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Sweet little things...

@lushkama / lushkama.tumblr.com

Hey I'm Leila and I volunteer as tribute to the Tumblr gods....
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I know we don’t get happily ever afters in real life. I’m a hopeless romantic, not a total fucking idiot. As my friend, Russell, said to me once, “Even with the happiest couples, one of you dies first.” But first there is such unalloyed joy. We went to the supermarket yesterday and we were wandering around and, at one point, he took my hand, because that’s the kind of thing he does. And instantly, I got flustered. Residual anxiety. Remembrance of past battery. Enduring scars. Even though I know I’m hardly likely to get my head kicked in by the salad bar, PDAs can still make me nervous. And then he said, gentle as anything, and I’m not going to do the accent… “If there’s a gay kid in here with his folks, frightened that he’s a freak, don’t you think that it might give him hope, seeing two guys wandering around, being themselves, getting their groceries, like everyone else?” If happiness is a place… it’s the biscuit aisle in Sainsbury’s. And anywhere else I am with him.
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emyrys

From the BBC’s  “Queers”

The short-form project comprises eight monologues from well-known actors. In the U.K. it was part of a longer “Gay Britannia” season on pubcaster the BBC, which was launched to mark 50th anniversary of The Sexual Offences Act, the law that decriminalized homosexual acts in the U.K.
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yrbff

Tbh I never understood why the term “thunder thighs” is supposed to be derogatory, it sounds like I am a terrifying weather goddess

Just tell people: “Why yes, my thighs *were* blessed by an Asgardian diety. Thank you for noticing.”

“He murmured the blessing while he was between them, in fact.”

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goosegoblin

feminism didn’t make me hate men but men kind of did

elaboration:

feminism didn’t teach me that men are out to get me. it didn’t persuade me mansplaining existed a là wormtongue or tell me to set fire to my bra. it said ‘hey, has this ever happened to you?’, and it had. 

it said ‘this happens to most women, and it kind of sucks, right?’, and i agreed that it did

and it encouraged me to question and to think: to not assume i had to be quiet and subsurvient, to question why i had to shave and my male friends did not, to use my voice when i was uncomfortable or unhappy

and i was shocked to realise all the garbage around me, but excited to do what i could to change it

and then i started to talk to men about it

and i was told women are sluts and bitches, and that we have it better than men, and that fat women are always unloveable, and that feminism is a hate group, that because the 77 cents figure was disproved no wage gap could possibly exist, that affirmative action is unfair, that women are just not as smart or capable as men, that i should get back in the kitchen, that i was too sensitive, that hot women will always be reduced to their bodies and ugly women will always be mocked for theirs, that mansplaining didn’t exist (this was, of course, mansplained to me), that women just aren’t cut out for STEM, that women these days are uppity, that i was a whore if i had sex and a prude if i didn’t, that i deserved what was coming to me if i took nudes but could i send them some anyway?

i will always fight to protect and support men and their rights. i care deeply about male suicide rates, male addiction rates and the attitude that prevents men from getting help, paternity leave, racial discrimination against black men, toxic masculinity, domestic abuse against men not being taken seriously… 

but goddamn, when i talk to men and have them consistently refuse to acknowledge my experiences are valid, when they laugh and ask if i’m on my period or tell me to ‘smile!’, when they brush me off as a SJW or get angry at me for being a ‘bitch’, it makes me want to say ‘you know what? fuck men. i give up.’

feminism taught me to value myself. nothing more, and nothing less. that’s not what’s making me bitter here.

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dajo42

if you dont have me on facebook you are probably not missing out on any posts but the comment section is important too lmao

I went to the Renaissance faire dressed as a warrior.  I had a real sword with me, too.  I was standing (in character) next to a sword-fighting ring, where kids of all ages got the chance to pick up a sword and challenge the champion.  Some woman walks by, with her little girl.  The girl starts walking towards the ring, saying she wants to fight.  But the mom pulled her away hella sharply, and was like, “That’s for boys.”  You don’t want to be a BOY, do you?”    And the girl looked around and saw me.  I think she thought I was a boy; I had my hair in a ponytail, and was wearing a hood.  So she comes up to me and asks me, “Do you think girls can be fighters, too?”  And her mom looks like she’s silently gloating.  Like she thinks I’m going to say no.  So I take off my hood, untie my hair so that it flows freely, and kneel before her.  And I’m like, “Milady, anyone can be a fighter.”  I swear, the look on that mother’s face made my day.

