So today when I checked in on the media lab people (because I’m half an Arts Centre coordinator/DJ leader by now) one of the giggling dudes shoved a wrapped present at me.
“This is a book, right?” I said. They all giggled nonstop, so I knew it was something inappropriate; so this one dude bought another dude a special secret Santa present, which was … a Playboy magazine. Even as I’m typing this I’m laughing. Because dude. That’s SO excessive. SO inappropriate. I thought it would be like Hustler or like some graphic hardcore porn or something like that.
I pulled it out of the wrapping paper and the boys all stared at the cover. Then … there was the plastic wrap. The dude who ripped off the plastic wrap smushed it - literally SMUSHED THE MAGAZINE - against his chest and started blushing profusely.
Then they opened a random page, which featured a few full-frontal nude photographs of some women. These dudes didn’t even dare to completely flip open the page. They just took peeks, giggled and shut the magazine. Then they started complaining that the magazine featured other things like cars and books. They kept glancing at me, like I was supposed to scream “ew” or freak out or reproach them. But I just think that these dudes who are still giggly over a bunch of pictures of boobs are freaking adorable. Because we’re THE SAME AGE. Like, ALMOST GROWN UP, LEGAL ADULT AGE.
I think that we all need to step back and re-evaluate our notions of gender stereotypes. Given our day and age, I thought that these boys would have been well versed in Internet porn. Linking it a bit further, I also wonder if these dudes actually KNOW stuff about real sex, like contraception and STDs. In such a hypersexualised age, it’s a little strange (but also a little funny) to see that we’re not actually that much more desensitized, or informed.
In my opinion, it also seems that the available sexual venues for boys are also very limited. There’s porn and then there’s late night cable, and then there are Playboy magazines. Wow! SO many different ways of expressing sexuality for teenage boys. I also think that we need more dialogue and discussion. For example, I could have said to my friends, “I think that it’s okay for you to look at Playboy. There’s nothing to be squeamish about as long as the content doesn’t depict torture or violence, etc. and I want you to know that there’s nothing wrong about wanting to look at naked women.” But I was too busy laughing.
On the other hand, I think that girls can be even more versatile. I think that there are actually more venues for girls to express their sexuality than boys (see 75% of young adult novels, the whole Japanese manga world, of which my friends are way more qualified to talk about …) But of course, under the stern gaze of patriarchy, there’s a certain tacit sort of agreement that we have to be somehow quieter, more subvert …
This leads to my proposed solution.
I think that we should never assume, just because one is a boy or a girl. There are way more articles and professional talks and stuff like that which are much more qualified to talk about gender roles and our current sexual revolution than me, but this is just my little blurb for today. The disparate gender gap inside my mind definitely narrowed a bit. And if somehow the dudes find out about this tumblr post, I want you guys to know that YOU’RE ALL FREAKING ADORABLE.
From your unfazed sister.
The problem with writing is that you always have to be feeling something intensely, or you should, if you want to write a good story. You have to feel the worst anger and the worst fear and sadness and when you get to the happy parts you feel like you’ll die from all the joy and celebration. And when you’re done you can only ask yourself: So I’ve done it. It’s like taking off sound-insulating earphones on a crowded street. Or staying up ‘til two in the morning to clean up your house after a party. It’s a strange feeling and you can never get completely comfortable with it, or with yourself. And after a while, even the best parties begin to wear out your body. You implode, or you cease to feel at all …
Gorgeous websites.
Sardonic FAQs.
Small dedicated editorial teams.
Ravenous hunger for ecstatic, dynamic prose.
Open submissions and low reading fees!
Passion for writers, passion for writing, passion for the audience and for the world, which is such a rare thing with behemoths such as Random House …
Openness to experimental styles and formats, openness to all kinds of weird exuberant stories …
General disinclination towards anything generically epic. (ie. a generational saga of mothers and daughters, re-imaginings of historical characters, writing about details of famous writers, World-War II, dysfunctional families …)
Ugh I just I just I just aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!
