"be stubborn about your goals but flexible about your methods." the best advice I’ve ever received.
That’s what really scares me.
Falling in love is easy. Having sex is easier. But bumping into someone that can spark your soul - that shit is rare.
You could fuck four, five, all the people in a god damned room and you’d only feel a connection with one. Or none at all.
And what sucks is despite the undeniable real magnetic pull between the two of you, more often than not, you don’t end up together.
I’m afraid I won’t meet anyone else I can connect with.
I’m scared it’ll be just you.
At some point, you’re just going to have to say
“this is my body, and it is the right body for me.”
your body might be the underscore of self-destruction
with scars and stitches and broken skin and long nights
etched into your palms and in the bags under your eyes
but you are not an embarrassment and you are not
weak and you are not a failure, you are human and
capable of crumbling
so show off those wolf teeth and say
“this is my body, and I am surviving”
your body might be sharp angles or soft curves or
somewhere in between and every time
you take a picture of yourself, i hope some part of you says
“goddamn but do i look good today” because even if
ten hundred people call you ugly
if you’re happy, they have no power over you
because weight and worth have no correlation
so if someone comments on what you’re eating,
keep eating anyway and tell them
“this is my body, and it’s my place to say. i can change things
about it, but during this journey i still love all the things
i see along the way.”
your body might come with equipment you don’t want to use
or you don’t think really belongs to you and
you’d like to change and i want you to know
that’s perfectly okay because you were
never a mistake and i love you however you
were made and if someone tries to remove the choice
of how you express yourself, you show them
your hands all full of potential and say
“this is my body and if i choose to knock it all down
or rebuild or just change the color of the paint:
not a single drop is any of your business anyway.”
your body might come with injuries or illnesses
that make people walk on eggshells around you
as if you were made of glass but they probably
don’t know that cancer scars never stopped my mother
from making excellent desserts or how my brother’s
disabilities never stopped him from achieving
and now he’s making prosthetic limbs for children
because your definition does not start or end with
what you’ve struggled through
and i hope if someone tries to hold you back
you show them
“this is my body and just because it doesn’t work like yours doesn’t mean i can’t love it”
your body might come in any color of the spectrum
and you might carry the weight of heavy silences and
clenched fists but any person that tries to justify cruel behavior
with the idea that skin and equality should somehow
be interlinked - you already know but they’re wrong
and they always have been and i cannot believe
it is 2014 and i’m still having to explain this
so if someone so much as hints that they think
they can determine anything based on race
don’t say anything just punch them directly in the face
but then when you’ve laid them out and are
shaking out your fist maybe toss over one shoulder
“this is my body and it’s excellent”
because at some point you’re gonna
fall in love with all of this
like how my ribs are supersized and i’ve got
fat on my hips and my tummy has rolls and
my thighs like to kiss and maybe it’s not perfect
because my hips still crack and i messed up my back but
this is my body and
it might not be right for everyone
but it’s what’s right for me
and it took me a long long time
to realize this and i think it’s because
other people look at me and say
“this is your body and i would like it to change”
this is my body
and it’s just fine this way.
He is taking a course on Marxist ideology.
He says, “The only real solution is to smash the system and start again.”
His thumb is caressing the most bourgeois copy of the communist manifesto that I have ever seen,
He bought it at Barnes and Noble for twenty-nine U.S. American dollars and ninety-nine cents,
Its hard cover shows a dark man with a scarved face
Waving a gigantic red flag against a fictional smoky background.
The matte finish is fucking gorgeous.
He wants to be congratulated for paying Harvard sixty thousand dollars
To teach him that the system is unfair.
He pulls his iPhone from his imported Marino wool jacket, and leaves.
What people can’t possibly tell from the footage on TV
Is that the water cannon feels like getting whipped with a burning switch.
Where I come from, they fill it with sewer water and hope that they get you in the face with your mouth open
So that the hepatitis will keep you in bed for the next protest.
What you can’t tell from Harvard square,
Is that when the tear gas bursts from nowhere to everywhere all at once,
It scrapes your insides like barbed wire, sawing at your lungs.
Tear gas is such a benign term for it,
If you have never breathed it in you would think it was a nostalgic experience.
What you can’t learn at Barnes and Noble,
Is that when they rush you, survival is to run,
I am never as fast as when the police are chasing me.
I know what happens to women in the holding cells down there and yet…
We still do it.