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maneth985
Image

This post was good but then it got better

Okay, this is a slight topic diversion, but in response to the above comment. I’ve volunteered at the CT Ren Faire for years now. For the last 5 or so I’ve worked in the game section, and we have a game similar to the above comment called “Smite the Knight”. I’ve been in the ring before, it’s a ton of fun getting to run around with the kids. The main goal is entertainment. Have a good shtick, keep the crowd engaged, and let the kids have a good time.

In both work and observing, I have learned something about kids. A lot of parents try to get their boys to go fight. Of the young ones that do, they tend to be shy. You get the ones who just swing the boffer swords around with no regard for life, but, mostly, they’re reserved. It’s adorable. I mean, they’re kids.

But the girls. THE GIRLS. Holy crap. I swear, the pinker the dress, the more taffeta and glitter…the more intensity. I remember, the first year I worked there, one girl came in, grabbed the biggest sword she could, and WENT TO TOWN on our knight. Lifted it over head, let out this primal scream and mowed him down. Homeboy is 6′2″, she was FIVE. And once he was in the fetal position (He was fine. It was for show.) on the ground, she stopped, put her foot on his chest, and yelled “I AM A FIERCE PRINCESS!!”. Later in the day when she walked by a couple of us yelled “Ah! It’s the fierce princess!” and she stopped and flexed. It was the best, and I will never forget that girl.

OH MY GOD IT’S BACK YES

This has improved since last I reblogged.

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reblogged

Anyway I miss Peggy Carter violently beating the absolute everloving fuck out of dudes with any object within her reach while upbeat jazz music is playing in the background

I read that as Miss Piggy, and now I want Piggy & Peggy to beat the everliving fuck out of dudes with any object in reach while jazz plays.

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ecc-poetry

“La sirena y el pescador,” Elisa Chavez.

Hey all! This poem is part of my chapbook Miss Translated, which I produced in a limited run as Town Hall Seattle’s Spring 2017 artist-in-residence. The main conceit behind this work is that to accurately portray my relationship with Spanish, I have to explore the pain and ambiguity of not speaking the language of my grandparents and ancestors. As a result, these poems are bilingual … sort of. Each one is translated into English incorrectly.

The poems I produced have secrets, horrific twists, emotional rants, and confessions hiding in the Spanish. It’s my hope that people can appreciate them regardless of their level of Spanish proficiency.

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kranja

oh shit.  my spanish is pretty shaky, but i’m pretty sure “te perdono” is “i forgive you.”  wow understanding just that much is pretty chilling.

and something about…blood? and transformation?  oooh yikes.  she didn’t want legs in the spanish version did she.  and it was a painful process.

so this poem is about…misunderstandings leading to pain for the person misunderstood?  whish is really effective with the way it’s written, wow.  this is the most meta poem form i’ve ever seen.  wow.

<— This right here is AMAZING. Look at the journey this person went on reading my poem! Secret fact, I have been stalking tags and reblogs of this because what I wanted more than anything was to provide an experience for people and LOOK AT YOU ALL GO. Your engagement and enthusiasm is amazing and so humbling for me.

Holy crap, this is incredible. As a natively bilingual Latina woman, allow me to dive into a full analysis.

First, I should tell you my experience of reading this. I didn’t even look at the English at first, because I didn’t know that the mistranslation was the point, and of course I didn’t need it. So I read the whole poem in Spanish and thought it was really sad and moving. Then I looked at the English and my eyebrows went right up to my hairline. Why the hell would you translate it this way, I thought. 

Then I read the caption and realized that this is a genius way of demonstrating how translation into English can be an act of colonization and violence.

I would translate the first two lines as “The mermaid rose from the sea / To see the dry world.” They’re very neutral lines. She was curious about the dry world, so she went to check it out. That’s a very different connotation from the mistranslation, which tells you that the mermaid preferred the land to the sea.

The second two lines I would say mean “She found a fisherman on the beach / this beautiful fish without a net.” She’s the one with agency here, not the fisherman, and she thinks of herself as a free fish, unconstrained by a net, not as a fish without a home.

