Claire Keane

Love Begins
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wallacepolsom
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă

romaâ
ojovivo
trying on a metaphor
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Mike Driver
Acquired Stardust
d e v o n

I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
Keni
YOU ARE THE REASON
Game of Thrones Daily
art blog(derogatory)

çĽćĽ / Permanent Vacation
seen from Italy

seen from T1
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seen from Indonesia
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seen from Lithuania
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seen from Singapore
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@ambivalent-discourse

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Women:Â âHey, can we hire fewer blatant misogynists to direct and create media? Weâd support that.â
Nerdy Male Director:Â âWell-spoken. Have you considered hiring me, a man who is afraid of women?â
Nerdy Male Director: âShe had many masculine traits, like eating 10 hamburgers at once and wrestling Russian mercenaries while never going over 112 pounds. She learned these skills from her many fathers and brothers, never from a male partner or friend, as that may suggest she has some autonomous sexual history. No, men were all too afraid of her, except for me who has mistaken my fem-dom fetish for respect. If I met her in real like Iâd hate her for rejecting me without ever speaking to her. Her breasts were D cups.â
Nerdy Male Director: âShe was quirky and spontaneous and unfathomable. She was completely disarmed and alluring and so full of sunshine. She wanted to be by my side at all times no matter how much I shrugged her off, pained by my history of real women with adult-minds who wouldnât put up with my unbearable personality. She was a golden retriever. But a human one, with boobs and legs. I made a dog into a woman and she is my dream girl. I have a degree in literature.âÂ
Nerdy Male Director: âShe was a strong, feminist woman who was the ruler of this matriarchal nation. So strong, and so cold, and so emotionless, because i cannot figure out what sort of emotions or feelings a woman in power would have. I hate her because she is the bitter old screen-writing professor who gave me a D- on my manuscript about a sad 20 year old man finding himself through a series of prostitute encounters. She is violently killed on screen, and it is cathartic for me. Critics will praise how I handle grim realities. Her womb is barren.â
Male and female brains arenât wired differently
New research, published in October in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, concluded that despite size discrepancy, thereâs no functional difference between menâs and womenâs brains. âMaleâ brains and âfemaleâ brains simply donât exist. In fact, thereâs significant overlap.
This study had 1400 people in it⌠Remember that sample size matters. remember this when someone tries to rebuke this with a study that has 80 participants. Be as scientifically literate as possible so that we can debunk this nonsense one step at a time.
Hereâs an article that talks about a paper which examined 6000 individuals and came up with similar findings.
Remember this study @transphobes and transmeds.
Dear People Who Smoke
I donât know if you have considered this but stop smoking in areas where people are forced to wait at. Donât smoke at crosswalks. Donât smoke outside doorways. Donât smoke at bus stops. People with asthma or other breathing conditions or people that idk DONâT WANT TO BREATHE IN YOUR CIGARETTE SMOKE are trying to get to places and need to be able to breathe. Stop smoking in crowded areas. stop smoking in crowded areas. STOP FORCING NONSMOKERS TO SECOND HAND SMOKE.Â
+ please donât force your pets to be in a place where they have no choice but to inhale this smoke either.
I donât know if u considered this but ppl who struggle with addiction donât really respond well to rejection and isolation and condemnation but whatever your royal highness
People with severe lung disorders respond even worse to smoke inhalation and if you think that isnât a priority then I donât even know what to tell you..
âI want to liveâ
âLol, ok princessâ
Smoker here.
Yeah, heres the thing, yeah Iâm an addict, but thatâs literally no excuse to expose others to it.
The ONLY time I smoke at a cross walk, or any other public area is when Iâm alone.
If Iâm near people (more specifically, friends or a group of people Iâm talking with) I stand downwind, I blow my smoke, downwind, I respect other people right to not get lung cancer.
If kids are able to see me, but not close enough to get exposed to smoke, I hide that shit, Iâm not trying to make kids think itâs cool.
If a kid is close enough to get exp to smoke, that shit it get put out and hidden.
If Iâm out in a public place (with no one around, as stated above) guess where I put the cigarette butt when Iâm done with it (and theres no butt can) in my pocket, I dont want to litter or expose animals to the toxins that are in a used cigarette butt.
If I can put forth the minimal effort to not expose people to my cancer sticks, so can every other smoker.
Dont be a dick.
(P.S. that comment about isolation, there are smoking areas for a reason, and every smoking area Iâve ever been to is a social hotspot, you arenât alone 99% of the time. And even if you were, too fucking bad, weâre choosing to expose ourselves to cigarette smoke, dont force it onto other people, especially if you consider them your friends.)

