My thought for the weekend
(via etiquetteforalady)
- what you said was: "i don't respect women who don't respect themselves"
- what you meant was: "i and society as a whole hold women up to ridiculous respectability standards directly relating to the "purity" of said women while hypersexualizing them at the same time and if you are a woman and don't fit my awkward monolith of criteria then i refuse to acknowledge your humanity"
- what i heard was: "hi i'm a misogynist piece of shit, please punch me in my face"
"When we’re incomplete, we’re always searching for somebody to complete us. When, after a few years or a few months of a relationship, we find that we’re still unfulfilled, we blame our partners and take up with somebody more promising. This can go on and on—series polygamy—until we admit that while a partner can add sweet dimensions to our lives, we, each of us, are responsible for our own fulfillment. Nobody else can provide it for us, and to believe otherwise is to delude ourselves dangerously and to program for eventual failure every relationship we enter."
— Tom Robbins (via wordpainting)
(via therawness)
"Do not date a writer. She has convinced herself that she is God. She will capture you between her two open palms and squeeze your diaphragm gently within her middle and index finger. She’ll laugh when you squirm, and tickle your bronchi. She’s read articles that have been telling her for weeks that being woken up at 5 AM by the girl who’s been digging nail marks into your shoulders for the past three weeks, might be a good thing. Because she has finally tasted language again and wants to tell you about it. Maybe she wants to ink it across your body. She might even want to write it on your shoulders with her tongue. Your protests will fall on deaf ears, she’s forgotten your name and where you met, she only remembers that she loves you because she has learned the sulk of your bottom lip.
Try mouthing words at her, she won’t listen ‘baby I have a 7 o’clock start. I’m tired.’ You’ll realise soon enough, if you stay, that time means nothing to her. The clocks have stopped. She’ll shush you quietly, or prise your mouth open and chew on the inside of your cheek or she’ll clamber out of bed on coltish legs to drink whiskey from a wine glass. The dimples on her knees will remind you of commas, but she will not always let you touch them. I’m exercising my right as a woman, she’ll say, when you want sex and she doesn’t feel it because she’s spent the weekend fucking poetic verse and her mouth is too tired to kiss you and her teeth are aching.
There’s trails of dust she’ll leave in her wake. The bed will be empty on Sunday mornings because she is sitting on the roof, smelling of alcohol and cigarettes and all the novels she’s slept with and the ink she’s bitten into. There will be curdled milk in the fridge, cheese three weeks off, and always cake. These days will be her worst. Her screams will fill your ears like lead if you try to touch her. She’ll turn her back on you and curl herself onto your favourite chair and spend hours there, watchful and irritable. She’ll leave you if you speak to her and there are days when you will wonder if she will ever come back, or if she has found another muse. Messages aren’t always read. And if they are, responses aren’t always found.
She’ll rip the skin of your back to pieces when she loves you again. The edges of your jaw will bear the three pronged ridges of her teeth. Her syntax will pour into your mouth like aged wine and she will use her body to curve herself around you like a vine and these will be the best and worst hours of your life.
You know her happiness is short lived. She will give you herself only when she wants to and then she will take it away. You do not own me, she’ll say, I own myself. I’m kept only by language. I’ll cheat on you with words. She has filled herself up already, and there is no room for you.
Do not date a writer. She thinks she is God."
— 5000letters, “Do Not Date a Girl Who Writes” (via budddha)
(via harriettumbles)
Love this!
Sculptures in modern clothing.
All over this ‘Street Stone’ series by French photographer Léo Caillard and art director Alexis Persani who’ve styled some of the Louvre’s sculptures into hip, fashionable types.
Photographing the statues first, the duo then stacked imagery of models in similar poses before on top before removing everything but the clothes from the top layer in Photoshop.
Resulting in a juxtaposed contrast between modern and classical culture, the results are ACE!
*LIKE*
(via whoisbobbparris)
"
We are supposed to believe that not only must we be continuously striving for that good body, we must also display that we are fighting our natural bodies and conforming to gender roles, age roles and above all else we must be sexy to unknown dudes.
If we are not fuckable, we are not to be seen in our swim suits in public.
If we are seen, we are to understand that it’s okay for strangers to take pictures of us to make fun of us on the internet, if you are famous you are fodder to be absolutely ROASTED if you don’t look like the retouched photos of yourself in magazines. We are to understand that the onus of having peace or being allowed to be seen in public in a swimsuit and not have it be a traumatic or abusive experience is on us and our bodies.
"— I break it down about swimsuit bodies, shame and other bullshit we need to not buy into. TW I suppose for mention of dieting, weightloss and eating disorders. Read it here. (via nudiemuse)
This is brilliant *applauds*
(via daughtersofdilla)
Angelina Jolie had a double mastectomy, in case you hadn’t heard. How dare she remove those ticking time bombs from her chest, amiright? Like, hasn’t she learned by now that her body is public domain and we all get to vote on what she does with it? Sheesh, how selfish can ya get.
