18 4 / 2012
Yeah, That Needs To Go: Virginia Woolf's suicide note to her husband Leonard
TO: LEONARD WOOLF
Rodmell,
Sussex
Tuesday (18 March 1941)‘Dearest, I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You…
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12 3 / 2012
Feminists Gloria Steinem and Pamela Hughes giving the “black power” salute. 1972
via (afro-art-chick)
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12 3 / 2012
Black Beauty of the Diaspora.
(Source: vibrissas, via yacinediallo)
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07 2 / 2012
"Schooled to believe that we find ourselves in relation with others, females learn early to search for love in a world beyond our own hearts. We learn in childhood that the roots of love lie outside our capabilities, that to know love we must be loved by others. For as females in patriarchal culture, we cannot determine our self-worth. Our value, our worth, and whether or not we can be loved are always determined by someone else. Deprived of the means to generate self-love, we look to others to render us lovable; we long for love and we search."
(Source: femmenoire, via thatneedstogo)
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14 12 / 2011
Gender is, thus, a construction that regularly conceals its genesis. The tacit collective agreement to perform, produce, and sustain discrete and polar genders as cultural fictions is obscured by the credibility of its own production. The authors of gender become entranced by their own fictions whereby the construction compels one’s belief in its necessity and naturalness.
(via radical-cunts)
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03 6 / 2011
Tell good teachers you love them: they deserve it. Scoff at the bad ones.
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03 5 / 2011
"Maybe it should also be said that to make love is to feel one’s body close in on oneself. It is finally to exist outside of any utopia, with all of one’s density, between the hands of the other. Under the other’s fingers running over you, all the invisible parts of your body begin to exist. Against the lips of the other, yours become sensitive. In front of his half-closed eyes, your face acquires a certitude. There is a gaze, finally, to see your closed eyelids. Love also, like the mirror and like death—it appeases the utopia of your body, it hushes it, it calms it, it encloses it as if in a box, it shuts and seals it. This is why love is so closely related to the illusion of the mirror and the menace of death. And if, despite these two perilous figures that surround it, we love so much to make love, it is because, in love, the body is here."
(via thatneedstogo)
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27 4 / 2011
Me, Myself, and I
I absolutely need to spend more time alone—solitude is an undervalued social condition.
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27 4 / 2011
Gluttonous Acquaintances
I enjoy making fun of myself—it’s entertaining, and often empowering, to highlight and convert your flaws into something beautiful (i.e. endless hours of laughter). That doesn’t mean that you can too. That also doesn’t mean you can even begin to think you can check me. That definitely doesn’t mean you have the right to disrespect me. Too often I give people the privilege of participating in the joys of said pastime but for those gluttons who have become uncomfortably excessive, I must adopt a kind of stoicism that I do not particularly enjoy. From a sociological standpoint (yes, you know I go there, it’s symptomatic of the ways in which we render ourselves powerful (i.e. you know you wouldn’t ever make fun of someone to their face and are milking this opportunity for what it’s worth). Perhaps I’m being too Foucaultian, but power exists everywhere—even among your gluttonous acquaintances who tactlessly abuse the privilege of ridicule.
