“When she was unhappy she would lock herself in the bedroom until she felt better. ‘It’s none of your business,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want anybody to see me when I’m like that. He used to call her a clam. ‘Open up,’ he hammered on all the locked doors of their life together, basement first, then maisonette, then mansion. ‘I love you, let me in.’ He needed her so badly, to reassure himself of his own existence, that he never comprehended the desperation in her dazzling, permanent smile, the terror in the brightness with which she faced the world, or the reasons why she hid when she couldn’t manage to beam.”—Salman Rushdie, “The Satanic Verses” (via lifeinpoetry)
“have you considered that maybe i am not pleasant?
maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.
maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.
maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.
i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.
i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.
i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths.”—R.K., I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained (via thenemeton)
Baby, why am I worried now, Did someone make a fool of me before I could show ‘em how it’s done? Can’t give up actin’ tough, It’s all that I’m made of. Can’t scrape together quite enough To ride the bus to the outskirts Of the fact that I need love.
I really need to do a book rec list at some point. I love book rec lists, and since the literary canon is awesome but also always already behind the curve when it comes to Awesome Stuff Everyone Should Read, the more obscure-ish-book rec lists the better.
Hmm..i am kinda scared that if i continue watching Hannibal, i will be desensitized by those images of cruelty and violence. Is that possible? What do you think?
see the thing about this latest episode and how hannibal is consistently filmed is that
it eases you into a glossy aesthetic of violence before it suddenly inundates you in the most visceral most inescapable manner imaginable into the utter agony and just. unholyfuckinghorror involved of the murders
its a pretty conscious choice and i’d like to think a reminder of the glossification of violence in media and like. how easily horror can be easily packaged and consumed except hey! this show’s not letting you forget how truly, nightmarishly, hellishly awful what’s actually involved truly is
i dont have any answers? a film student (ahem) should comment on how the filming/aesthetic decisions were made in order to ensure that said desensitization doesnt occur because of how it’s framed/directed and even how the movements are coordinated - idk about you but the jerkiness of the stitching made it basically impossible to desensitize myself in any way
i do honestly worry a lot about the amount of time im dedicating to a horror show featuring a cannibal of all fucking things bc like wow girl way to spend your time on earth learning about the human condition and that way various existential crises lie
for me it certainly doesnt, it makes it worse its in fact a deconstruction of how violence/cruelty is often normalized and absolutely point blank refuses to allow you that option but hey, that’s my reaction - if you fear there’s a danger of that for you, then. yeah. you might want to reconsider your own actions.
teens on here are always making posts like “make out with me in an art gallery/museum/etc” and let me tell you fucking whippersnappers the last thing i wanna see when im in an art gallery/museum/etc is a couple of shittey horny Teen Agers but whatever im praying for your damned corrupted souls
as a former arts center employee, the only thing worse than kids being gross together is middle-aged people being gross together. JUST LISTEN TO THE DAMNED RACHMANINOFF OKAY
I was always rly sad that all the other Slytherin girls were simply Pansy Parkinson’s gang of girls. Like, I’m sure HP was beyond uninterested in figuring them out and also he had his own problems to be dealing with and also beyond Draco and Draco’s immediate lackeys it took six books for him to…
What would you say the most satisfying and dissatisfying parts of being a teacher are?
I’m going to start with dissatisfying:
Teaching is hard. Not only do I have to create engaging lessons for the 100 students I see daily, assess where they’re at academically, push them to grow without overwhelming them, manage personalities in a classroom, deal with the emotional turmoil of teenagers, chase down late work, and grade all the work they do so we can do it again the next week, but I also have to balance that with all the extracurricular activities I’m required to do. Teaching is not for the faint of heart.
The most dissatisfying part about teaching is that no one really understands this. Politicians don’t understand it, parents don’t understand it, your friends certainly don’t understand it. And there’s a weird thing that a lot of times administrators don’t understand this. Teaching takes over your mind and your heart and your life and no one wants to hear about it. Your friends don’t want to hear about how Suzy is having trouble grasping this math concept, or how you don’t know what to do because Timmy pulled out his fake ID in the middle of class. I think the reason why the first year teaching is so hard is you start to understand that few non-teachers in your life care what happened today. [And those who do care only care to a certain point!]. You’re working a job that is one of the most difficult in the world and the only thing anyone can say to you is “good thing you get summers off”. You will feel very alone.
But there are moments - rare but rich moments - where it is all worth it. You’ll have a kid that always struggles excitedly show his A paper to his friends. You’ll have students yell your name in excitement at sporting events and tell you they miss your class when they don’t have it anymore. You’ll find notes on your desk and discover Tweets that quote you [in a good way]. You’ll overhear a student counseling their friend with something you said to them one-on-one. You’ll read essays that are so good you’ll swear they’re plagiarized and have the joy of discovering they weren’t. You’ll see a girl get help for her depression because she risked being honest with you. It sounds cheesy only to those who have never experienced it - teaching changes lives. Being a part of life change is immensely satisfying.
And even though I cry some nights because of the heart-burden of the students and I eat chocolate some nights because of the burdens of the job, it is all worth it.