i’m so serious when i say excessive fear of being annoying/creepy/taking up people’s energy etc holds us back. it seems like it’s just little things but they add up. over the past month i’ve ordered food and drinks almost exclusively by asking “do you have a favorite?” and i know if i said that on twitter or wherever ppl would dogpile me for demanding emotional labor of servers or w/e but every single person i’ve asked has seemed genuinely psyched to answer! i don’t ask if it’s busy obvi, and use a phrasing that gives them the easy out of “i don’t have one”— but no one has taken it! the girl at the cafe confessed to me with something like conspiracy in her voice how everybody raves about the gluten free chocolate chip cookies and sure, they’re great, but the delicious, fluffy homemade waffles are RIGHT THERE. the barbera the bartender recommended was actually kind of awful but it broke the ice and we ended up talking for like 45 minutes. the bodega guy declared that he usually makes himself a burger but tonight was “a breakfast sandwich night” and tbh he was totally right. it WAS a breakfast sandwich night
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We were in front of the Polish Embassy in Ankara to protest the lawsuit filed on the grounds that the activities of the Polish Communist Party were unconstitutional. We reiterate our solidarity with Polish communists at a time when Poland, the bearer of an important socialist heritage, is witnessing systematic steps aimed at completely erasing this heritage and prosecuting communists. Ahead of the trial scheduled for December 3, we declare our opposition to any attempts to obstruct the Polish Communist Party's right to engage in politics and organize.
“John Stuart Mill says in his Principles of Political Economy: ‘It is questionable if all the mechanical inventions yet made have lightened the day’s toil of any human being.’ That is, however, by no means the aim of the application of machinery under capitalism. Like every other instrument for increasing the productivity of labour, machinery is intended to cheapen commodities and, by shortening the part of the working day in which the worker works for himself, to lengthen the other part, the part he gives to the capitalist for nothing. The machine is a means for producing surplus-value.”
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Semi-Slugs: these are actual gastropods that are in the process of evolving from snails into slugs, with their shells gradually reducing and receding into their bodies
Above: Fastosarion brazieri, commonly known as the chameleon semi-slug, and an unidentified species of semi-slug from the genus Sheldonia
The term "semi-slug" is used to describe an intermediate stage of evolution as snails evolve into slugs. Nearly 1,000 different species of semi-slugs are known to exist, and these bizarre little creatures can be found on at least four continents.
Above: Fastosarion brazieri and Varadia amboliensis
Each species of semi-slug is technically still classified as a snail, but its shell is noticeably reduced, becoming more internalized as the species evolves. A semi-slug officially becomes a regular-slug once its shell is no longer visible at all.
As this article explains:
If life were simple, there would be snails and slugs. Snails carry their homes on their backs; slugs are naked and embarrassed. But life isn’t simple, so of course there’s secret option #3 – the semi-slug, a bizarre creature that sits exactly between the snail and the slug.
Above: genus Satiella and genus Euaustenia
This article also adds:
In contrast to snails that have an external shell large enough to accommodate the body, or slugs in which the shell is completely internal or absent, semi-slugs have an external shell, but the shell is too small to accommodate the animal’s entire body.
Above: Megaustenia siamensis
This process is known as limacization, and it's especially common in moist, low-calcium environments where a snail's shell may be more of a burden than a benefit:
Terrestrial slugs are not a monophyletic group, but a case of convergent evolution in which the
slug form evolved from different lineages of land snails that gradually lost their shell through a
process called limacization. Limacization resulted in adaptive radiation in land snail lineages, as slugs became adapted to
diverse moist and protected spaces, such as crevices in rocks and wood debris. The loss of the shell also allowed for more movement and less calcium dependence, making slugs
more successful as pests.
Above: Gaeotis nigrolineata, also known as the Puerto Rican semi-slug, has a neon green shell that is almost completely internalized, but the shell is clearly visible through the semi-slug's translucent body
Some semi-slugs have shells that are still opaque and largely visible, with the mantle (a patch of flesh) covering only the outer edges of the shell, while others have shells that are more significantly reduced, transparent, and/or concealed.
Above: Ibycus rachelae, commonly known as the green-shelled semi-slug, and a species of semi-slug from the genus Durgella
This topic was mentioned in my previous post about Ibycus rachelae, but I wanted to write a more detailed post about semi-slugs, because they're just so fascinating and weird.
