but then again, its kind like putting a meat suit on and telling a shark not to eat you
We (men) are not fucking sharks!
We are not rabid animals living off of pure instinct
We are capable of rational thinking and understanding.
Just because someone is cooking food doesn’t mean you’re entitled to eat it.
Just because a banker is counting money doesn’t mean you’re being given free money.
Just because a person is naked doesn’t mean you’re entitled to fuck them.
You are not entitled to someone else’s body just because it’s exposed.
What is so fucking difficult about this concept?
How can you not reblog something like this
Here’s a Saturday evening song I’ve just recorded.
I have tried so many times to write songs. It hasn’t happened for me yet. I wish I could write something like this by Marissa Nadler.
I met you in the belly of a wicked rhyme
and read all your letters I could find
Oh, so so beautiful.
I don’t even really know what I want to write about, I just know that I need to write because it helps me. I can breathe more easily when I get shit out of my system. I’ve been dealing with anxiety for years and I’m finally trying this thing where I attempt not to fight it but just go with it? It’s difficult because I’m so used to fighting it, I go into auto-mode. I feel quite good at the moment though but am afraid to hope that that’ll last very long? I would like to look into CBT but the thought of it is giving me anxiety, HA, the irony.
Women are afraid of meeting a serial killer. Men are afraid of meeting someone fat.
When Strangers Click, a 2011 documentary about online dating.
It reminds me of that famous Margaret Atwood quote: “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.” It also reminds me of something written by one of the mods of Sex Worker Problems: “Misandry irritates. Misogyny kills.”
I mean, it’s just true.
“Misandry irritates. Misogyny kills.”
That’s it. That’s it right there.
I was standing in my bathroom last night, looking at myself in the mirror, and I just started weeping. I started weeping because I’m bursting with piled up shit. I have so much anger and sadness inside of me and I keep it all in because I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes or make anyone feel uncomfortable. But it is sucking the life out of me. It is making me fucking depressed and I’m over it. I don’t know what I need to do but I’m going to try it all: I will scream, write, sing, cry, curse, speak up, be loud, complain, mope, be smart, ask questions. I am fucking exhausted with censoring myself and trying to make people happy. I’M OVER IT.
Delphine LaLaurie was a sadistic socialite who lived in New Orleans. Her home was a chamber of horrors. On April 10, 1834, a fire broke out in the mansion’s kitchen, and firefighters found two slaves chained to the stove. They appeared to have started the fire themselves, in order to attract attention. The firefighters were lead by other slaves to the attic, where the real surprise was. Over a dozen disfigured and maimed slaves were manacled to the walls or floors. Several had been the subjects of gruesome medical experiments. One man appeared to be part of some bizarre sex change, a woman was trapped in a small cage with her limbs broken and reset to look like a crab, and another woman with arms and legs removed, and patches of her flesh sliced off in a circular motion to resemble a caterpillar. Some had had their mouths sewn shut, and had subsequently starved to death, whilst others had their hands sewn to different parts of their bodies. Most were found dead, but some were alive and begging to be killed, to release them from the pain. LaLaurie fled before she could be bought to justice – she was never caught.
Holy shit this is real.
Hi,This is my friend Issy (better known as Baby Riss), she is a much beloved and absolutely incredible nineteen-year-old who has just been diagnosed with an extremely rare, life threatening disease. Her only option, besides continued hospitalisation for the…