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@yalayall

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Listening to this and crying... For myself, b/c that's #Amy's power.
“If most writing students took my psychic's advice and just did what felt right in their bodies, they'd be better off for when I see writing get broken, it's when the person can't get out of their own head and take a look, a good long look, at the world outside, don't allow theirselves to fully resonate with that world. They shouldn't be thinking, is it okay to shift from first person to third person in the same narrative. Anything can work, honey, anything if you really own it and connect with it.”
-- Dodie Bellamy
Sky Ferreira “I’m On Top” Night Time, My Time: B-Sides Part 1
look at me now, eat your heart out
Fiona Apple and Blake Mills - Dull Tool (Live at Liberty Hall in Lawrence, Kansas | 12 October 2013)
HOLY FUCK ONE OF HER BEST PERFORMANCES EVER
i’m convinced the reason more fiona fans aren’t reblogging this is because they don’t listen the full way through, to the fantastic free-style endings she does.

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yeah, this is still really good.
I used to be insecure about my small hands and feet back when I valued masculinity but now that I realize I’m pussy I’m so glad I have tiny hands and feet
bahahhaha #RPDR tarot / pokemon cards
i had a dream i was at my wedding, asking everyone if they wanted to watch me set my hair on fire.
when i was 2 or 3, i had a blonde ball of curls and with my sister haley lit them on fire as we played our favorite game-- light a candle and then take turns making a birthday wish (it wasn't either of our birthdays.)
i leaned too close to the flame, so i am told, and my hair caught flame. haley screamed, i screamed (i suppose), and one of my strongest memories is actually my mother *recounting* this day, telling the story:
"i had never ran so fast... up the stairs on all fours like an animal... i put wet dishrags on your head because that's what i had in my hand, i had been washing dishes... i picked you up and ran to the car, but there was a big snow storm and the car couldn't move, and by the time i had slowed down i realized you weren't screaming. you didn't need to go the the hospital. your scalp and head were fine-- just your hair was gone."
when i was 21 and smoking weed on christmas eve in my apartment, a curl fell into the flame but it just ate away at some. i cried. the next morning, a family member asked if i did something with my hair.
this summer is so hot-- everyone is burning with something and it all feels too weighty for me to carry any of it. been contemplating shearing off my hair, starting over after two years of growing out this now-bleached, now-fried head of hair.
"do you wanna see me set fire to my curls? do you? do you?"
do you want to see me burn up what is dead on me, hanging?
june is national LGBT pride month, which means for most of the month i will be in the south remembering how being "gay" made me stronger den all these northeastern kitty cats i've met up here. (and west-coast transplant kitties, too, and well-groomed kitties--- how pretty they purrrrrrr their lack of privilege, nuzzle cheeks into hard edges of pride.) mhm, yall may got pride, but i have lots of shame. i am only proud of my shame.
xo

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Revisiting "Embracing the Verb of It: Black Poets Innovating": from ThisMouthIsMine on Vimeo.
ON 'HYBRID'
On “Hybrid”. An entry for Cross Cultural Poetics’ "Dictionary"
HYBRID. Postmodernism’s key notion, maybe the notion that sustains most postmodernism’s quackery. Through the illusion of hybridism contradiction is obscured, turned commodity. Not able to recognize and accept the other in its complete otherness, we turn it into hybrid, i.e., half me, similar to Us. (Not Other). Not Either/Or but always proper. Property. Not completely stranger. ‘Mixed’. In denial of otherness we constructed ‘hybrid’. We have naturalized the ‘hybrid’ category so much, that the mere mention of this category as purely cultural, artificial, contextualized (in imperialistic epistemology) seems a ‘menace’, an evil return to ‘Nationalism’ or ‘Pure’. Using the ‘hybrid’ category we have remained Hegelian. We arrive to syntheses. (Isn’t that wonderful, daddy?) We prevent radical dialectics to take place. ‘Hybrid’ has taken control of cultural industries, such as music where fusion has become institutionalized. Such happens also in the arts and writing communities, where being ‘hybrid’ is the key to enter. And become “trend”. In the same way, ‘activism’ is replacing ‘revolution’, ‘hybrid’ replaced ‘contradiction’—and denies the real relationship between One and the Other. Otherness. Hybrid is sameness. Hybrid tends to become Happy Hybrid. That’s why the hybrid category plays so well in ‘postmodern’ discourse. A capitalistic notion to kill rupture. No negation anymore! Let settle down with hybridism, ok? Don’t even talk about resistance. But resistance is what really takes place where hybridism is now used. Resistance doesn’t mean borders or ‘essences’ are not transgressed. To the contrary. It means participants enter into a strong relationship. A magnetic field where attraction and repellence both take place. Resistance is all about magnetism. And the hybrid category is all about denying resistance.
The bad reading [of Gender Trouble] goes something like this: I can get up in the morning, look in my closet, and decide which gender I want to be today. I can take out a piece of clothing and change my gender: stylize it, and then that evening I can change it again and be something radically other, so that what you get is something like the commodification of gender, and the understanding of taking on a gender as a kind of consumerism … When my whole point was that the very formation of subjects, the very formation of persons, presupposes gender in a certain way—that gender is not to be chosen and that “performativity” is not radical choice and it’s not voluntarism … Performativity has to do with repetition, very often with the repetition of oppressive and painful gender norms to force them to resignify. This is not freedom, but a question of how to work the trap that one is inevitably in.
Judith Butler (via bobdylansgrandson)
“Then he conducted me to a bower about a dozen yards off, but which was approached by such ingenious twists of path that it took quite a long time to get at; and in this retreat our glasses were already set forth. Our punch was cooling in an ornamental lake, on whose margin the bower was raised. This piece of water (with an island in the middle which might have been the salad for supper) was of a circular form, and he had constructed a fountain in it, which, when you set a little mill going and took a cork out of a pipe, played to that powerful extent that it made the back of your hand quite wet.” ~~ Dickens

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Ninsun Poli // Good
the beach was healing. i ran into the waves, all dark with the silver of the boardwalk making each crescent look bioluminescent, and i played with the ocean. my mother. trying to get the wave to swallow me, but always i was running.