“25. And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying, Where is the flaming sword which was given unto thee?
26. And the Angel said, I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down some where, forget my own head next.
27. And the Lord did not ask him again.”—Genesis 3:25–27, Good Omens (via asphyxiette)
Ophelia's Technicolor G-String: An Urban Mythology
By Susan B. Anthony Somers-Willett
The air tonight is thick as curry; like every night this summer I could cut it with my wine glass, spray it with mace. Over and over it would heal together like a wound, follow my click and pace of heels down Conti Street, St. Ann, Bourbon. Oh Hamlet, if you could see me now as I pump and swagger across that stage, cape dripping to the floor, me in three-inch heels and a technicolor G-string— you would not wish me in a convent. They’ve made me a queen here, married me off to a quarter bag and a pint of gin. The old men tend bark and splatter, rabid at each table. I think they stay up all night just to spite the moon. They bring their diseased mouths to the French Market in the morning, sell Creole tomatoes to tourists who don’t know what they are. Each bald head shines plump and red. It seems like so long ago that I modeled for those legs outside of Big Daddy’s— the ones over the door that swing in, out, in, out— the sculptor made me painted as Mardi Gras. I thought you might recognize them if you ever passed with the boys, parading from Abbey to Tavern, or think them royal feet in need of slippers. Someday I expect to find you here, sitting at the table between the first and second rows, fingering bones or something worse. And in the end you will throw me a columbine, light me a Marlboro and take me to a 24-7 where jukebox light quivers, makes us as thin as ghosts. But for now, I will dance for the fat man who sits in your place and sweats his love for me at 3 a.m., because only he knows I am Horatio in drag.
“I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
(she calls me that sometimes)
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don’t paragraph
Sweetcakes God said
(who knows where she picked that up)
what I’m telling you is
Yes Yes Yes”—Kaylin Haught
As introduced, the bill requires that “no public elementary or middle school shall provide any instruction or material that discusses sexual orientation other than heterosexuality. “
This bill would tie the hands of school counselors, school psychologists, teachers, principals and other school employees in protecting our children. If a child is experiencing issues relating to their sexual orientation or identity, they would be unable to discuss those issues with the adults who are supervising and teaching them. Early detection of the signs of depression can help prevent suicides among lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender youth.
And just when I thought living in Tennessee couldn’t get any worse…
“Every human is born an anarchist. You are not naturally born a consenting member of a nation underneath a flag in a geographical area constricted by imaginary political lines. These concepts are drilled into your head from childhood and many are not able to break out of such a shell.”—(via dfmarch)
“The reason why I refuse to take existentialism as just another French fashion or historical curiosity is that I think it has something very important to offer us for the new century. I’m afraid we’re losing the real virtues of living life passionately, sense of taking responsibility for who you are, the ability to make something of yourself and feeling good about life. Existentialism is often discussed as if it’s a philosophy of despair. But I think the truth is just the opposite. Sartre once interviewed said he never really felt a day of despair in his life. But one thing that comes out from reading these guys is not a sense of anguish about life so much as a real kind of exuberance of feeling on top of it. It’s like your life is yours to create. I’ve read the postmodernists with some interest, even admiration. But when I read them, I always have this awful nagging feeling that something absolutely essential is getting left out. The more that you talk about a person as a social construction or as a confluence of forces or as fragmented or marginalized, what you do is you open up a whole new world of excuses. And when Sartre talks about responsibility, he’s not talking about something abstract. He’s not talking about the kind of self or soul that theologians would argue about. It’s something very concrete. It’s you and me talking. Making decisions. Doing things and taking the consequences. It might be true that there are six billion people in the world and counting. Nevertheless, what you do makes a difference. It makes a difference, first of all, in material terms. Makes a difference to other people and it sets an example. In short, I think the message here is that we should never simply write ourselves off and see ourselves as the victim of various forces. It’s always our decision who we are.”—My favorite monologue from Waking Life. Philosophy professor Robert Solomon, at the University of Texas at Austin
At the dances I was one of the most untiring and gayest. One evening a cousin of Sasha, a young boy, took me aside. With a grave face, as if he were about to announce the death of a dear comrade, he whispered to me that it did not behoove an agitator to dance. Certainly not with such reckless abandon, anyway. It was undignified for one who was on the way to become a force in the anarchist movement. My frivolity would only hurt the Cause.