What are hippies doing on this world?
They’re not the ones who drive tractors or create job opportunities or invest in projects or operate the X-Ray machines or prescribe medicine or safeguard the community.
You can’t deny that it is fundamentally right for a person to want to pursue his dreams.
I suppose that hippies are the ones who talk of self-actualization and enlightenment and YES, this is awesome, no individual can reach another without knowing himself - yet their fundamental ambitions do not strive beyond themselves.
I find this disconcerting, kind of dumb, and really selfish.
Especially the people who talk and talk about their idiosyncratic quirks and how they can’t express themselves and how they write shitty passive-aggressive love letters and how they just want to go out and make a change in the world.
I’m not saying that you shouldn’t strive to own a summer cottage in Lyon of France or want to own the entire Nagisa Oshima collection on Criterion or whatever. It’s all in your personal taste; it’s cool to be cultured and all that shit - but just don’t make your “hipness” your vocation.
Sure, you can go learn hemp-weaving in Mexico or whatever, but it is also in your moral imperative to build upon your knowledge and skills to better your community, not to say that you went to Mexico and you learned hemp-weaving just so that you can brag the shit out of it on your online platforms.
So fuck hippies. I’m done with being called one.
I’m going to learn the own lesson that I’ve taught myself and go shave my imaginary beard.
Who cares about awkward boyfriends and girlfriends.
DORKY FRIENDS ARE THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD.
JUST PUTTING IT OUT THERE -
I LOVE YOU GUYS.
They’re a little bit like accessories.
If you’re not a fashion expert, don’t put on all your baubles.
No one wants to read this in a dialogue:
“I am speaking some dialogue,” he ejaculated.
People complain that the plain old “he said, she said” tag looks incredibly mundane.
That being said, unless you’re a precisionist or minimalist, you shouldn’t add on “he said she said” tags every line either.
But after all, whatever you tag your speech as, it should look as though it belongs with your overall passage.
When I see a mother with a stroller, I feel a little bit happy for human existence and a little bit sad.
The mother is a mother and will always be a mother. She has brought forth her Child by her free will (hopefully): her love remains infinite and she will care for him until either agent dies.
But the Child’s essence will not remain a Child. His existence will bring him much sadness and pain; at the same time, he must then transcend his existence to find his essence on his own accord.
There is no knowing what the Child will become; if he will become a bitter painter;if he will become ignorant; if he will possess violence; if he will grow to loathe his condition and leave; if he will one day hate his mother for having given him existence and perception, and thus turn on her with violence.
It must be singularly joyful to bring into the world another existence, who may then perceive the world in his choice; this is the joy of the Mother.
It is also singularly joyful to encounter the pleasures of the world, by choosing the path that he himself follows; this is the joy of the Child.
It is great sadness and pain to see sadness and pain in the Child, as such qualities are manifestations of the human experience; this is the Sadness of the Mother.
It is great sadness and pain in the Child’s perception, as he slowly perceives the absurdity of his own existence, and how he did not choose his existence but now must follow his trajectory through to the end; this is the Sadness of the Child.
So when I pass by a mother and her baby in a sunny park, I am also in dilemma:
I am the Child now but I did not choose to bring about my existence; however, my essence cannot precede existence due to the many obstacles of the world.
How do I know, that if I choose to bring about another existence in the world, that he will perceive that his existence will be worthwhile?
Will I bear to see my Child encounter sadness and pain of the human condition?
How will I know that he will combat them successfully and become an essence that he wishes himself to be?
If you are the Mother or Father, what would you choose and why?
My rant about the peer-sharing and critiquing site figment.com.
Figment is a writing sharing site for young authors and young adult authors: if its inkpop tradition carried on, then presumably the top 5 “most hearted” works are reviewed by Harpercollins every month, and if successful, have a chance at potential publication. I haven’t even looked at the site for the past year but I still get spam e-mail from them.