Above: a black-and-white semi-slug from subfamily Sheldoniinae
Sources & More Info:
Australian Geographic: Meet the Semi-Slug, a Snail without a Home
Carnegie Museum of Natural History: What's So Good about Being a Slug?
Frontiers: Terrestrial Slugs in Neotropical Agroecosystems (PDF)
if you point out modern thinspo people call you parasocial and misogynist
somehow we've circled body positivity back to it is fine to be skinny & if you point out how every celebrity is suddenly getting ozempic you're a bad feminist. if you point out how every next viral trend is about flexing how thin you are then that makes you a bad feminist. if you point out how it's become common to include diet talk in everything under the pretext of healthy habits then you're a bad feminist or god forbid you point out the lengths influencers go to look the way you do then it's their choice & who are you to judge?! like??? what are we even doing??
Hey y'all - I'm participating in a raffle for a family in Gaza. Tickets are $10 at the paypal link, just put in the description which piece or my name. This ceasefire is a sham and there is still no aid getting into gaza. This family has been depending on my friend Kira for survival.
Most of the information is on Instagram so if you're able go check it out over there! There's a ton of other really good pieces available from other artists.
56 Followers, 46 Following, 48 Posts - See Instagram photos and videos from (@jfamily_raffle)
Go to paypal.me/kiramatica and type in the amount. Since it’s PayPal, it's easy and secure. Don’t have a PayPal account? No worries.
I’m not rlly an incest girlie outside some of the general normie trappings, but I’m not gonna yuck anyone’s yum about it? I’m a cnc freak and both of those basically have the same root of “what if there was someone who wanted me so bad they would do something terrible to fuck me”, pretending otherwise seems silly
like 80% of kinks involving any rp boil down to “what if someone wanted me so bad they would do something fucked up about it” and/or “what if there was a fucked up power dynamic I could exploit/be exploited by”. everyone just wants to feel wanted and in (or out of) control man and some people externalize that in off color ways, idk what to tell you
it’s very funny that I keep seeing people tag this as being about fandom stuff, like girl no I want my girlfriend in real life to hold me down and [redacted] lmao
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I look up to see a sweet nurse smile at me and wave me over. I smile back at her and stand up from the waiting room chair, following her through the doors of the clinic. She leads me into a standard exam room and after giving me quick instructions to take off my clothes and get comfortable, she leaves me, promising the doctor will be here to see me shortly.
I look around the sterile room, taking in framed stock images tastefully arranged along the walls and the stack of various medical pamphlets about STDs and safe sex. I take a deep breath and start to undress. I’ve waited so long to come see this doctor and I’m not going to let my nerves get the best of me now. The doctor I’m here to see is a specialist in anorgasmia, the inability to orgasm.
I’ve never been able to achieve orgasm, no matter what I’ve tried. Numerous partners have tried, I’ve purchased countless toys and lubricants, even going as far as trying hypnosis. Nothing has worked and I had almost given up hope when I’d stumbled across this doctor and his specialty.
It took months for me to get an appointment, and the screening process was incredibly intensive. Apparently, he’s extremely selective in the patients he chooses to see so when I got the call that he was willing to fit me into his schedule, I was ecstatic. Maybe I can finally say goodbye to my inability to orgasm.
A soft knock at the door startles me and I watch as the doctor opens the door and steps into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. He’s younger than I thought he’d be. I’d been picturing a middle-aged man, maybe with some greying hair and glasses. Instead, he’s handsome, fit, and I can see the sparkle in his eyes as he greets me cheerfully.
“Good afternoon! I’m sorry for the wait but I hope you’re comfortable! It is lovely to meet you.” His voice is smooth, comforting, and when I extend my hand out to shake his outstretched one, his touch is gentle but strong.
I smile back at him, feeling some of my previous anxiety fade away. “No worries at all, I’m happy to be here.”
I watch as he opens grabs a chair and sits in front of the computer, logging in to pull up my medical chart. “Now, let’s see here, you’re here for anorgasmia I see.” I feel my cheeks flush at the clinical way he’d said it and he catches my blush as he glances up from the computer screen.
He gives me a comforting smile, “Don’t be embarrassed. A lot more women experience anorgasmia than people think, and it’s something that we can fix. I promise, there is nothing to be embarrassed about here.”
I give him a small smile back, the sincerity in his words soothing me.
“Now, I know you filled out a very long questionnaire already and I’ve already reviewed that so we’re going to get right to a physical exam to start.” He pushes away from the computer and stands up, walking over to where I’m sitting on the exam table.
