the only reason i take any chances in my life is because i need stuff to write about on my blog
I can’t believe I’m sitting here watching Woody Allen think he’s too good for Shelley Duvall. I have never, I will never, I can’t. I just can’t.
i think this project is really major and i have a woody allen story but i’m not in the mood right now but seriously yes to this project. the phrase “sexual annoyance” is so great.
this is a good question with a longer answer and a shorter answer.
shorter: i believe i’ve bought one pair of heels, a few pieces of lingerie, and no expensive clothes since i started graduate school three summers ago. everything in these pictures is several years old, from when i worked at fashion magazines, and when i had to wear fancy clothes to get and keep my jobs. (at which i engaged in my stealth feminism. relevant.) (and also at which i wore the same fancy clothes over and over for years. i don’t really get sick of things i like, including clothes.) anyway, these days i rationalize it by not actually having to.
but that doesn’t explain this, which means i still need to think about how i want explain the longer answer to your question.
in the meantime, i would like to wholeheartedly support your wearing nice shoes; wearing nice shoes changes everything, at least for me. and for everyone looking at you, too.
but the most important number of all might be the number of people who have liked this feminist narcissism post, which keeps getting new lives, and which gives me hope that there really are that many feminist narcissists. i just fixed my hair and put on lip gloss even though it’s 12:30 AM.
2007 whiplash. i totally forgot i owned this stuff. the marni necklace on the far right makes it impossible for anyone—anyone—to fuck with you. i wore it on my first day at sunday styles.
My go to answer about why I don’t like the beats is that they’re selfish boring white dudes which really offended him because “we’re all inherently selfish.” cool let me know when you crawl outside of your own privileged ass and look around, sorry I offended your future as a selfish boring white dude
LOL forever. i feel like some selfish boring white dude spam might be coming on.
maybe i’ll go take a long walk by the hospital or over the bridge—i don’t think i’ve done that since last 4th of july—and then come home and post some maudlin/not maudlin posts and then try to think of other significant things to do, like put one of my favorite pieces of art away in a closet for a little while, just to see how it feels. but maybe not. maybe i’ll just go to target.
adrienne rich, “split at the root” (via beneathbixbybridge)
i remember everything about the first time i read this (1994).
I’m going to be one of those
writerspeople who’ll write irrelevant yet personal captions/notes underneath reblogged images, I can feel it.
one of the best things about tumblr.
Speaking of acting like a “hysterical accident victim” and the way “talking to him was like talking to a chair”-
I have to speak (tumblr style) in the real world, where not everyone knows what I mean and what my misandry is shorthand for-
We sound disgusting which is the point. We sound crazy. It is so obviously patently absurd to Chris Kraus Marie Calloway people who have hurt you, case study revenge acts make you seem pathological.
I’m going to do this feminist lit discussion group which is about us and I think I might sound fucked. Like a terrible activist. Like I’m so intrusive and inappropriate and embarrassing, like I expect other people to take care of my emotional needs, like a loser, like unappealing, like we don’t make good pragmatic activist sense, like if I felt satisfied by explaining myself in simple activist contexts I wouldn’t need to liveblog my feminist breakdown, like who says the “activists” get to define, hegemonically, whatever the fuck violence and care and solidarity should mean.
Like no, like there are codes that seem so vague and intangible and violent to me. Like so what if I seem totally fucked? Like I hate the term self-care and I hate how quiet I can become when I believe that everyone around me is a model human being in a way that I need to mimic or else I’m so fucked, like I can’t explain why I’m so angry but I’m so angry and I know I need to deal with my shit but what if everyone else should have to deal with my shit too? Like Chris Kraus did to Dick Hebdige. Like there’s got to be a reason I feel so alien in most of the anarchist spaces I go to and I don’t know what it is and ugh and ugh and no and also, refusal. And also, speech. And also, remind them of the wound. Refuse to speak of anything else.
i love this. the shorthand problem is so real; so is the urgency to liveblog our feminist breakdowns. i really like this louise bourgeois going around tumblr. but what if we didn’t think of it as revenge? it’s never clear to me that one needs to take revenge—even if it’s sometimes funny to take revenge—because revenge happens anyway. what if we think about it as making things weird in public? what if we are making trauma casual? what if we know we are standing trial, just as we are supposed to? what if, then, it is self-protection? (i often think it is self-protection.) what if we are bearing witness? what if we are staging a great refusal, refusing to disappear, or to die (same thing?)? what if what we are doing is transforming the affects surrounding our own experience? what if we are having fun?