Anyhow, I went onto the site out of sheer boredom and to also scout out the scene there: and my, what a scene it was. Getting plentiful reviews or hearts is not difficult on Figment, so long as you have the time and persistence to spam everybody and beg them to read your emo poem. So far, the top picks are not the product of any honest long-labouring writer; nor are they stories of any merit. This is an understatement. I haven’t read a single piece with any glimmer of - let’s not say literary - even commercial appeal that can stand alone on any aspect: whether voice, or strong sense of setting, or unique characters, etc. etc.
The only apparent purpose of the site forums is for aspiring vampire paranormal romance writers and dragon slaying fantasy novelists to exchange “swaps” - figment industry talk for leaving hearts and comments. You will see figment users BEGGING, I mean, BEGGING for somebody to read their story.
Figment operates on a seemingly legitimate system, designed to help young writers critique each other, but it is essentially a Heart Collecting Game that manipulates the writer so that he may have the delusion of an audience before his work is mature. It acts on the writer’s tendency to want to be read; however, this exchange between writer and reader is purely superfluous and meaningless. How can you know if your story is of any merit when you’ve asked your reader to review it? Similarly, when approached by a stranger, the writer will tend to write inoffensive, generic reviews to evade further discussion and to move on to his bigger pile of swaps.
This then leads to a task that is even harder than writing the work itself. It takes immense sensitivity and skill to produce a text that is even barely cohesive; yet, the writer must then also gather an audience numerous enough for the product of his hard work. The time spent on spamming walls and exchanging swaps is wasted in the worst way; the writer does nothing to further enrich his time; he is consumed by the vortex of the system; he will lose sight of what publication and writing really means; and ultimately, he will linger on in the abyss of the website archives, his skill lingers at the same level as when he first entered the site.
Perhaps my understanding of the writer is flawed and outdated. But writing for a real audience is a far more exciting, if not challenging thing than writing to reach a top 5 spot on a website. Building an audience requires great sincerity, passion, and talent. Figment may be well-intended, and may help young writers to boost their ego, but it’s ultimate claim is to connect a talented author with a big publishing house for a potential contract. However, their system does not prepare these young writers against the real test of readability between the work and its market audience. The ability to cement faithful readers is the only standard to be measured in the publishing industry - and ultimately, what ACTUALLY GETS YOUR BOOK PUBLISHED.
- L-live
In many pieces of lit. a character may attempt to conceal their past by constructing a false persona. In A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennesse Williams, one of the central characters, Blanche Dubois, does exactly this as she flies to refuge to her sister’s modest New Orleans home. However, Blanche’s eventual downfall also casts a tragic vision upon the whole play as her past is uncovered; people who live in their dreams cannot contend with the external world.
Upon arrival at her sister Stella’s home, Blanche immediately sets about differentiating herself from the bleak and drab household. She brings with her a trunk of elaborate furs and jewellery, in contrast to Stella’s modest frocks, and insists on taking baths whenever her nerves are just in the slightest bit unsettled. This suggests that Blanche came from a higher status - or at least, she herself seems to believe. Blanche then drops hints about her past affairs, then tries to relive her past as a glamorous woman. Her impractical garments, her mannerisms, her seemingly fragile sensitivity are all merely paint palettes for her persona, or what she is in her fantasies.
However, Stella’s hardheaded husband, Stanley, soon discovers blemishes in the otherwise perfectly construed persona. Bit by bit, Blanche’s shameful past is uncovered and with each episode, the conflict and tension between these two characters escalate. Stanley represents the harsh and unforgiving reality; yet Blanche lives under the oppression of the reality and must ultimately be at its mercy. Whereas Blanche is sensitive, fragile, and even ethereal, Stanley is tough, shrewd and is “something bestial”. Even the scandals in Blanche’s past point to her delusions to become a great character; she married a handsome young poet whose ultimate demise was suicide, then got romantically involved with a student, then lost her parents’ estate. Stanley then reveals all her fake relics and trinkets; her gown is cheap and her tiara is plastic. And yet, Blanche still stubbornly clings to the romantic past - even if there never was one. Then at the climax of the play, Stanley forces Blanche’s aging face into the light to show her what she is not.