“Can you take off your bra and underwear for me, please?” I nod, steeling my nerves before following his instructions. My nipples immediately harden into peaks at the cold air of the exam room and I feel so exposed with my entire body naked in front of him.
He unhooks stirrups from the bottom of the exam table and clicks them into place. “Prop your feet into there for me and spread your legs,” his voice is purely professional and I do what he asks. Placing my feet into the stirrups leaves me completely exposed and a small shiver goes through me as cold air brushes against my core.
“Now lean back and look up at the ceiling for me. We’re going to start with just a simple physical exam to make sure everything is normal anatomically. Then, we’ll move on to a few other tests for sensation and sensitivity. If at any point you have questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to tell me, okay?” He looks at me with care and I nod back, feeling comforted by his words and clear attentiveness.
He rolls his chair to between my propped-up legs and takes a seat, facing me. “My hands are a little cold but don’t worry, we’ll warm up in no time.” I let out a gasp when his indeed cold hands come to rest on my thighs. His fingers are gentle as he brushes against my center, his movements confident as he pokes and prods around.
I stay still as I feel him gently pull me apart, letting cold air rush against my core and clit. I bite back a gasp at the sensation. I feel him press against my clit, maneuvering my clit hood out of the way to reveal the bud. A swipe of his finger against my exposed bundle of nerves makes me jolt and I let out a sharp gasp this time.
“Sorry! How did that feel?” He asks, his voice apologetic.
I take a second to gather myself before answering. “It felt intense. Good but almost a little overwhelming.”
“Hm, that’s good,” he says, “That means you have a fair amount of clitoral sensitivity. We’ll do a more in-depth examination later but it’s a good sign.”
I hear the scrape of his chair against the floor and glance up to see his standing. “I’m going to grab some lubricant and we’ll do an internal exam next.” I nod and watch as he squirts a dollop of lube onto his fingers.
He settles himself back in between my legs and I shiver at the cold feeling of the lube. He’s purely professional as he spreads the lube over me and slowly works a single finger into me. I bite my lip to tamp down any sounds I want to make.
“I’m going to test your g-spot next,” he says and I feel his finger crook upwards inside of me, brushing against the spongy clump of nerves inside of me. The sensation shoots through me and I led out a slow breath.
“That’s it, you’re doing really well. Tell me if anything hurts, okay?” His fingers scissor inside of me and I let out a soft whimper. “Does that feel good?” His voice comes out in a lower register than before. “Come on, use your words. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how it feels.”
I whimper again, “Mm yes, it feels good.”
“Good, so you have no problems with vaginal arousal and lubrication,” he says, his voice almost a purr now. “Don’t hold back, we want to make sure you’re giving your full reaction to everything that’s happening to help me understand what’s happening here.”
At his words, I let out another whimper, feeling the slow drag of his fingers against the sensitive walls of my pussy. He presses his fingers against my g-spot again and my back arches as pleasure shoots through me.
“Tell me, is this level of sensitivity and sensation reflective of how you normally feel during intercourse?” I take a second to catch my breath and think before I answer him.
“I think so, I’m usually pretty sensitive to sensation, it just never seems to culminate into an orgasm. A lot of times, I get too overstimulated to continue and I can’t cum.”
“Hm, I see,” his voice takes on a more contemplative tone. He pulls his fingers out of me, and I almost want to whimper at the loss.
“Well, I have a few theories but I’m going to do a more hands-on test to get a clearer answer of what we’re dealing with here. Lie back for me and relax.”
I lean my head back, staring up at the ceiling of the room and I feel him walk away for a second. He reappears at my side for a moment, and suddenly, I feel something encircle my wrist and hear a click. I jerk in surprise, glancing down to see that he’d cuffed me down to the table. My eyes meet his and smiles at me.
“Don’t worry, this is just to keep you still during the examination. The less movement there is from you, the easier it is for me to do my job. If at any point, you feel uncomfortable, tell me and we’ll stop, okay?” His words soothe the panic that rose up in my chest at the idea of being restrained and I give my consent. He smiles at me and makes quick work of clicking my other wrist into a cuff. Next, my ankles are strapped down to the stirrups and my thighs held apart by more cuffs. There’s even one that goes around my waist to keep my torso still.
“Good, how do you feel? Are any of the restraints hurting you?”
I shake my head in response, “No, I’m okay.”
