because goodbye.

Oct 20
“If we think of the douchebag as a social identity as much as an accusation, as a subject with a distinctive persona locatable within the categories of race, class, gender and sexuality, then we find that the term carries a remarkably precise definition.
The douchebag is someone — overwhelmingly white, rich, heterosexual males — who insist upon, nay, demand their white male privilege in every possible set and setting.
The douchebag is always a white guy. But he is more than that. The douchebag is the demanding 1%, and the far more numerically significant class of white, heterosexist men who ape and aspire to be them. Wall Street guys are douchebags to be sure, but so is anyone looking to cash in on his white male privilege.
This narrowness of categorization — perhaps unique in the history of America’s rich history of racial and sexual slurs — is what makes the word douchebag such a potentially useful political tool.”

Douchebag: The White Racial Slur We’ve All Been Waiting For — Medium

(via wilwheaton)

(via wilwheaton)

Oct 16


Feels good.

You can read it here if you like. It’s about my favourite lil niche of philosophy — American pragmatism, a.k.a. John Dewey, William James, Richard Rorty, etc — and about how intersectional feminist insights can massively expand and enrich their analyses. I talk a lot about Jane Addams, an amazing early-19th-century activist philosopher who is only now starting to get the credit she deserves as a key part of the pragmatist canon, and about how she can help us get better oriented towards our own ideals (stuff like ‘truth’, ‘justice’ and ‘love’).

I have no idea if it’ll be marked well, but I’m really proud of it. Part of the reason feminist philosophy is still so marginalised in academic philosophy is because not enough men write about it and take it seriously, so at the very least, I’m happy that I’m swimming against that tide.

So what do you do when you build yourself — only to realize you built yourself with the wrong things?

You rip it up and start again. That is the work of your teenage years — to build up and tear down and build up again, over and over, endlessly, like speeded-up film of cities during boom times and wars. To be fearless, and endless, in your reinventions — to keep twisting on nineteen, going bust, and dealing in again, and again. Invent, invent, invent.

They do not tell you this when you are fourteen, because the people who would tell you — your parents — are the very ones who built the thing you’re so dissatisfied with. They made you how they want you. They made you how they need you. They built you with all they know, and love — and so they can’t see what you’re not: all the gaps you feel leave you vulnerable. All the new possibilities only imagined by your generation, and nonexistent in theirs. They have done their best, with the technology they had to hand at the time — but now it’s up to you, small, brave future, to do your best with what you have. As Rabindranath Tagore advised parents, “Don’t limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time.”

And so you go out into your world, and try and find the things that will be useful to you. Your weapons. Your tools. Your charms. You find a record, or a poem, or a picture of a girl that you pin to the wall and go, “Her. I’ll try and be her. I’ll try and be her — but here.” You observe the way others walk, and talk, and you steal little bits of them — you collage yourself out of whatever you can get your hands on. You are like the robot Johnny 5 in Short Circuit, crying, “More input! More input for Johnny 5!” as you rifle through books and watch films and sit in front of the television, trying to guess which of these things that you are watching — Alexis Carrington Colby walking down a marble staircase; Anne of Green Gables holding her shoddy suitcase; Cathy wailing on the moors; Courtney Love wailing in her petticoat; Dorothy Parker gunning people down; Grace Jones singing “Slave to the Rhythm” — you will need when you get out there. What will be useful. What will be, eventually, you?

And you will be quite on your own when you do all this. There is no academy where you can learn to be yourself; there is no line manager slowly urging you toward the correct answer. You are midwife to yourself, and will give birth to yourself, over and over, in dark rooms, alone.

And some versions of you will end in dismal failure — many prototypes won’t even get out of the front door, as you suddenly realize that no, you can’t style-out an all-in-one gold bodysuit and a massive attitude problem in Wolverhampton. Others will achieve temporary success — hitting new land-speed records, and amazing all around you, and then suddenly, unexpectedly exploding, like the Bluebird on Coniston Water.

But one day you’ll find a version of you that will get you kissed, or befriended, or inspired, and you will make your notes accordingly, staying up all night to hone and improvise upon a tiny snatch of melody that worked.

Until — slowly, slowly — you make a viable version of you, one you can hum every day. You’ll find the tiny, right piece of grit you can pearl around, until nature kicks in, and your shell will just quietly fill with magic, even while you’re busy doing other things. What your nurture began, nature will take over, and start completing, until you stop having to think about who you’ll be entirely — as you’re too busy doing, now. And ten years will pass without you even noticing.

And later, over a glass of wine — because you drink wine now, because you are grown — you will marvel over what you did. Marvel that, at the time, you kept so many secrets. Tried to keep the secret of yourself. Tried to metamorphose in the dark. The loud, drunken, fucking, eyeliner-smeared, laughing, cutting, panicking, unbearably present secret of yourself. When really you were about as secret as the moon. And as luminous, under all those clothes.

HOW TO BUILD A GIRL by Caitlin Moran

Chapter 24

(via theneverendingteaparty)

(via whereistheplot)

Oct 14




Cornel West was arrested.


"The country is in deep trouble. We’ve forgotten that a rich life consists fundamentally of serving others, trying to leave the world a little better than you found it. This is true at the personal level. But there’s also a political version, which has to do with what you see when you get up in the morning and look in the mirror and ask yourself whether you are simply wasting your time on the planet or spending it in an enriching manner.

We need a moral prophetic minority of all colors who muster the courage to question the powers that be, the courage to be impatient with evil and patient with people, and the courage to fight for social justice. In many instances we will be stepping out on nothing, hoping to land on something. That’s the history of black folks in the past and present, and of those of us who value history and struggle.”

- Cornel West, Prisoners of Hope

(via indielowercase)

Oct 12


forgiving up

Oct 7
“It is the light falling continually from heaven which alone gives a tree the energy to send powerful roots deep into the earth. The tree is really rooted in the sky.” Simone Weil

Oct 5


here is what experience and observation have led me to believe: 99.9% of the time, “good works” done by a monstrously abusive person are not an example of the complications of the human spirit. they are a cover-up, personal and public. an extension of the drive for power and flattery. and, often, a mechanism for access.

I’ve been thinking about this post for more than a year now.

Oct 4


"Banoffee vs The Cloud"

{a 10-hour fanfic by Parking Lot Experiments}

[Original song — by Banoffee]

Oct 1
Thesis bookpile status: COMPLETELY OUT OF HAND

Thesis bookpile status: COMPLETELY OUT OF HAND

Sep 29




made the remix, shot the video in a day. mega fun!! (๑>◡<๑)

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