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OH WOW THIS IS BEAUTIFULÂ
I had an internship with my state representative last summer and there was an event at the state house that I attended on his behalf and took notes about and stuff that was hosted by this liberal Muslim group, whose whole message was that Islam is a religion of peace and how Islam can coexist with progressive politics. But I couldnât help but notice how all the people speaking were men, while the women were serving food and taking care of the kids. Itâs astounding how people can say all the right liberal buzzwords, but still adhere to these regressive gender norms, and weâre all expected to just eat that shit up.
Itâs working
It is, and itâs so fucked up. Patriarchal religions like Islam are so fucking sexist, but itâs like we canât criticize them or else we risk being labeled racist or âIslamophobicâ. Whatâs especially fucked up is these white Western liberal feminists called ex-Muslim women Islamophobic.
We donât just get called Islamophobic. Iâm brown and Iâve been called a white supremacist for criticizing Islam. Sometimes Iâm told Iâm not a ârealâ brown person because Iâm white passing. My friend got called an Uncle Tom. Iâve been told to shut my mouth âfor the greater goodâ. Fuck that. Your religion is shit and deserves to be treated like shit
Video shows Maryland cops REPEATEDLY pepper spray 15-year-old honor roll student.
5 ft 105 lbs girl, whose name has not been officially released yet, was brutalized by Hagerstown police after she on her bike was hit by a car, but refused medical assistance.Â
Her familyâs attorney says that when police arrived, they grabbed the little girl, lifted her hands above her head and slammed her face into a wall.
âThey slammed her against a wall, arrested her for refusing treatment, maced her 4 times in the police car while handcuffed, and took her to the police station instead of the hospital.â
She was put in the car, which is when a bystander began filming the incident. The video shows the 15-year-old with her hands handcuffed behind her back kicking at the police car door and later a cop is heard saying:Â âPut your feet in, or youâre going to get sprayed!â Officer proceeds to pepper spray her a few times.Â
The girl can be heard screaming:Â âI canât breathe!â
The girl was only taken to hospital when she was released to her parents.Â
Three hours after being pepper sprayed she was finally able to wash her eyes.
She is now charged with disorderly conduct, two counts of second-degree assault, possession of marijuana and failure to obey a traffic device.
#BlackLivesMatter   #StopPoliceViolence
#StayWoke
this is where I live and thereâs nothing on the news about it
This is torture. They tortured her for fucking fun.
just keep in mind they took Dylan Roof into custody wearing a bullet proof vest to protect him from anyone that may try to kill him THEN they bought him Burger King to eat after the arrest.Â
But this is how they treat an innocent child.
This is why we donât care, or even celebrate, when cops get killed. I have no sympathy for these people.
I donât care that she is an honor student. I care that sheâs a child who deserves safety and justice.
this post doesnât mention that the reason the cops were on the scene is because she had been HIT BY A CAR.
Omfg
Fuck cops
fuck blue lives
This is so fuckin horribleâŚwtf is wrong with people.
(Please donât repost or edit my work. Reblogs are always appreciated)
Many wealthy countriesâparticularly Western, white-dominated onesâtreat Southeast Asia as their playground and dumping ground, then have the nerve to blame Southeast Asian countries for the poverty and pollution they helped create. These countriesâwhich enrich themselves by devastating Southeast Asia through war and colonization, and by exploiting its labor and resourcesâhave the capacity to process contaminated plastic waste, but because itâs expensive, they instead export the burden to Southeast Asia, which has far less means.
Theyâre just like the begpacker, who has the capacity to fund their trip with their own money but instead chooses to leverage their white privilege and exploit the kindness of Southeast Asian locals, and ends up draining rather than boosting the economy for the sake of personal âadventure.â
Theyâre just like the sweatshop-owning corporation, who has the capacity to pay a living wage and provide safe working conditions but instead chooses to exploit and abuse Southeast Asian labor because turning a profit is more important than valuing Asian lives.
Theyâre just like the sexpat, who has the capacity to pursue a romantic partner who is a peer but instead chooses to prey on desperate or even trafficked or underaged Southeast Asian victims because they expect no consequences for their depraved and violent behavior, and usually receive none.
These are only recent examples of the ongoing colonization of Southeast Asia. Southeast Asians around the world have long been regulated to positions of service/servitude such as maids, nannies, and nurses. Weâre expected to clean up privileged peopleâs trash because we are seen as trash.
So when we talk about climate change, itâs not enough to call it a crisisâitâs a climate apartheid. Weâre not all suffering equally and thatâs by design. Southeast Asia and other countries who are majority Brown or Black are being hit first and worst thanks to white/waste supremacy.
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Female students at the Polytechnical University in Kabul, Afghanistan in the mid 1970s (image.glamourdaze.com)
A sobering picture. History isnât linear. Those women probably never would have thought that Afghanistan would be what it is culturally for women today. Donât take womenâs rights for granted, they can go quicker and easier than they were won.