He smiles at me again and I watch him open a drawer from across the exam room. “We’re going to introduce some equipment to help me get a better gauge of what we’re dealing with here.” My eyes widen as I watch him pull out several industrial looking sex toys.
“Let’s start with clitoral stimulation,” he says, setting down the toys except for one. He shows me the toy, it looks almost like an electric toothbrush with a wider body and a very thin head. “This is a very precise vibrator. Most commercial vibrators people tend to purchase have a much larger surface area, which can be very good for folks who are highly sensitive in all areas, but it doesn’t offer much precision in targeting specific parts of the clitoris. This one doesn’t have that problem since it has a much smaller head. Now this one is also pre-set to have 10 very well-calibrated intensity settings. Depending on your reaction to each setting, I can make better conclusions about your clitoral sensitivity. We’re going to go through the settings from low to high and I want you to continue to be vocal and tell me what you’re feeling, okay?”
I nod, “Okay, but what if I get too overstimulated?”
He gives me a comforting smile, “Just tell me and we’ll stop and re-evaluate if it happens.”
I nod again and he sits back down between my legs to get started.
I hear the toy click on, presumably at the first level based on the low, quiet buzzing sound its emitting. I gasp when I feel his fingers gently pull my pussy apart to reveal my clit, already erect and throbbing from his earlier treatment.
A moan escapes from my throat when I feel the toy make first contact. It feels so much more intense than any other toy I’ve ever had. The precision of the toy and the ease in which he handles it means that the vibrations are pressed right against my exposed clit, forcing the collection of raw nerves to submit to the sensations.
“How’s that?” He asks, his voice making me scramble to get ahold of myself to give a coherent response. “It feels so intense but in a good way.”
“Good, that’s good. Just relax and let yourself feel.” He murmurs, keeping the vibrator pressed tightly against me.
My eyes drift shut as I feel the sensation overtake me. The pleasure is forming a haze around my mind, every thought getting chased away by the feeling between my legs.
I hear his voice again, “I’m going to increase to the second setting. Just stay relaxed for me.”
I let out a whimper in response as the toy clicks up a level. The pleasure intensifies but there’s also a building sensation of raw overstimulation that is starting to arise. We’re nearing the point where I would normally stop and take a break but I don’t want to tell him that yet. I want to let him keep going, because maybe today is the day I finally get to cum.
I bite back a whine and clench my fists at my sides.
“Increasing to level 3 now.” He says, resting a hand on my thigh as his other one holds the toy firmly against me. The increase this time makes a cry rip out of me and my eyes fly open to meet his.
“Ah- it’s so much, I’m getting overstimulated.” I whimper out, my hands clenching and unclenching in an effort to control myself. He nods but doesn’t make any move to pull the toy away or decrease the setting.
“Try and tough it out for me for a bit more, I want to see if we can overcome the overstimulation.” He gives me a comforting smile and gently pats my thigh.
I take a deep breath and nod, letting my eyes drift shut.
“Increasing to level 4 now,” he says and the vibrator switches to a higher intensity before I can protest.
“Wait! Wait, please, just give me a moment, please!” I gasp out as the sensations shoot through me entire body. He shakes his head, “You’re doing great, just relax and let it happen.”
I whine as tears are gathering in my eyes. I’m walking the very thin line of pain and pleasure as the vibrator forces breathtaking feeling onto me while riding my nerves to the sharp edges of overstimulation. I hear his voice again and my heart drops when I register his words. “Increasing to level 5.”
A scream bursts out of me as all of the sensations compound and increase. It’s too much, I can’t do this. I can’t tell if I’m close to cumming, I just know that I’ve been absolutely thrown over my threshold for sensation and I can’t take anymore. I sob out my begs to my doctor.
“Please! No more, please stop! STOP! It’s too much! I can’t take it!” My body is shaking and I’m fighting with everything I have against the restraints but nothing gives. His hand on my thigh has turned into an iron grip, holding me down so I can’t even shift my hips to escape the relentlessly accurate vibrations.
“PLEASE! STOP!” I sob. There’s nothing to save me. He doesn’t listen, he might’ve said something to me but I’m too far gone to hear. All I know is the torturous pleasure dominating every single nerve of my body.
Beneath the horrible overstimulation, I feel a warm thread of something else. Something pulsing through my body, filling me with pure pleasure. I whimper as the feeling starts to build, my every muscle seeming to tighten in response to it.
