Rather than fighting for every woman’s right to feel beautiful, I would like to see the return of a kind of feminism that tells women and girls everywhere that maybe it’s all right not to be pretty and perfectly well behaved. That maybe women who are plain, or large, or old, or differently abled, or who simply don’t give a damn what they look like because they’re too busy saving the world or rearranging their sock drawer, have as much right to take up space as anyone else.
I think if we want to take care of the next generation of girls we should reassure them that power, strength and character are more important than beauty and always will be, and that even if they aren’t thin and pretty, they are still worthy of respect. That feeling is the birthright of men everywhere. It’s about time we claimed it for ourselves.
On Friday me and Brett are going on a date to Science world and I’m super duper stoked. I haven’t been there since gradeschool, and they are hosting quite a few new exhibitions that look like ton o’ fun. Not to mention, we all know nerdy dates are the bestest dates.
I’ve told the kids in the ghettos that violence won’t solve their problems, but then they ask me, and rightly so; “Why does the government use massive doses of violence to bring about the change it wants in the world?” After this I knew that I could no longer speak against the violence in the ghettos without also speaking against the violence of my government
Dystopia - Sleep
“There’s no Art in Giving Up” off of our upcoming Daggerwound EP 2013. Stay tuned.
I stare outside my window and smoke a cigarette down deep
The smoke is filling up my lungs
My lips are cracked, my throat is dry, I’m aching in the knees
The grass is dead, the trees are frail and everybody
I can’t find a purpose anymore
I’m just a motherfucking trainwreck
Wrapped inside a battered body
And I’m so tired
I count the hummers on the highway but not before my change
I’m 13 cents short of a soda
All I ever read about is politics and gasoline
And sex and drugs and violence, and people bursting at their seams
And I hate
I hate feeling guilty
I hate all my friends
I hate that I can’t fucking think of any words
I hate the fact I’m forcing this or that it’s forcing me
That people stray or bite their tongue for bullshit poetry
That everyone is telling me it’s gonna be okay
When it isn’t. It simply isn’t
If we can’t write diversity into sci-fi, then what’s the point? You don’t create new worlds to give them all the same limits of the old ones.
Have you ever wanted to ask a white guy anything? Well, we here at Totally Biased with W. Kamau Bell sent Kamau & writer Ethan Berlin up to Harlem to ask the residents this very question.
She came to sex as she’d come to gin. Five
years in the convent, what did she know
about gin? Sister Emmanuel said the Devil
himself was suckled on it, and after her
third drink in the Red Kilt she knew he was
inside her like a crazed Wizard of Oz,
pushing and pumping her levers and gears.
Each time she brought the glass to her lips,
Sister’s voice whispered, “You couldn’t
lift one finger, not one pinky of one hand
if not for the Love of God.” But she was
twenty-five and didn’t know anything about
love. She knew she wasn’t holy, or chaste, or
even sorry. And she knew she was alone when
the man called her beautiful, when the gin
said Baby, relax, enjoy it while you can.
“I played harp, worked at a funeral home,…but everything really interesting about me is too personal to share.”
Then her boyfriend shouted:
“Tell him you once spray-painted a guy’s dick blue.”
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