I grew furious at the impudent interference of the boy. I told him to mind his own business. I was tired of having the Cause constantly thrown into my face. I did not believe that a Cause which stood for a beautiful ideal, for anarchism, for release and freedom from convention and prejudice, should demand the denial of life and joy. I insisted that our Cause could not expect me to become a nun and that the movement would not be turned into a cloister. If it meant that, I did not want it. “I want freedom, the right to self-expression, everybody’s right to beautiful, radiant things.” Anarchism meant that to me, and I would live it in spite of the whole world — prisons, persecution, everything. Yes, even in spite of the condemnation of my own closest comrades I would live my beautiful ideal.
The quote otherwise known as “A Revolution without Dancing is a Revolution not worth Having.”
“Do not all theists insist that there can be no morality, no justice, honesty or fidelity without the belief in a Divine Power? Based upon fear and hope, such morality has always been a vile product, imbued partly with self-righteousness, partly with hypocrisy.”—Emma Goldman
“Wow, you’re in here a lot,” he says, and oh christ there it is again. How the fuck someone with that accent ended up— okay, how the fuck someone with those hips and that hair and that smile ended up breathing is beyond you, but you? You take what you can get, okay.
Okay, one, Katie you’re awesome.
Two, I just got home from work, thank you for making the eight hours I spent actually bagging groceries seem way more interesting than it really is.
Three, if I ever get complimented on my rainbow bracelet at work, I will die on the spot.
Four, on that note, I think there should be a secret society of LGBT Grocery Workers. Or something with a cooler sounding name. The Only Bisexual at Publix, as I refer to a friend of mine, thinks we should have a secret handshake.
So lately I’ve been a little sad because my accomplishments are not up to par with what is expected of me. THEN OUT OF NOWHERE: Two of my friends are making up a Reagan/Gorbachev bromance story. The poster was epic. The tagline is even better. THIS MADE MY…
YOU WILL SELL THOSE POSTERS ON AMAZON. AND YOU WILL GIVE ME A FREE ONE. IT’S IMPERATIVE.
And I love thou too, Nicole. Especially for promising that you will notice if the Witness Protection Agency replaces me with a Korean person.
Alwyn swears she’ll have them up on tumblr tonight. And by that, I mean 4 am.
Yeah, I'm watching the terrible Hellblazer movie, don't judge
Okay, so, while we can all agree that Keanu Reeves’s lack of emoting powers and general acting skill would make a Vulcan cringe, there are some interesting things about the movie Constantine. (Which is pronounced with a long i, thanks, America.) Namely, Gabriel and Lucifer.
Now, Gabriel is played in the film by Tilda Swinton, who spends most of the movie in suits and generally androgynous clothing. This in itself is interesting. Granted, according to Christian theology angels have no gender, being disembodied spirits, but in popular culture they tend to be women with long, flowing hair and white robes, or they’re the archangel Michael, a macho man with twink hair and Roman-style armor. And it’s not like Hollywood cares much about accuracy, especially with things like this. So the fact that this film chose to go that route is actually pretty cool.
This is made even more interesting when you add in the character of Lucifer. Much like the Lucifer in Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series (who is canonically implied to be queer in some form or another), Lucifer in Constantine is dressed in a fabulous white suit and talks like a histrionic queen. Some of the references in the movie even point to him being gay. (I’m thinking specifically of the scene in which Constantine tells Lucifer his son is in cahoots with Gabriel and Lucifer says—with a leer that is just beautiful—“Well, there’s no accounting for taste.”) Now, this could be yet another example of the flamboyant but sexually ambiguous villain—which is a trope I would really like to see die a fiery death. But something about the way it’s played doesn’t seem like that to me. That’s all subjective, of course, but with the way they played Gabriel I believe it merits thinking about.
And really, as much as I dislike most Keanu Reeves movies, and as much as I abhor all those awful Alan Moore “adaptations” (League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, anyone?), I found that I didn’t stay for the plot or, god help me, the acting, but I did want to see where they were going with these two characters. And really, if they were going to ignore Constantine’s bisexuality, they could at least give us some queer characters.