There’s a knot building in my stomach, spreading throughout my body. Coupled with the overstimulation, I feel ravaged and decimated, every nerve pulled bare and shocked by the live wire of sensation that’s forced upon me. Before I can even begin to articulate it, I feel the vibrator kick up another setting and I scream as it shatters me.
I cum. For the first time in my life, I cum. My scream seems to shake the very foundation of the building we’re in as the pleasure, pain, and sensation flood my body, every cell of my body bursting with it. I can’t do anything except ride the relentless wave of pleasure, my entire body a slave to the whims of that horrible, terrible, delicious, mind-altering pleasure.
I slowly come down from the high of my first orgasm, gasps shaking my body as my mind struggles to reengage with reality. I blink tears out of my eyes, and I look up to see my doctor standing over me, holding the toy that he’s mercifully removed from my clit.
“Good job, sweet girl,” he purrs, running his hand up my thigh to cup my pussy gently. The soft motion is enough to make me whimper. “How did that feel, darling?” The terms of endearment make me pause but I’m too hazy to really digest it all.
I clear my throat and swallow, my voice raw from the screaming and begging. “I- It felt really good but it was so much,” I whisper, “I don’t know if I can do that again.”
He smirks and suddenly, I’m hit with a wave of uncertainty. There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there previously and it makes me nervous. Something about the way he is looking at me is so different now than earlier, with his cool professionalism and niceties. Now, I feel like a specimen under a microscope and he, the scientist who plans on dissecting me.
“I think, I think I need a break. Can we finish this appointment another time?” I murmur, pulling slightly at my restraints and looking at him.
He lets out a low laugh that makes my skin pebble with nerves. “Oh no, now that I know what the problem is, I can’t let you leave until we fix it. What kind of doctor would I be if I let my patients leave without being cured?”
I shake my head, “I don’t understand,” I whisper. “You made me cum, doesn’t that mean I’m cured?”
He smirks at me and he slides a finger into my pussy, making me gasp. “Not at all, we’ve proven that you indeed can orgasm, but there is still much to be examined in terms of the extent of your orgasms. Plus, we have several more levels of this vibrator to get through and we haven’t even begun to work on your pussy and g-spot yet.”
My eyes widen at his words and the curling feeling of fear truly takes root inside of me. “Wait no, please, I don’t want to continue with any of that anymore. Please, just let me go!”
The look on his face is one of glee as he sees my terror become apparent. “Now now, you don’t want to leave against my medical advice, do you? Plus, darling, you consented to following through with my professional recommendations when you signed up to be a patient. There’s no backing out of this now. And especially when I know how sensitive of a whore you are, darling.” He chuckles.
I whimper, “Please, no, I don’t want this.”
He bends down to lean in close to me. “Well, I don’t give a shit about what you want. You are the most unique case of sensitivity I’ve ever seen, and I plan to take full advantage of that while I have you here. So be a good girl for me and enjoy this.” He presses his lips to the side of my neck and the feeling makes me tremble.
He ignores the rest of my protests and goes back to sitting between my legs. I watch in fear as he holds up the vibrator and clicks it on. “We stopped at level 6 last time, that’s where we’ll resume. And scream all you want, sweet girl, these walls are soundproof and won’t let a speck of sound through.”
I do indeed scream when he presses the vibrator against me again.
This time, there’s no build up of pleasure or stimulation. It all slams into me all at once and I writhe against my restraints as everything overwhelms me. I vaguely hear a low laugh permeate the space around me but I can’t focus enough to pick out any other noise amidst my own sobs.
My doctor stops giving me any verbal cues, not that I’m coherent enough to even understand at this point. All I know is the punishing vibrator held against my clit, ravaging my body and turning me inside out. The claws of pleasure are embedded deep into my psyche and my body is at its complete whim.
I have no idea how much time has passed or whether I even stayed conscious for the entire duration of the torture but eventually, I realize that he’s stopped. The vibrator is off but my body was still shaking from phantom sensations, every inhale of air a sharp stab, and every sob a reminder of how broken I am.
Slowly, I register the sound of his low laugh. I whimper as I blink away my tears to look at him. “You, my sweet girl, are truly remarkable. I don’t think you realize since you were so out of it, but we were at the highest setting for the past ten minutes and you didn’t even cum once. I’ve never come across someone so fucking sensitive and yet so resistant to orgasm. It’s incredible because you don’t seem to become desensitized either.”
