As Noam Chomsky once pointed out for Z Magazine, old media types from the institutional bodies like American Enterprise Institute tend to regurgitate the same ideas with a reliability that is equally impressive and infuriating. While assuring the public that rape is a terrible crime, writers like Caroline Kitchens and Heather McDonald of right-wing think tank The Manhattan Institute try to claim that feminists have blown this whole rape culture thing way out of proportion.
Apparently, many women disagree. On Tuesday there were more than 1 million responses on the #RapeCultureIsWhen hashtag started by a frustrated Zerlina Maxwell in response to these right-wing narratives.
Keep speaking up!!!!!
- don’t ever feel bad for asking me to tag a trigger
- i do not care what the trigger is
- i will tag it for you
- you have legitimate reasons to be triggered by it
- and i am not one to question those reasons
- so just send me an ask
- anonymous if you’re scared
- and i will tag it all the time in future
- your wellbeing is worth twenty extra seconds of my time at least
Chasing The Sun 1993-1997 exhibition
Frozen on We Heart It
”I’m gonna puke it anyway”
Still raining, how? #stress #sadness #sickness #blur #tired #office #work #hard #mengular #bash #haha #weather #love #malaysia #ndibm (at Samling Housing Products Factory)
When I was six years old,
my mother watched as
the funny lump in her breast grew,
until it became an angry hill
stuck underneath her skin.
At that point, it was too late to simply
cut it out and be done with it.
No, instead I watched as
the sickness kept her in bed
until she could no longer lift
her arm to dust the clumps
of hair she was losing
off of her head.
In the winter,
she fell asleep surrounded by doctors
snapping their surgical gloves on, as
my classmates excitedly said
their goodbyes before break.
Instead of joining them,
I shared my worn couch with my
two siblings and whispered my goodbyes
to a mother I was not sure I’d see again.
When we heard the news that
she had woken up with
a deep, red line that bellowed
“you don’t know how lucky you are,”
in the place her left breast had once slept,
we sighed and pretended we had not
doubted her return home at all.
She watched her children grow up,
and smiled feebly insisted on
jumping across cliffs
instead of walking around them,
knowing that they would only
see the harsh lines in her forehead
from hours of worrying,
instead of the carefree smile
of a woman who thought
she was invincible too.
When I was old enough,"
she told me if it came again,
she would not fight.
Clumps of Hair Are Clogging The Sink | Lora Mathis
An old poem that I’m not satisfied with on my mother’s battle with breast cancer. (via lora-mathis)
you are not depression. you are not anxiety. you are not cancer. you are not anemia.
your illness is a part of you, but it is not all of who you are. you are so much more, so much greater, than perhaps even you realize.
I’ve also forgot about most of the vinyl I had.