Reblogged from A Soldier On My Own
Vampires, burial, death: inter the corpse where the road forks, so that when it springs from the grave, it will not know which path to follow. Drive a stake through its heart: it will be stuck to the ground at the fork, it will haunt that place that leads to many other places, that point of indecision. Behead the corpse, so that, acephalic, it will not know itself as subject, only as pure body.

The monster is born only at this metaphoric crossroads, as an embodiment of a certain cultural moment—of a time, a feeling, and a place. The monster’s body quite literally incorporates fear, desire, anxiety, and fantasy (ataractic or incendiary), giving them life and an uncanny independence. The monstrous body is pure culture. A construct and a projection, the monster exists only to be read: the monstrum is etymologically “that which reveals”, “that which warns,” a glyph that seeks a hierophant. Like a letter on the page, the monsters signifies something other than itself: it is always a displacement, always inhabits the gap between the time of upheaval that created it and the moment into which it is received, to be born again. These epistemological spaces between the monster’s bones are Derrida’s familiar chasm of différance: a genetic uncertainty principle, the essence of the monster’s vitality, the reason it always rises from the dissection table as its secrets are about to be revealed and vanishes into the night.
Thesis I: The Monster’s Body is a Cultural Body - Monster Culture (Seven Theses), by Jeffrey Jerome Cohen (via elucipher)
Reblogged from we live in the dark

SEE THE THING IS, he said, BIG GIRLS LEAVE MORE SPACE FOR ME TO GRAB AHOLD OF
but
i’m not your handlebars

SEE THE THING IS, she said, BIG GIRLS ARE BETTER THAN SKINNY ONES BECAUSE MEN DON’T LIKE BONES
but
other girls are not graveyards

SEE THE THING IS
a baby girl isn’t beautiful because somebody is gonna hold her
i mean we all wanna be loved but i want her to
love herself
first

a baby girl isn’t beautiful because a man’s fingertips can dig
bruises into her hips, she’s beautiful because
she just is

in nature we don’t say a flower is beautiful
when somebody wants to pick it

in fact we say that nature’s beauty is at the height of purity
when it would destroy you to even touch it

SEE THE THING IS
i would rather be an ocean of danger and deep black and
thick mermaid thighs rather than
a body you want to cruise across
i would rather be the night sky and crush ribs with a suffocating sense that we are all small and purposeless
rather than a landscape of freckles someone happens to think
are akin to constellations
i would rather be storms and lightning and a bright sun rising, i
would rather make you quake in your boots than get your heart
pounding,

i would rather be beautiful like a cold spring stream:
not beautiful because you said so
but beautiful because
i am me.

Don’t really wanna be your girl? Just wanna belong to me? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)  (via marfmellow)
Reblogged from robot penis

Dinnerladies banter

  • Anita: It’s quite a little bouncy sort of a word. Dum-dee-dum.
  • Brenn: Trampoline? Marzipan? Confident?
  • Anita: Impotent. At least he’s not impotent.
Reblogged from Can't the Bitch Count?
A culture fixated on female thinness is not an obsession about female beauty, it is an obsession about female obedience. Dieting is the most potent political sedative in women’s history.
Naomi Wolf (via l1ttleb1t)
Reblogged from A Perpetual Journey
if you had a friend who spoke to you in the same way you sometimes speak to yourself, how long would you allow that person to be your friend?
— one of the most eye opening things i’ve read in a while (via mythoughtsarestars)
Reblogged from A Perpetual Journey
crydaisy:

introvert-loser:

Van Gogh’s “The Starry Night” and Hokusai’s “The Great Wave off Kanagawa” in one painting


YES

crydaisy:

introvert-loser:

Van Gogh’s “The Starry Night” and Hokusai’s “The Great Wave off Kanagawa” in one painting

YES

Reblogged from robot penis
malindalo:

In which Ursula K. Le Guin declines to blurb a book by Brian Aldiss because it is “so self-contentedly, exclusively male”
(Source: Hugh D’Andrade via YA Highway)

malindalo:

In which Ursula K. Le Guin declines to blurb a book by Brian Aldiss because it is “so self-contentedly, exclusively male”

(Source: Hugh D’Andrade via YA Highway)

Reblogged from O Satan, O Sun!
The story of Cassandra, the woman who told the truth but was not believed, is not nearly as embedded in our culture as that of the Boy Who Cried Wolf—that is, the boy who was believed the first few times he told the same lie. Perhaps it should be.
— In her cover essay on silencing women in the October 2014 issue of Harper’s, Rebecca Solnit once again proves that she is one of our era’s greatest essayist – further evidence here and here. (via explore-blog)
Reblogged from robot penis