I whimper and my voice cracks when I speak. “Please, please, just let me go. I can’t handle any more. I won’t tell anyone about this, please just stop doing this.”
He smiles at me and for a brief moment, I see the professional, nice, kind, good doctor from earlier. But all my hope is washed away when I feel his fingers press against my core again.
“I can’t do that, darling. We still have your precious pussy left to work on,” his voice is filled with excitement and it makes me want to cry because I know what is coming next and I’m not sure I will survive.
I watch him exchange the vibrator for a huge dildo. He smirks and presses a button on the underside of it and the entire thing begins to vibrate. “I think we can go ahead and skip to the higher settings here.”
Tears fill my eyes and I shake my head at him as pleas fall from my lips. He ignores me as he lines the dildo up with my core. I tremble as the vibrations make me shudder without the toy even breaching me yet.
He catches my eye and I watch as he gives me a wink and proceeds to slam the dildo home inside of me. I arch my back and let out a devastated cry. The toy fills me to the brim, the vibrations ravaging my sensitive walls and my g-spot in a way that makes my eyes roll back.
I’m sobbing and shaking as he drives the dildo in and out of my pussy. Every movement against my overstimulated walls tortures me. The pleasure digs its claws into me and drags me back into its embrace. My entire being submits and I feel my mind’s grasp on my sanity loosen as every single facet of my existence narrows to pleasure.
Each thrust seems to make my sensitivity grow, every single muscle in my body aching and begging for relief. I feel his hand clamp down on my thigh as the other continues to work the dildo inside of me. I want to rip myself out of my body to make this torture end but there’s nothing I can do. Every push and pull shoves my body higher and higher to a peak that I can never seem to reach. There’s no culminating release of pleasure to make this all better, no soft wash of an orgasm to soothe every jagged nerve. There’s only him and the torturous pleasure he imparts onto my very soul.
An unfathomable amount of time later, I feel him finally turn off the toy and pull it out of me. I barely register the lewd sound of my cunt clenching around the toy, my pussy still weeping with arousal even after the devastation he brought upon me.
“Please,” I whimper. “Please, are we done? Please, I can’t take anymore, please let me go.”
He brushes my hair off my forehead and he smirks at me. “Oh, sweet girl, I can’t let you go now. I’m going to be keeping you as my perfect little toy. There are still so many other things I want to try on you. I’m going to push every single limit you have until you break for me.” A soft whine escapes from me and I know there is nothing I can do to convince him otherwise. My head lolls from exhaustion and I feel my grasp on consciousness start to loosen.
The last thing I hear is his voice. “Sleep, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”
Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation Invested Millions In Private Prisons
The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation says on its website that it “works to help all people lead healthy, productive lives.”
While the Gates Foundation has invested in many worthy projects to help people worldwide, some of the Gates Foundation Trust investments seem to contradict its admirable goal.
Mother Jones recently analyzed the Gates Foundation’s 2012 tax return to see where it was investing its money.
Probably the most surprising investment was $2.2 million into a private prison company, The GEO Group, which has been accused of numerous human rights abuses and violations.
I’ve fallen hard for Sleepy Hollow and the diversity is teaching me so much about my own racism. It’s about time white people got to look at a room with four black characters in it and say, “That’s funny… I’m not there.” Surprise!
Yes, apparently this is… [tumblr snipped]
I know a lot of people have been
reacting to Sleepy Hollow, but I’m hoping it’s making even more people *think*.
I think one of the moments which could really be thought provoking if you let it is the “I see you’ve been emancipated” moment. I mean, bully for you Mr. Crane that you were a member of the AntiSlavery society, but that was no guarantee that he was going to treat Lt. Mills like a person (he did, but that’s his magical 21st century adaptability thing. or possible over exposure to certain Enlightenment thinkers).
Anyway, this show doesn’t always make me think about race, but it certainly has me thinking about teaching historical thinking (and thinking historically) to the public through pop culture.
Uhhhhh. I hope you mean the opposite of what you said, because The Enlightenment was basically when racism as we know it today was invented.
Enlightenment thinkers like Immanuel Kant:
The Negroes of Africa have by nature no feeling that rises above the trifling. Mr. [David] Hume challenges anyone to cite a single example in which a Negro has shown talents, and asserts that among the hundreds of thousands of blacks who are transported elsewhere from their countries, although many of them have even been set free, still not a single one was ever found who presented anything great in art or science or any other praiseworthy quality, even though among the whites some continually rise aloft from the lowest rabble and through superior gifts earn respect in the world. So fundamental is the difference between these two races of man.
