By garli on Assumptions
Oh my god, been there: If my work badge doesn’t unlock the door on the first swipe, I’ve been secretly fired.
By Megasus on The Ghosting of Ghost
OK, also, who would be able to make a Ghost phone app because I would pay so much money.
SHUT UP TALKING PLEASE ELEANOR
I was awfully deprived before I met you. It was the majority of my life, but I can scarcely remember it, so different was I. I had been convinced – by therapists, by the touch of my molester, by my parents through their chilly distance, if not their words – that I was a terrible, disfigured thing, incapable of love or intimacy. I lived in and by myself but I wanted what other people had so badly, their ease and closeness with each other. I resigned myself to numbness for many years.
I remember it was getting warm outside and a pushy college classmate of mine cornered me into helping out on one of her projects. I showed up with my shitty Nikon and there you were, with yours. I remember that we laughed because our hair was so similar. We grumbled together at the ridiculousness of the project and its lead. The day ended and we parted. I thought about your glasses.
When it got cold again that year I became lonely, as I always do, and instead of going home to my chilly family I would go to the coffee shop on the corner of campus and listen to Deerhunter, and try to stave off my sadness. I remember that you came in and we smiled and you invited me over to your table and we chatted. The conversation dropped off but you let me stay and watch you draw. I had never known a true artist before and it filled me with wonder. It still does, you still do. I saw you often there. I realized that when you weren’t there, I missed you.
I think it was one night when I was looking for another thing to do besides go home, and I went to a poetry reading, one of those slams that white kids in undergrad love so much, and your girlfriend at the time was reading, and you waved at me and I waved back. After the performance she and I and you walked together around downtown, talking about poetry and life. While I was droning on about how sad mine was, we rounded a street corner and you reached over and you pecked my cheek, like it was nothing, and you wrapped your arm around mine and held my hand and we walked back to my car. I don’t remember anyone ever being that close to me before, in a way that felt good and wholesome and nourishing. I felt all of a sudden like I was in a dream. I still feel the tightness of your fingers around mine, so solid and so wonderful.
You stayed in my life, and we learned about one another, and I changed into a better person, a more whole person. I told you I loved you one day and you didn’t hesitate to tell me you loved me back and I had never known such happiness as I felt then. I love you so much. The love I have for you is so powerful that it gets into everything, the way my revulsion toward myself used to. Whenever I see you everything around us glows with it, it sloughs off of me in great waves. Someday far in the future, some kids will meet one another where we have walked together, and the love they start to feel will be the child of the love I have for you. It humbles me every day.
The question of friendship in the face of such love baffles me. Do I love you in that way? I feel like I could lay at your feet forever and never want for anything, so yes, probably. My imagination has vividly posited the thought of your lips against mine. I may have written poetry for you late at night, and I’m the furthest thing from a poet. But of course I feel these things. To know you as well as I do, the man who still doubts whether he can really know anyone, and not love you so intensely is absolutely impossible, you wonderful thing. And honestly, we would make a terrible couple. At my best I am too staid, at your best you are still given to boredom. But I need you in my life, surely. Does it matter what inconvenient thoughts I have, when I am so far away from anyone? It does not trouble me, nor should it trouble you. You are the best friend I have ever had and I intend to keep it that way.
There is no One for me. I will find and love another woman just as much as I love you, maybe more. But if I do it’s because I was taught how, by you. There is special room in my heart, always. If I have a daughter, she will have your name, because she can only enrich my life as much as you have.
@Woman Laughing Alone With Boas
"Acceptance" is not the same as "attraction."
Everyone has the right to say no to what doesn't attract them. For some people, a few inches of height up or down can be a deal-killer. No one has the right to police attraction. No one has to like it. It is the most personal choice a person can make, and doesn't have to be fair.
By melis on Political Desires
OH I'M AWFULLY SORRY THE INTERSECTIONALITY BOOTH IS FULL UP AT THE MOMENT BUT THERE ARE STILL SOME OPEN TABLES AT THE MATRIX OF DOMINATION
By melis on Political Desires
WOULD YOU PREFER TO BE SEATED IN THE SECOND OR THIRD WAVE OF FEMINISM
By melis on Political Desires
WELCOME TO CISZLER ARE YOU PART OF THE GENDER THEORY PARTY RIGHT THIS WAY PLEASE
By evil melis on Versus Lola
@wharrgarbl Now witness the firepower of this fully ARMED and OPERATIONAL commenting account!
@juksie I don't think rape itself is portrayed in the commercial, though the fact that she was clearly drunk on white wine (srsly?) when agreeing to make 14 babies is a giant neon sign pointing to rape culture. The fact that they make a point of having the character explicitly say "yes" makes me feel like they *knew* about how fine a line they were walking. Depictions of rape culture does not have to include rape itself, but signifiers of stuff like "deserving it" or blurred lines of consent that perpetuate the ol' "asking for it" defense -- which, IMHO, this commercial totally buys into. Anyway, I think we can all agree that the commercial is squicky beyond belief.