Mr. Barnes, state your name.
commission sketch :)
When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idi*t, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”
When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.
When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”
(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)
When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.
I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.
No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.
I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.
So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:
In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk."
— r.d. (via elferinge)
Yes. This. All of this.
It’s what I tried to explain in my post about being afraid of cis people, and this is also how I feel about interactions with men too. People who don’t get it keep looking at it from the wrong angle. They look at it from the angle of the privileged group. When they hear a woman talk about harassment, or sexism, or assault they’ve experienced, they go “not all men are like that”, and they think, as long as it’s not ALL of the men that are like that, then it’s okay. As long as there are men who don’t have experiences of assaulting women, harassing us, or being sexist assholes, then there’s not a problem. As long as there are cis people who don’t have experiences of misgendering trans people, then there’s no problem. They don’t look at it from our perspective, which is that each time this happens to us, it scars us. WE have to deal with each incident, and the effects on us. WE have to deal with each time this happens, not knowing what’s going to happen, or in what condition we’ll be in when the incident is over. This adds up. It’s like telling somebody who gets slashed with a knife every so often whenever they go out, “oh not all knife wielders are like that”, and they want us to not be paranoid about knife wielders. When you’ve been hurt over and over again, seemingly randomly, and you don’t know when the next person you meet is going to do it again, you get scared. You get damned scared because you don’t want to get cut again, you don’t want another scar, you don’t want to have to heal again. You don’t want to get hurt. And it doesn’t fucking matter how many people are like that as long as it regularly keeps happening to us, and the culture keeps excusing it and creating an environment where it keeps happening!
Not all men are like that.
Almost all women have had an experience with a man who is like that.
ideas being peddled by this series of posts:
- having a penis is equivalent to having a deadly weapon.
- people with penises should just accept this idea because there are shitty people who have penises.
- if you have a penis and you are offended by this idea fuck you you are marginalizing the victims of those shitty people who have penises.
- if you have a penis and you are offended by this idea you should deal with it.
- the enemy is people with penises.
- if you have a penis your right to be upset when the group “people with penises” is broadly attacked is forfeit.
Here’s some real shit. My upset, the pain it causes me, when I am made to feel like I should feel bad for being born into a certain group, does not outweigh the pain of victims of sexual assault. No shit. You know what? Just because there is pain more significant than mine doesn’t mean my pain doesn’t count for anything. I am not wrong for not wanting to be lumped together with rapists, I should not have to feel about about having a penis, and just because I think those things doesn’t mean I’m denying that very terrible things happen to people who do not deserve it. I want to not feel bad about being a man in the same way that these people do not want to feel bad about being what they identify as. While we’re on that track, how about we just stop making people feel bad for their pain in general? How about we try and be compassionate when people feel pain, period, and when we inadvertently hurt each other we care about that hurt instead of finding a way to dismiss it?
There is one effective strategy to this and that is working with people instead of against them. Penises are not the problem. Men are not the problem. The things that craft men are. You want to change the way men act? Then change the way they are crafted. In the mean time make a choice: either insist that it is okay to shame a group of people for the genitals they have and admit you are doing it, or accept that this shit is really difficult and requires way more nuance than dismissing the pain of those people because bad things happen to other people.
(PS I’m well aware that “people with penises” does not equal “men” and vice versa. Yes I am using them interchangeably in this post, and if that is upsetting to anyone with a penis that does not identify as a man or to anyone without a penis that does identify as a man or to anyone that identifies in any other one of the myriad of other ways humans can identify, I apologize. I hope that it doesn’t detract too much from my point.)
How does it feel being the new Pokémon Champion? ⊟
16 days, 7 hours, 45 minutes, and 33 seconds later, it’s finally over.. There’s a lot of fanart commemorating the end of Twitch Plays Pokémon, but this one from Kiyokon is my favorite.
katy perry looking for what to appropriate next
I’m sure all the people that would actually care just rolled over in their mummified caskets
Don’t worry, i don’t think that Nefertiti is too mad
Ahh yes, Cleopatra is cringing with agony and being stripped from her power because her ancient and dead culture is being referenced in a music video.
you guys do realize that there are still Egyptian people right
Sales of PRISM hit the 1 million mark on January 10, 2014. Using the iTunes price, even assuming every sale of PRISM was the deluxe version and was from iTunes, that puts $12,229,800 spent on the album.
According to this outdated chart, 63% of that $11.99 goes to the label. 15% of that (according to the numbers behind that chart) goes to the artist. This struck me as unlikely, given publishing experience with iTunes - usually iTunes would take a higher percentage than 22% but let’s assume these numbers are accurate.
Here’s the tally then, after 11 weeks: Record label’s take is $7,704,774. KP sits at $1,155,716.10.
New tally then.
- Record label profits per week: $700,434
- KP profits per week: $105,065.10
- The Luxor profits per week: $6,916,666.67
For every dollar KP makes (off the entire album, not the song) from this appropriation, the Luxor makes $65.83 off of theirs. This is not including the percentage of damage done to gambling addicts for which the Luxor is responsible.
The fact that the money generated by KP’s instance of appropriation is a fraction of a fraction of the Luxor’s doesn’t excuse it. At all. But here’s my point: where will the profits go? The record label, sure, will see it as a success and will ultimately reinvest part of the $700k they made in another possibly appropriative venture. KP will still make music, maybe even agree to another music video like the one for Dark Horse.
The Luxor will take its $83 million, reinvest it in the casino, in making sure their ancient Egyptian themed casino continues to take money from people. To put it in perspective though, that $83 million in profit came from one quarter of one year of the twenty-one years the Luxor has existed. Encouragement for this sort of behavior? Fuck yes it is.
I guess my question here is, yes, this is a bad thing. Yes, ideally it wouldn’t be a thing. But are we going to say Katy Perry is responsible here because she has a recognizable face and struggle against her, or are there bigger fish to focus on that make the smaller fish think they can play these games?
— Dungeon Master Jeanne, when asked if we made the Wrong Choices (via dizfox)
WE NEED FEMINISM BECAUSE WHEN LANCE ARMSTRONG GOT CANCER AND LOST A TESTICLE IT WAS ALL ABOUT HIS HEALTH AND HOW INSPIRATIONAL HE WAS BUT WHEN ANGELINA JOLIE GETS A DOUBLE MASTECTOMY TO PREVENT HERSELF FROM GETTING CANCER, IT’S ALL ABOUT HOW SHE WON’T BE A SEX SYMBOL ANYMORE AND HOW MEN ARE OFFENDED CAUSE SHE WON’T BE AN OBJECT FOR THEM
I’m pretty sure I reblog this already but this need to be reblog again
Sometimes I see things and I go “People are making shit up, like this is not real and is too stupid to be real etc. etc.”
And then I realize wait, no, people.
Fighter: Who puts hallucinogenic plants in a flower crown?
Monk: Who eats a flower crown???
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