The next three lines by my lights read “She had a gleaming tail; scales / that covered her breasts, arms, and face / and a wake of lacy waves.” Again, it’s from her perspective, not the fisherman’s, and she thinks of herself as having a gleaming rather than oily tail, a lacy wake rather than a frothing one.

Next stanza: “The fisherman caught her by the tail / and cut it in half.” From her point of view, the fisherman has committed a sudden and senseless mutilation. Then he goes, “’Now,’ he said to her, ‘you have legs. / Why don’t you walk?’” It’s almost like an accusation. You have legs now, why don’t you just get up and walk?

My read on the next stanza is: “The mermaid began to sing to the sea / for aid, her blood transforming / the sand of the beach into rainbows.” The sea is her home, not the land, and she’s crying out to her home in pain as she bleeds.

Then the poem ends with “She sang to the fisherman, ‘I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you.’

The reason this mistranslation is so brilliant is that it takes a story about a mermaid trying to forgive a man who’s committed senseless violence against her, and turns it into a story about a man who uplifts a woman to a better life out of the kindness of his heart. And the thing is, that’s exactly what happens to so many stories from colonized cultures when they’re adapted by the oppressor. Translation into English, and further the cultural language of the oppressor, can be an act of violence and erasure rather than one of respect.

This is why I have worked so hard to translate poetry from Spanish to English that has previously only been translated by white Americans who learned Spanish in college. I can bring something to the translation that they can’t. It’s usually not this extreme, but this exists to some degree in all translations by people who don’t truly understand the culture that produced the work they’re translating.

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tamarrud

if you’re seeking to help refugees and are able to assist and translate short messages (in English, Arabic, French, Farsi, Turkish Urdu, German, Pashto among others), this is for you. 

I have been using this for a while now and it’s amazing to realise how sparing literally a minute of your day can make a huge difference in someone else’s life. From someone messaging you “how do I tell the waiter I want chicken” to asking you to look at an immigration notice they’ve received and are not sure what it says. Again, amazing and heartwarming.

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A thread about millennials and stories (sorry for all the typos I was fueled by too much emotion to type well)

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Still my favorite story from the Lord of the Rings set: Viggo Mortensen bonded so much with the horse he rode in the movies that after filming was over he bought it from its owner. If that doesn’t warm your heart I don’t know what could.

don’t forget that he also bought arwen’s horse for her stunt rider when she couldn’t afford it awww

also sort of relevant viggo also bought the horse that costarred with him in the movie hidalgo and subsequently took the horse (tj) with him to the red carpet premier. 

Also most of the Riders of Rohan are actually women because when they put out that call mostly women showed up with their horses and the costume team just stuck beards on them.

if this isn’t the best post i don’t

So you’re saying the entire Rohan army could have killed the Witch-King of Angmar.

No just most of them.

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disneyfilm

Of course, dogs are a pretty poor judge of human beauty. But I had a rough idea of what to look for.

101 Dalmatians (1961)

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loneozner

what is like…. the Point

making carrie fisher proud

someone finally figured out the meaning of life

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notsomolly

SAVE THE DATE: The Ides of Trump

On March 15th, each of us will mail Donald Trump a postcard that publicly expresses our opposition to him. And we, in vast numbers, from all corners of the world, will overwhelm the man with his unpopularity and failure. We will show the media and the politicians what standing with him — and against us — means. And most importantly, we will bury the White House post office in pink slips, all informing Donnie that he’s fired.

Each of us — every protester from every march, each congress calling citizen, every boycotter, volunteer, donor, and petition signer — if each of us writes even a single postcard and we put them all in the mail on the same day, March 15th, well: you do the math.

No alternative fact or Russian translation will explain away our record-breaking, officially-verifiable, warehouse-filling flood of fury. We’d like to set a new record: over a million pieces in a day, telling our Predator-In-Chief just how we feel about him.

So sharpen your wit, unsheathe your writing implements, and see if your sincerest ill-wishes can pierce Donald’s famously thin skin.

Prepare for March 15th, 2017, a day hereafter to be known as #TheIdesOfTrump

Write one postcard. Write a dozen! Take a picture and post it on social media tagged with #TheIdesOfTrump ! Spread the word! Everyone on Earth should let Donnie know how he’s doing. They can’t build a wall high enough to stop the mail.

Then, on March 15th, mail your postcard to:

President (for now) Donald J. Trump The White House 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW Washington, DC 20500

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