#risenfromhawksashes

Is this the same guy as before because if so Vivian’s just chanting “STAB HIM” loudly. If it’s not the same guy, she wants to know why you have so many asshole males who need to be stabbed in your life.

It is NOT the same guy. The guy from yesterday who deserved it ended up chickening out and not coming to class today because he cannot take women tearing into him or standing up to him. (Legit, he did the same thing when he got in an argument with my friend the other week. It’s his thing.) 

And I don’t know, man. I’ve got to deal with a lot of assholes here. There are some really fucking arrogant douche bags in the MA program who think they’re the fucking smartest, wisest, most knowledgeable one here who knows absolutely everything about their shtick. They all just need to be punched, tbh. And to be taken down, like, 5 notches at least.

risenfromhawksashes replied to your post: Remind me why I’m not allowed to punch people who...

[Because he’s not even remotely worth the assault charge. Really, he’s not even worth your time, thought, or breath spent arguing.]

Look at you being all wise and giving valid reasons!!! He definitely isn’t worth the charges, but he needs to stfu and stop acting as if he knows everything there is to know about PTSD to the point where he’s acting superior to a psychiatrist who ACTUALLY does her work with those who struggle with PTSD.

[Gee, I dunno. Morrigan, mayhaps?]

*shocked gasp*

[vbzbvja yes hi hello wat are wordz]

The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.

The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography. Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only beauty.

There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.

The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.

The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass. The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium. No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved. No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style. No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything. Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art. Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art. From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor’s craft is the type. All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors. Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital. When critics disagree, the artist is in accord with himself. We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.

All art is quite useless.

OSCAR WILDE