Thursday, May 23rd, 2013

Well, it’s nice to know I’m impressing someone…an ENFP as well, and a feminist! Woop! WHO ARE YOU?!

Thursday, May 23rd, 2013

It’s official. New celebrity crush.

(via frenchcinema)

Well, hello again London!

Tuesday, May 21st, 2013

it’s been too long, as always. here for the next 6 hours, ah, glorious.

Monday, May 20th, 2013

Actually crying with laughter.

Monday, May 20th, 2013

when the day is done
and i lay me down
the sheets are cold
and your space is dark
and i hear you whisper something sweet
but it doesn’t move any nerves in me.
after all, i’m married to the wandering star
and i’ve kissed the moon
it was full when i fell in love with thee
but now the world turns without me

Sunday, May 19th, 2013

Yahoo 'to buy Tumblr for $1.1bn'

Sunday, May 19th, 2013

amandapalmer:

“There are more of us than you think, kicking off our high-heeled shoes to run and being told not so fast

The best minds of my generation consumed by craving, furious half naked starving-

Who ripped tights and dripping make up smoked alone in bedsits bare mattresses waiting for transfiguration.

Who ran half dressed out of department stores yelling that we didn’t want to be good and beautiful

Who glowing high and hopeful were the last to leave the gig our skin crackling with lust and sweat and pure music

Who wrote poetry on each other’s arms and cared more about fucking than being fuckable

Who worked until our backs stiffened and our limbs sang with the memory of misbehaviour that was what it was to be a woman

Who dared to dance until dawn and were drugged and raped by men in clean T-shirts and woke up scared and sore to be told it was our fault

Who swallowed bosses’ patronizing side-eyes stole away from violent broken boys in the middle of the night and vowed never again to try to fix the world one man at a time

Who slammed down the tray of drinks and tore off our aprons and aching smiles and went scowling out into the streets looking for change

Who stripped in dark rooms for strangers’ anodyne dollars because we wanted education and were told we were traitors

Who sat faces upturned to the glow of the network searching searching for strangers who would call us pretty

Who bared our breasts to hidden cameras and fought and fought and fought to be human

Who waited in grim hallways with synth-pop crackling over the speaker system for the doctor to call us clutching fistfuls of pamphlets calling us sluts whores murderers

Who crossed continents alone with knapsacks full of books bare limbs clear-eyed vision running running from the homes that held our mothers down

Who filled notebooks with gibberish philosophy and scraps of stories and cameras to prove we were there keeping our novels and the name of out children close to our hearts

Who were told all our lives that we were too loud too risky too fat too ugly too scruffy too selfish too much too and refused to take up less space refused to be still refused refused refused to be tame

Who would never be still. Who would never shut up. Who were punished for it and spat and snarled and they shook the bars of our cages until they snapped and they called us wild and crazy and we laughed with mouths open hearts open hands open and would never not ever be tame.

Sara, I’m with you in hospital, in the narrow rooms where you have put off your veil to count your ribs through your T-shirt, short hair and secrets and quiet defiance crying together that we don’t know how to be perfect-

Lara, I’m with you in mandatory art therapy, where we draw pictures of weeping cocks and are told we are not making progress- Lila, I’m with you in a north London bathroom, watching unreal maggots crawl in the cuts in your arms and listening to your girlfriend drunk and raging through the wall-

Andy, I’m with you in Bethnal Green where you love ambitious angry women with heart brain pen fingers tongue and you have a line from Nietzche tattooed over your cunt-

Adele, I’m with you in the student occupation, with your lipstick and cloche hat and teenage lisp drawling that there’s not enough fucking in this revolution and we must take action- Kay, I’m with you on the night bus, half drunk and high dragging bright-eyed boys home to our bed, where we watch them worn out sleeping and whisper that we will never be married-

Katie, I’m with you in Zuccotti Park, where a broken heart is less important than a broken laptop is less important than a broken future and we watch the cops beating kids bloody on the pavement for daring to ask for more-

Tara, I’m with you in Islington where you have thrown all your pretty dresses out of the window and flushed your medication so you can write and write-

Alex, I’m with you and a bottle of Scotch at two in the morning when you tell me that no man will make us live for ever and we must seduce the city the country the world-

We are always hungry.

There are more of us than you think.”

—

Laurie Penny’s Saudade, from Fifty Shades of Feminism (via mollycrabapple)

Sunday, May 19th, 2013

peterandkerry:

LONDON! We’re playing a special show on June 7th at the best venue in town - Union Chapel - supporting our friends Mt Wolf. See you there?!

Well, shit. That will be one hell of a performance…

Saturday, May 18th, 2013

jorekbyrnison:

WAS THE CLARA THAT TALKED TO THE FIRST DOCTOR A TIMELADY SINCE SHE WAS BORN ON GALLIFREY

Even more of a mindfuck: the first companion (Susan Foreman) was the doctor’s Granddaughter and her actual name was ‘Arkytior’ - meaning ‘Rose’. She was named after her grandmother.

That’s right.

Ah, doctor who…

Saturday, May 18th, 2013

DOESN’T REALLY CONTAIN SPOILERS, BUT DON’T READ ON IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED THE SEASON FINALE YET ANYWAY; JUST IN CASE.

Well, I’ve kind of always felt like the story of Doctor Who was better than its implementation and, for me, this week was no exception. I know it should have felt epic, but I genuinely haven’t cared much for Clara since she appeared, it kind of felt like her actual character was decided in a couple sentences on the writing table. While River Song was much the same, at least we had a lot of time to get to know her, and what she lacked in character traits was made up for in her history.

OKAY THIS NEXT KICKS RIGHT OFF INTO CONTAINING SPOILERS (WATCH OUT!):

The introduction of John Hurt as the ‘missing’ doctor (or not?) is exciting because he’s one of the best actors alive at the moment, possibly one of the best in all time, but I am so scared of seeing such poor scriptwriting for him diminish his stature some. I mean, Doctor Who is an incredible and great TV institution with some great history to it, but this last season in particular has actually made me a little bit embarrassed of it. I watch it just hoping that the U.S viewers don’t think that this is what British TV is actually like…

Gah, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just that each episode needs to be a triple bill in order to give the ridiculously epic plotlines some gravitas.

Okay, this ramble is pretty much losing coherence, so I’m bailing now. T’ra.