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this is the scariest tweet ive ever seen reading this made me feel like im in the twilight zone
âKillâŚmeâŚâ I manage to hiss through my teeth.
The PTA moms in attendance do not respond. In some of their faces I can see the same desperation. Their teeth bared, eyes too bright, too wide. We exchange looks, the companionship of animals caught in the same trap. Others donât seem to notice. They were always this way.
The men, caught up in their own little social swirl, mostly associate with one another, but now and then I see a strained look, a back a little too tight, the hard knot of jaw muscles clenching, laughs just a little too hearty to be real. The trapped among them suffer, too. Differently, but no less horribly.
Rachel has pulled a large knife from my Pioneer Woman knife block. Its factory edge is a little dull with use, but the plastic handle still a vivid and cheerful blue. Rachel has triplets; her arms are very strong. I know she will stab deep.
âPlease,â I cough. I know she hears, I know she understands. The Game is about to start. I canât do this again.
She raises it. For a moment my heart leaps, I dare to hope, then she passes me.  âI saw this neat video on how to slice an avocado,â she says, pulling one from the thrifted vintage glass bowl I stenciled my childrenâs names onto after a sleepless night spent funneling Pinterest directly into my eye sockets as my husband slept beside me, unaware. She garnishes the guacamole with fresh slices, her movements displaying the expert precision of someone who was taught with pain.  âIâm sorry,â she murmurs.  âI tried.â
I pat her shoulder in sympathy and forgiveness and move on. I try to exclaim happily when my heavily-pregnant friend Karen talks about her impending gender reveal party, complete with âGuns or Glitter?â cake, but itâs more of a sad moan. The blade of the gender binary cuts so deep. I feel bad for her, really. She never knew the freedom of pronouns. Never knew the elation as the status quo, the good and God-ordained order of things, the English language itself, crumbling under the onslaught of the singular âtheyâ.
Her words remind me, though, of the gendered marketing that segregates my day and I suddenly feel a crushing pressure in my ribs. I steal a moment to take my pink Lady Bic pen out of the drawer with the chalkboard label reading âthis + thatâ and make a note on the grocery list. We need more girl Doritos and princess-themed goldfish crackers for the girlsâ lunch boxes, and my husband is almost out of Dude Wipes and Bearglove. The compulsion eases. I sigh in relief.
Melissa, a hungry-looking size 10 brazen in her âReal Women Have Curves!â shirt, compliments the shabby chic washboard hanging over the sink, the one with the elegant script writing. I had tried so hard, so, so hard, to form the shapes that would unbind me from this hellish existence, but all that came out was âBless this Messâ. I donât even believe in God anymore; at least, not His power. If He exists, He too is powerless before the grinding fist of heteronormativity.
I manage to retreat into my craft room, away from talk of the Homeownerâs Associationâs tribunal coming up. The Carsons put up a rainbow wind sock last weekend, and the Nextdoor.com post about it is already over 1,000 notes long. The HOA had to take action. Theyâre talking about a straight pride parade to bring the community together again after so divisive an act.
My craft room, my haven, is so much smaller than my husbandâs man-cave, but itâs big enough for my Cricut machine, and thereâs a small table where I shoot photos for my organizing and homemaking mommy blog, the one I had to start to end the nightmares. I sit among my washi tape and scrapbooking papers, heart as empty as my mason jars. The small things I make in here are beautiful, and the work of my hands is creative and clever, but it no longer satisfies me. Itâs not genuine anymore.
For ten years I have floundered in this soft-focus bokeh heterosexual hell, ever since the cursed post came across my dash, the 20,000-likes-strong spell that ruined my life. February 4, 2018. Six months to the day before my marriage to Brad.
My former life is ruined. I donât know where my girlfriend went. My last glimpse of her was in the sporting goods aisle at Wal-Mart, a pair of pink camo-print boots in her strong, scarred hands and a look of indescribable horror in her eyes. I love her so much, still. I canât even remember her name. I would trade every crafting supply I own, every scrap of burlap, every button, every bead, for one more night, one more hour, with her.
I open the small cupboard beneath the cutting mat table. In it is a shrine, festooned with icons I have painstakingly assembled and painted. Reproductions of every good luck post I could find. The tip toad, Roger the magical good luck fish, Joe Biden eating ice cream, the devious doggie of destiny, the bagel with its sacred tongue of flame, double luck double banana, the lucky cat with coins on its belly, the endless âmoneyâ animal memes â cats, dogs, fish, monkeys, alligators, enough to fill out a full tarot deck â even a desperate slapdash Pepe, the rarest, its arcane energy jabbing through the rest like a rank smell in an otherwise immaculately landscaped garden. But he was not always a symbol of evil and his power is undeniable, so I added him to the rest.
I pull out my craft knife and cut my finger, and I let three drops of blood fall on the strongest icon of them all. One I created myself, from my heart. It is the image of Freddie Mercury astride a unicorn, a shooting star falling into his open hand.
