age by sexualizing body images.

Future Bodies

Eri Shibata

Big eyes are so popular in Japan because of the Manga characters. Japanese youth are expose to this at a young age.

Agent of Change

Gail Dines, professor and activist; author of “Pornland”

“At stake here of at terms of who controls the media is what kind of society we live in. The question becomes, do you want to live in a society that is owned and controlled by a handful of corporations who determine the nature of art visual landscape. Do you want a handful of corporations to define what feminity should look like, what masculinity should look like, what sexuality should look like. Or do you think that we as people should have the right to determine our own cultural images, we should decide what type of culture we live in, and our children live in. It’s our basic human right, it is not the right of corporations.”

The choice is in our own hands, public discourse was controlled by a small handful of wealthy individuals, all this changed in the 1990’s with the advent of the internet.

There are plenty of things you can do big and small to affect change. Put you money where your values are.

#week7 #research

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