Came across this on the cover of an old magazine at work today. It was published in Epic magazine in the early 1980s. It’s called ‘Self Portrait, with Wings’ by Barry Windsor-Smith.
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So, maybe we’re the
generation of the selfie,
but we’re also the generation
that grew up in a tainted,
with every impossible beauty standard
shoved down our throat
through a tube
because eating has become
a guilty pleasure
and condemning beauty ideals
won’t go straight to our thighs.
And if, by chance,
we are able to destroy the
demons that you’ve planted
inside of us with your
constant advertisements and rules
that play behind our eyelids and
take root in our brains,
then let us take our fucking pictures
and capture that moment when
we felt beautiful because all this world
has taught us is that
our beauty is the greatest
measure of our worth.
Scoff at our phones all you like,
these delicate extensions of
our fingers, but know that
through this technology
that you couldn’t even
begin to understand,
we have smudged the entire
world with our fingerprints.
We are the generation of knowledge,
and we are learning more than
any that came before us.
So, frown at my typing fingers;
I am using them to grasp power
by the throat.
Try to invalidate us,
but we’ve heard our
parents talking about
the world’s crashing and burning
since we had sprung from the womb.
We know you’ve fucked up,
and we’re angry about it-
the kind of anger that
that I feel in my veins every time
I read the news from my phone
that sticks in my throat like honey
in a debate;
the kind of anger that simmers,
that sharpens teeth into daggers,
that makes this generation more dangerous
than you could have ever imagined.
We are the generation of change,
and goddammit, we’re coming.
(Source: secretotaku, via pixibutt)
badass mermaid gangs who demand a stop to ocean pollution and warn ships about imminent storms
faeries of the forest jamming out to heavy metal in the dead of night and sighing because there are literally no band shirts in their size
wizards that travel with…
I’m not disturbed by the speech itself as much as the fact that McConaughey’s place in our culture affords him the privilege of having a slightly off-kilter personality, almost without criticism. People have (rightly) gushed over Lupita Nyong’o’s touching Oscars speech, pointing out her poise, elegance, and genuinely touching words. But would the same praise have been lavished upon her if she thanked herself in her acceptance speech, and topped it off with a mumbling “all right, all right”? Last year, Anne Hathaway was consistently derided for her “smugness” and overly long acceptance speeches, while no ill comments have been thrown at McConaughey’s shit-eating grin. Kanye West is intense, but his intensity is unfailingly characterized as “ranting,” rather than a lovable personality quirk. Covert sexism and racism are nothing new (obviously), but McConaughey’s effortless swagger only emphasizes that his is the kind of behavior that we only — and even praise — when it comes in the form of a straight, traditionally masculine white male actor. — Brie Hiramine via Why Isn’t Anyone Talking About Matthew McConaughey’s Bizarre Oscars Acceptance Speech? – Flavorwire (via autostraddle)