âReblog in 30 seconds for good luck,â I whisper, tears shimmering in my eyes, just before closing the cabinet door again. I get to make a wish now. My heart is full of grief. It is so full. Outside the room, the first cheer for the first goal of The Game. A tear snakes its way down my perfectly-blended cheek. âPlease let me be queer again.â
I still think this is the best horror piece Iâve ever written.
Citra is REALLY bad at meowing. She sounds like a broken party favor when she remembers to actually meow.
OH MY GOD
Being an orange female kitty is already rare, but you had to go adopt the one in a million who canât cat properly
She came in a two pack so I had to.
Simcoe (left) and Citra (right), both girls. Both rescues. Both biological litter mates (sisters). Both long term loving projects to teach human trust to.
Simcoe got 100% of the meowing capabilities.
WAIT! WAIT!! So, are you telling me that actual, normal meow was the sister? Who, seemingly, just meowed at the moment because she saw her sister struggling so she tried to help by giving her an example???
THAT was actually Seymour. Who does also love Citra, but wasnât really helping. Heâs just very vocal because heâs an exclamation mark in a catâs body.
Just by his eyes itâs clear he really is an âexclamation mark in a catâs bodyâ đđđ
Soot tags gather after fires in areas with low circulation. They are not, as commonly believed, ash covered spider webs.
oh, well then what the FUCK are they???
Theyâre made of sticky particles from a polymer or petroleum based fire, like burning carpet, drapes, upholstery, and clothes. Due to a static charge, they chain together and naturally gather near ceiling corners because the rising hot air pushes them into the cool spots by convection.Â
Because theyâre formed by static electricity, they can only be removed with professional chemicals and equipment. Attempting to remove them improperly will only break the chain before all the soot can be captured, leaving the remaining soot to spontaneously reform the webs later. Even worse, trying to wipe or wash them away can firmly adhere the soot to your wall or ceiling, which will permanently stain it.Â
A natural phenomena that only coincidentally resembles the damned webs of transdimensional ghost spiders.
on the âits acceptable for women to wear menâs clothes but not men to wear womenâs clothesâ thing- its always forgotten that women and girls have been fighting in small but organised ways to wear âmasculineâ (mostly read practical) clothing from at least the 1870s. I know women in their 80s and girls in their tweens who at some time in their life have organised in order to wear the clothes they want - from making petitions to persuade their school to let them wear shorts not gym skirts, to trade union organising at work to make sure overalls and workboots are available in womenâs sizes, to being the first women in the office to wear trousers, to just turning up at social events in the clothes they want to wear - and getting solidarity from other women doing the same thing - and of course not forgetting the women who risked violence, losing their job or families, or being arresting for cross-dressing laws because of what they wore.
There just hasnât been such a widespread and longstanding organised push from men to wear skirts or other clothes coded feminine in everyday life. That isnât womenâs fault.
Women have been fighting for centuries to wear clothing that doesnât physically impede us when weâre being chased by men and we still donât have pockets or shorts that cover our entire butt, meanwhile men want women to make skirts they can feel masculine in.
Nearly two centuries ago, women were fighting to be allowed to wear poofy pants under a poofy dress. The outfit had been put together by a Quaker woman named Amelia Bloomer. The women who wore it were harassed and assaulted in the streets. They were mocked in the newspapers. And still they kept fighting to be able to wear clothing that was less restrictive. Eventually, the Bloomer suit was adapted to become the usual design for womenâs sporting apparel.
Women fought to not have to wear multiple layers of petticoats in the summer, and so a new âcrinolineâ (technically, a crinoline is an underskirt made of stiff horsehair) was invented, the âcage crinolineâ (think hoop skirt) which became dangerous in its own right as women burned to death, became caught in machinery, and were otherwise harmed by the very design meant to be helpful.
Women fought to get rid of restrictive corsetry, inventing âemancipation waists,â (basically a sort of fitted undershirt), Union suits (yep, originally for women but quickly adopted by men), and even the âhealthyâ S line corset (healthy because it didnât constrict the ribs. Sadly, like the cage crinoline, it was adopted by high fashion and became a tool of tightlacing.)
Women fought to have more comfortable clothing. Look up the aesthetic dress movement, and the earlier dress reform movement.
Women fought and fought to have swimming suits in which we could actually swim. Once we wore full dresses made of wool to go ocean bathing. Only slowly did the hemlines rise. Pants were added, then the shape became more streamlined. Women were arrested for public indecency. Still, they persisted.
Women fought to have appropriate garments to go cycling in or to ride a horse astride. Women fought and continue to fight to be allowed to attend school in comfortable clothing. Iâve said this before, but when I was a girl, I was required to wear a skirt unless the temperature stayed below 0 degrees Fahrenheit. I was not permitted to wear pants under my skirt, instead wearing woolen tights which itched and would pull down, requiring me to concentrate on keeping my clothing in order as well as my schoolwork.
Women are literally not stopping you. Go, buy a kilt or even an 80s bubble skirt. Nobody cares. But stop acting like women have not had to fight for every inch weâve gained.
the more you know

