I celebrate myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
And every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass (1855, First Edition)


Monday First Sentences | Every Monday, we offer the opening sentences of a Penguin Classic to start the week

(via classicpenguin)

(via lauriehalseanderson)

dykeprivilege:

policymic:

Courageous women speak out against corrective rape

Grace Brown has photographed hundreds of survivors and received submissions from thousands more since starting Project Unbreakable in October 2011. Her images document the threatening, demeaning and downright misguided comments that sexual abusers use to torment and subdue their victims.

Some pictures capture a particularly haunting aspect of sexual victimization: so-called “corrective rape,” a hate crime used against LGBT people as punishment or in the belief that forcing them to have heterosexual sex will “cure” them of their homosexuality.

Read moreFollow @policymic

Corrective rape happens in every country we need to stop acting as if it’s restricted to countries that fit into the narrative of ‘backwards’ countries.

(via fuckyeahsexpositivity)

April was too lonely a month to spend alone. In April, everyone around me looked happy. People would throw their coats off and enjoy each other’s company in the sunshine—talking, playing catch, holding hands. But I was always by myself.

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

Solitude gives birth to the original in us, to beauty unfamiliar and perilous - to poetry. But it also gives birth to the opposite: to the perverse, the illicit, the absurd.

Thomas Mann, Death in Venice
(via somebody-else)

(via booklover)

(via noseinabook)

when she was 7, a boy pushed her on the playground
she fell headfirst into the dirt and came up with a mouthful of gravel and lines of blood chasing each other down her legs
when she told her teacher what happened, she laughed and said ‘boys will be boys honey don’t let it bother you
he probably just thinks you’re cute’
but the thing is,
when you tell a little girl who has rocks in her teeth and scabs on her knees that hurt and attention are the same
you teach her that boys show their affection through aggression
and she grows into a young woman who constantly mistakes the two
because no one ever taught her the difference
‘boys will be boys’
turns into
‘that’s how he shows his love’
and bruises start to feel like the imprint of lips
she goes to school with a busted mouth in high school and says she was hit with a basketball instead of his fist
the one adult she tells scolds her
‘you know he loses his temper easily
why the hell did you have to provoke him?’
so she shrinks
folds into herself, flinches every time a man raises his voice
by the time she’s 16 she’s learned her job well
be quiet, be soft, be easy
don’t give him a reason
but for all her efforts, he still finds one
‘boys will be boys’ rings in her head
‘boys will be boys
he doesn’t mean it
he can’t help it’
she’s 7 years old on the playground again
with a mouth full of rocks and blood that tastes like copper love
because boys will be boys baby don’t you know
that’s just how he shows he cares
she’s 18 now and they’re drunk
in the split second it takes for her words to enter his ears they’re ruined
like a glass heirloom being dropped between the hands of generations
she meant them to open his arms but they curl his fists and suddenly his hands are on her and her head hits the wall and all of the goddamn words in the world couldn’t save them in this moment
she touches the bruise the next day
boys will be boys
aggression, affection, violence, love
how does she separate them when she learned so early that they’re inextricably bound, tangled in a constant tug-of-war
she draws tally marks on her walls ratios of kisses to bruises
one entire side of her bedroom turns purple, one entire side of her body
boys will be boys will be boys will be boys
when she’s 20, a boy touches her hips and she jumps
he asks her who the hell taught her to be scared like that and she wants to laugh
doesn’t he know that boys will be boys?
it took her 13 years to unlearn that lesson from the playground
so I guess what I’m trying to say is
i will talk until my voice is hoarse so that my little sister understands that aggression and affection are two entirely separate things
baby they exist in difference universes
my niece can’t even speak yet but I think I’ll start with her now
don’t ever accept the excuse that boys will be boys
don’t ever let him put his hands on you like that
if you see hate blazing in his eyes don’t you ever confuse it with love
baby love won’t hurt when it comes
you won’t have to hide it under long sleeves during the summer
and
the only reason he should ever reach out his hand
is to hold yours

Fortesa Latifi - Boys Will Be Boys 

(And Why That Is The Stupidest Thing You Could Ever Say To A Little Girl)

Having seen how lucidly and logically certain madmen
justify their lunatic ideas to themselves and to others,
I can never again be sure of the lucidness of my lucidity

      Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via fuckyeahexistentialism)

thesilentpages:

taherehmafi:

ransom and i got married several months ago in an intimate ceremony, but recently had a larger reception for more family and friends, and it was a blast! as we’re both writers, it seemed fitting to have the event at one of our favorite bookstores: the last bookstore in downtown LA. we’ve had a lot of requests for photos, so i thought i’d drop a few here. hope you enjoy them as much as we do! 

:::for the especially curious:::

my bouquet: was made from the pages of ransom’s novel (miss peregrine’s home for peculiar children).

our photographers: brandon + katrina of brandon wong photography.

venue: the last bookstore in downtown los angeles.

catering: the extremely fabulous heirloomla.

flowers: from floral art!

rentals: furniture from found rentals, dishes from dishwish!

the band: one of our favorite local indie bands, the gallery.

hugs and books!

xx

tahereh

WRITER WEDDINGS. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

The author of Shatter Me and the author of Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children got married and had an adorable wedding reception in a bookstore? I don’t even know how to respond to this news, but I’m mostly incredibly jealous of that beautiful bouquet! Congratulations guys!

(via noseinabook)

When I fell out of the light. I entered
The stomach of indifference, the wordless cupboard.

Sylvia Plath, ”The Stones” from Collected Poems (via nocturia)

If your activism involves turning over tables and then leaving them there for minimum wage workers to clean up, please rethink. If your feminism involves “breaking glass ceilings” and leaving other women to sweep up the glass, stop.

Stealing Sexy Calendars isn’t Jesus, and it isn’t Radical. (via erikawithac)

tbh I’m really glad this post is taking over my dash. more ppl need to have this concept on their radar… if I had a quarter for every time I had to listen to some brogressive or manarchist or Feminist talk about how to steal groceries or whatever while throwing the low-wage workers held responsible for product loss under the bus and straight up saying they “didn’t care” bc “punishing corporations” and “refusing to pay for resources” that they COULD pay for, in order to make a point, was more important to them than low wage workers who are collateral damage.

(via vainajala)

(via lipstick-feminists)