I inherited my communist manifesto,
It has no cover—
Because my mother ripped it off when she hid it in the dust jacket of “Don Quixote”
The day before the soldiers destroyed her apartment,
Looking for subversive propaganda.
She burned the cover, could not bring herself to burn the pages,
Hoped to God the soldiers couldn’t read,
They never found it.
So she was not killed for it, but her body bore the scars of the torture chamber,
For wanting her children to have a better life than she did,
Don’t talk to me about revolution.
I know what the price of smashing the system really is, my people already tried that.
The price of uprise is paid in blood,
And not Harvard blood.
The blood that ran through the streets of Santiago,
The blood thrown alive from Argentine helicopters into the Atlantic.
It is easy to say “revolution” from the comfort of a New England library.
It is easy to offer flesh to the cause,
When it is not yours to give.
It’s important for little girls to know not every story has to be a love story and for boys to know that soldiers aren’t the only ones to triumph in war.
You want to say Hi to the cute girl on the subway. How will she react? Fortunately, I can tell you with some certainty, because she’s already sending messages to you. Looking out the window, reading a book, working on a computer, arms folded across chest, body away from you = do not disturb. So, y’know, don’t disturb her. Really. Even to say that you like her hair, shoes, or book. A compliment is not always a reason for women to smile and say thank you. You are a threat, remember? You are Schrödinger’s Rapist. Don’t assume that whatever you have to say will win her over with charm or flattery. Believe what she’s signaling, and back off.
If you speak, and she responds in a monosyllabic way without looking at you, she’s saying, “I don’t want to be rude, but please leave me alone.” You don’t know why. It could be “Please leave me alone because I am trying to memorize Beowulf.” It could be “Please leave me alone because you are a scary, scary man with breath like a water buffalo.” It could be “Please leave me alone because I am planning my assassination of a major geopolitical figure and I will have to kill you if you are able to recognize me and blow my cover.”
On the other hand, if she is turned towards you, making eye contact, and she responds in a friendly and talkative manner when you speak to her, you are getting a green light. You can continue the conversation until you start getting signals to back off.
The fourth point: If you fail to respect what women say, you label yourself a problem.
There’s a man with whom I went out on a single date—afternoon coffee, for one hour by the clock—on July 25th. In the two days after the date, he sent me about fifteen e-mails, scolding me for non-responsiveness. I e-mailed him back, saying, “Look, this is a disproportionate response to a single date. You are making me uncomfortable. Do not contact me again.” It is now October 7th. Does he still e-mail?
Yeah. He does. About every two weeks.
This man scores higher on the threat level scale than Man with the Cockroach Tattoos. (Who, after all, is guilty of nothing more than terrifying bad taste.) You see, Mr. E-mail has made it clear that he ignores what I say when he wants something from me. Now, I don’t know if he is an actual rapist, and I sincerely hope he’s not. But he is certainly Schrödinger’s Rapist, and this particular Schrödinger’s Rapist has a probability ratio greater than one in sixty. Because a man who ignores a woman’s NO in a non-sexual setting is more likely to ignore NO in a sexual setting, as well.
So if you speak to a woman who is otherwise occupied, you’re sending a subtle message. It is that your desire to interact trumps her right to be left alone. If you pursue a conversation when she’s tried to cut it off, you send a message. It is that your desire to speak trumps her right to be left alone. And each of those messages indicates that you believe your desires are a legitimate reason to override her rights.
For women, who are watching you very closely to determine how much of a threat you are, this is an important piece of data.
an excerpt from Phaedra Starling’s “Schrödinger’s Rapist: or a guy’s guide to approaching strange women without being maced” (via lostgrrrls)
HOLY FUCK THE TRUTH.
Can every one of my male followers read this? And please, before you get defensive (“I would never rape anyone!”) keep in mind, women being afraid of Shrodinger’s Rapists (oh my god i still can’t get over the encompassing brilliance of this phrase) is a conditioned, learned response from being immersed in rape culture and the evolution of sexism and sexual violence in our society from the day we’re born. And unfortunately, it’s very difficult to unlearn without the efforts of all genders to dismantle it. Which is where you come in.
It’s also just rude and disrespectful to patently ignore what someone has told you regarding their personal space, body, and time. Get a clue.
I will always reblog this. Always.
So if you speak to a woman who is otherwise occupied, you’re sending a subtle message. It is that your desire to interact trumps her right to be left alone.
Oh my lord, everything in this.