Enlightenment thinker David Hume the “Abolitionist”:
I am apt to suspect the negroes and in general all other species of men (for there are four or five different kinds) to be naturally inferior to the whites. There never was a civilized nation of any other complexion than white, nor even any individual eminent either in action or speculation. No ingenious manufactures amongst them, no arts, no sciences…. [T]here are NEGROE slaves dispersed all over EUROPE, of which none ever discovered any symptoms of ingenuity; tho’ low people, without education, will start up amongst us, and distinguish themselves in every profession. In JAMAICA, indeed, they talk of one negroe as a man of parts and learning; but ‘tis likely he is admired for very slender accomplishments, like a parrot, who speaks a few words plainly.
Enlightenment thinker John Locke, who is responsible for codifying race-based chattel slavery into the United States Constitution:
Sir Leslie Stephan charged Locke with personal racism for inserting section CX: “Every freeman of Carolina shall have absolute power and authority over his negro slaves, of what opinion or religion soever.” There is some evidence to suggest that Locke did play a part in formulating the sections on religion — though it is possible this may have been at the bidding of Lord Ashley. […] David Armitage has shown that Locke was involved over the years in amending the Fundamental Constitutions of the Carolinas right up to the time at which he was writing the Two Treatises of Government, and while many articles of the Constitutions were removed at various times, this was not the case with the clause about negro slavery. Armitage implies that this shows not only that Locke agreed with the clause about negro slavery in the Fundamental Constitutions but that we should interpret the Second Treatise account of slavery as intended to justify the institutions and practices of Afro-American slavery.
Enlightenment thinker Thomas Jefferson:
Jefferson also dodged opportunities to undermine slavery or promote racial equality. As a state legislator he blocked consideration of a law that might have eventually ended slavery in the state.
As president he acquired the Louisiana Territory but did nothing to stop the spread of slavery into that vast “empire of liberty.” Jefferson told his neighbor Edward Coles not to emancipate his own slaves, because free blacks were “pests in society” who were “as incapable as children of taking care of themselves.” And while he wrote a friend that he sold slaves only as punishment or to unite families, he sold at least 85 humans in a 10-year period to raise cash to buy wine, art and other luxury goods.
Destroying families didn’t bother Jefferson, because he believed blacks lacked basic human emotions. “Their griefs are transient,” he wrote, and their love lacked “a tender delicate mixture of sentiment and sensation.”
Jefferson claimed he had “never seen an elementary trait of painting or sculpture” or poetry among blacks and argued that blacks’ ability to “reason” was “much inferior” to whites’, while “in imagination they are dull, tasteless, and anomalous.” He conceded that blacks were brave, but this was because of “a want of fore-thought, which prevents their seeing a danger till it be present.”
So, I can only assume that it’s a LACK of exposure to Enlightenment thinkers that presumably led to our fictional character Ichabod Crane, time traveling Apocalypse-Thwarter, to eschew the violent and virulent racism that was a product of his time.
Signal boost for our Haitian sisters and brothers in need of our kind of media attention. Since white media doesn’t give a fuck about black life let’s show how ever way we can that the Dominican Republic is wrong and evil as fuck for allowing and even facilitating what’s happening to the Haitian citizens of D.R.
First they humiliate, slaughter, lynch, abuse or rob them then they try to deport them. This is fucking 2013 people need to cut this racist violence out.
Okay. I understood all the flack Twilight got for being an abusive relationship. Because it was and it was being read by a very young and impressionable audience. But ffs, 50 Shades is an ADULT NOVEL. Iit is about a BDSM couple. Which - newsflash - do exist. It is a completely consensual form of dominate/submissive sex play. The whole concept of domestic violence and abuse is that one side exerts control over an unwilling victim. I don’t recall Anastasia, or whatever she’s called, protesting to Christian’s form of sex. If I remember correctly, she quite enjoyed it! So before you condemn a work of romanticizedfiction, actually consider it’s audience and remember that they are mature and capable enough to know the difference between reality and fiction.
so i guess you didn’t read the parts where he coerces her and the part where he continues after she has used her safeword and acts like a fucking creep whenever they aren’t having sex
it is the worst possible introduction to BDSM i could imagine
im hoping the people defending this book are 1. never getting into BDSM 2. not currently into BDSM 3. havent read the book bc i dont want to believe anyone is that fucking stupid
Wanna know the BDSM mantra? Safe, sane, consensual.