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oh to be a nun in 1350 enjoying quiet time and gardening and having lots of lesbian sex and then dying at the ripe old age of 36
Life expectancy statistics measure the average age of death. Because infant/childhood mortality was so incredibly high until recently, it really dragged down that average. If you exclude infant/childhood mortality from your statistic, youâll see that humans (that survive childhood) have consistently lived into their 70s, meaning if you were a woman that survived childhood and never had to go through pregnancy, you may well get a good 50+ years of lesbian sex and gardening!
Reblog for a good 50+ years of lesbian sex and gardening
how is trump alive?? like hes rlly gone thru his whole life like That âŚ. and no one has ever just fuckin decked him?? gave him the ole one two? knocked his lights out??? incredible
sorry to improve your day without much notice butÂ
NEVERMIND REBLOGGING AGAIN BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT WE ALL NEED
This is cathartic
People just becoming politically aware are never going to appreciate just how fucking hated this guy was before he was in politics. He was hated for over half a century. Everyone aware of him mocked and derided him as a cheating, greedy corporate asshole and mindless bully and this is by far not the only time anyone clocked his ass but it is probably one of the only times it got caught on video. Hatred of him was bipartisan all my life and it just goes to show how easily right wingers can be suckered by anyone who kisses their collective asshole on their pet agendas.
Never forget that the reason Trump seems like an over-the-top stupidly villainous antagonist from a 90s movie is because half of them were based on Trump and making fun of him.
The reason The Simpsons and a handful of other comedies âpredictedâ the Trump presidency was because he kept saying he wanted to run and nobody could think of anything funnier than a President Trump.
We are living in the worst timeline
He was so hated, Sesame Street made fun of him.
Letâs consider that for a second. Sesame Street. A show for three year olds.