The play ends with Blanche’s final demise when she is led away to the asylum. Interestingly, Stella and Stanley coerces her in such a way so that she can still believe that she is going away with one of her former “beaus”, allowing her to bask in her delusional dreams of her past one last time. However, Blanche’s downfall as she struggles to conceal the past with a deluded persona highlights just one of the many themes in the play. The past scandals of these dreams, no matter how beautiful or harmless, cannot survive in the harsh and unforgiving reality. Perhaps of Blanche’s most famous lines should be rephrased to this: “I have always relied on the kindness of strangers … to not reveal my past but to believe in what I want to be.”
- L-live (c) 2012
Not perfect, but typed word for word from draft written in 40 mins. It really makes you appreciate the original play so much more.
I like barrios, alleys, train stations and red-light districts.
I don’t like skyscrapers, office buildings, chain restaurants, and fancy hotels.
I like high altitudes, arid climates, wet tropical monsoons, cerulean tides.
I don’t like commercial beaches, middle-class strip malls and artificial park trails.
I like harajuku, east London, wild west America, Burmese temples.
I don’t like Buckingham Palace, Eiffel Tower, Statue of Liberty.
I like peddlers, thieves, prostitutes bums and perverts.
I don’t like $699 Sell Off Vacations all-inclusive three-day Mexico resort packages.
“I have been trying to write for at least a quarter of a century, and I can say very firmly that in my experience, suffering is largely of no bloody use to anyone, and definitely not a prerequisite for creation. If an artist has managed to take something appalling and make it into art, that’s because the artist is an artist, not because something appalling is naturally art.”
Read the rest of the original article here:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2012/apr/02/myth-of-the-suffering-artist
I find “hipster” fashion really boring.
Sure, you have the sheer chiffon blouses and the cute faded denim vests and the tall colourful socks in Oxfords, but after one style or another these pieces all morph together and it really is rather hard to be interesting. On first account the blazer with the long vintage maxi dress is eye-catching, but go on lookbook. They’ve all got the blazer and maxi dress thing going on. Just one example I’m bringing up.
Most people with shirts of cityscapes and I LOVE EXOTIC CITY X AND Y have never been to said places. Not all girls fit the cute Anna Karina look or the doe-eyed Charlotte Rampling look and I’m beginning to find the “fuzziness” of the tousled hairstyles, ribbons, rabbits, Woody Allen films all very nauseating.
On top of that, stop it with the horn-rimmed amber glasses. And no I don’t care if they’re authentic gold rayban sunglasses, you are from the 90s and not the 60s and you have probably never heard a single song from The Eagles since Hotel California.
I’m just saying this because I like leather tattoos and spikes.
- Hawaiian print shirt
- floral print board shorts
- anything Hawaiian print in general
- bronzer
- spray-on tan
- fingerless gloves
- pants with cords dangling down the butt
- Dickies (… the brand)
- hiking sandals
- ponytails
- rings
- more than two earrings
- earrings that are larger than a stud
- corduruoy pants
- skinny pants
- colourful pants
- Aeropostale
- cheesy ties
- tweed
- Crocs those fucking Crocs
- Manggs
- fake LV/Ck/AX murses
- Asian sayings/characters, dragons
- DC shoes/ skater caps
- pants with too many pockets
- cell phone straps on belt
- cheesy graphics
- biking spandex pants
- leotards (see BORAT)
- chains
- metal collars, cuffs, the like
- eyeshadow
- facial piercings
- big belts
- tie-dye
- neon
- anything Charlie Sheen would wear