So let me explain why this book was devoid of all three of these things.
Safe - In the first few chapters of the novel, Christian Grey tracks Ana’s cell phone to find her at a club. Takes her home when she’s drunk, changes her when she’s so intoxicated she doesn’t remember him doing so,and informs her he will be keeping tabs on her for her own benefit. This is not the behaviour of a respectable Dominant. This is the behaviour of a power hungry, abusive asshole who really can’t take no for an answer.
Sane - One of the most important parts of BDSM is aftercare. Scenes can be extremely traumatizing and intense for the submissive. Aftercare is anything from petting to cuddling to holding to sweet talking, whatever degree of gentleness a bottom would need to pull them out of “subspace”. How does Christian provide aftercare? He submits Ana to a traumatizing first time spanking experience AND THEN FUCKING LEAVES. AND GETS MAD THAT SHE DIDN’T TELL HIM SHE WAS UPSET. He’s the one who should fucking know better! That, again, is not the act of a responsible Dominant. It’s the act of a selfish abuser.
Consensual - Did I mention he undressed her when she was belligerently drunk? Tracked her phone to locate her? He also buys her a new car despite her saying no countless times. Now, consent is important for any kind of sexual activity at all. Consent means informed, consent means enthusiastic. Informed, enthusiastic consent. This is crucial in a BDSM setting. Scenes can be extremely intense, especially for the bottom. What is Christian’s form of obtaining consent? Handing Ana a fucking contract highlighting all the things he wants to do her asshole and asking her to sign it. She was a virgin (Don’t even get me fucking started.) who had never before been exposed to BDSM. Entering in that kind of relationship takes a gargantuan amount of trust and knowledge so you know exactly what you’re getting into. Not reading a list of kinks on a piece of paper and signing your rights to say no away. Christian didn’t offer her resources, he didn’t offer her information. He gave her an ultimatum. That is not the sort of consent a responsible Dom/me would seek from their submissive.
Fuck. This. book. It’s written in a shitty way, it’s a terrible example of a BDSM relationship (ask anybody already involved in the lifestyle and watch them go blue in the face just thinking about it), which is already faced with enough prejudice and misunderstand, and it romanticizes and glorifies abuse.
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Five Myths About Crime in Black America—and the Statistical Truths
In the wake of Trayvon Martin’s death [and Renisha McBride and Jonathan Ferrell], we’ve seen a lot of discussion of the larger societal issues that play into how and when people are perceived as criminals. There were hoodies, there were marches, and there were frank talks from parent to child about how to minimize the danger of being a young person of color. On the other side, there were justifications of George Zimmerman’s actions: a smear campaign against Martin’s character, and plenty of writers explaining that statistically, blacks are simply more dangerous to be around.
That framing ignores the realities behind the numbers. Here are five myths about crime and people of color.
1. Kiowa girl. Photographed 1890.
2. Photo of Hopi women by Edward S. Curtis, circa 1906
3. Sixapo (aka Black Plume, aka Long Mane) - Blackfoot (Kainai) - 1895
4. Beaver Tail, Stony Brave, British Columbia
5. Ansel Adams - Navaho Girl - Canyon de Chelle - Arizona - 1941
6. Hattie Tom, a Chiricahua Apache (1899).
7. Three Lakota boys on their arrival at the Carlisle Indian School
Yes, these are images of Native beauty. But as they’re bounced around the tumblrverse, please take a minute to read about Edward S. Curtis and Carlisle Indian School. There’s a lot more to these images than meets the eye
[This blog post] featured photographs by Edward S. Curtis—infamous white scumbag red face practitioner. Curtis received $$ from Harvard to document what he believed to be the “vanishing race” and would dodge & burn the photographs (particularly of watches, certain clothing) to fit his imaginary “vanishing native” look. Post-colonial scholars have gone into his negatives to find that he really went out of his way to print portraits with solemn expressions—that is, even if someone smiled the majority of their sitting, he would select one sad look because he believed that he was documenting the end of a race. Yes, that is how stupid and arrogant he was. He thought he would be the great white man to capture the sad beauty of a forgotten people. For these reasons, it’s important for us not to celebrate his prints & his curation. The world should demand to see the archive, the negatives, unaltered, watch filled—full of expressions he did not approve. — viasunyah