Found a cute old poem I wrote. Guess what it’s called.

vastderp-placeholder:

the-rain-monster:

Long ago women had teeth in their vaginas.

A young warrior traveling the secret places and forgotten roads of America came upon a shamaness and she flowed into bed with him. Her vagina had teeth, ragged, wicked teeth but she may have loved the warrior she may have wanted kind sex she may have been tired of biting and she kept them in. Afterward, as she lay in sweaty sleep he took a rock and knocked her teeth out, scattered her daggers, collapsed her magic. And that is why women no longer have teeth in their vaginas, but

 I want

mine

back.

I read that story as a little girl and bitterness tore my body. Teeth! My cunt had teeth! Wicked curled fangs or little baby tooth nubs, tiles of bone, canines for tearing, molars for chewing, teeth teeth teeth! My warm, soft vagina was a weapon, I was a warrior by rights, not just a mother or a loving wife, a bitch goddess with a monster between her legs.

The Fates, sisters and bitches, are filled with treacherous female thoughts, are mad to cripple our power.

My true nature is to rip and snap and say “Fuck me at your own risk.” I want a man to rape me so I can spit his own goddamn cock back out at him, I dare him to, I want the power to ruin I want to take the soft pretty women and split their legs and shove their hissing yowling pussy fangs into the face of the world. Call me monster, loathe my name, but respect my maniacal teeth or they will

Devour

the pale shadows of women, the bitterness sponges. God gave me teeth and the shamaness lost them and we all filed suit into an embroidered destiny our fierce hearts lost in giggles and sighs. The woman as beast, the wild creature with her dangerous secret has faded from our memories. I don’t say that the world would be perfect if it weren’t for men, but if I could go to the bed where the warrior lay I’d rip his head off before he could pick up that rock.

And I’d chew him up

with my

Teeth.

oh shit i REMEMBER this!

it’s just so fucking intense.

Teeth are a universal dream symbol for confidence. The loss of teeth in dreams represents the loss of confidence. This would make an awesome problem Glyph, I think.

everyblockfitseveryblackminute:

secret-icecream-empress:

naturepunk:

artemiskaonai:

An officer threatens to kill a journalist and those around him since he’s not credential press. He then threatens everyone around the guy with live rounds. If you don’t know what those are, they’re real bullets.

Another journalist tried to ask his name but all he said was “Go fuck yourself”.

The tag trending for this guy on twitter, funny enough, is #officergofuckyourself.

Please spread, Ferguson is not safe. Don’t forget about it.

8-19-2014

Ladies and Gentlemen, Officer GoFuckYourself. 

Full article about this incident can be found HERE.

What the fuck…

Wow..

When the “peace” you are continuously urged to return to looks like powerlessness, humiliation, poverty, boredom, and violence, it shouldn’t be a surprise many choose to fight.

Ferguson. Over one week in (via ninjabikeslut)

rabbivole:

once you start to notice these little turns of phrase you literally can’t unsee them 
'protests turn violent'
'clashes with police'
'violence breaks out'
'rocked by blasts', when referring to gaza bombing 
all the nice vague statements that carefully avoid mentioning an actor, because it sounds worse if you do. this violence just spontaneously started happening, it’s crazy!!!!
i’m really tired of it

rabbivole:

once you start to notice these little turns of phrase you literally can’t unsee them 

'protests turn violent'

'clashes with police'

'violence breaks out'

'rocked by blasts', when referring to gaza bombing 

all the nice vague statements that carefully avoid mentioning an actor, because it sounds worse if you do. this violence just spontaneously started happening, it’s crazy!!!!

i’m really tired of it

(Source: ursorum)

Anonymous asked
So I just asked my sister if she was being detained by three officers and wasn't refusing arrest and one just randomly started choking her, what would she do. She told me she would just let them choke her and play dead, because she doesn't want to get in trouble with them. I asked her why and she said, because they are cops. That's our problem, the cops have entirely way too much power. We have so many laws protecting them from us, but hardly any protecting us from them.

iwriteaboutfeminism:

That’s a frightening response. Especially considering that this just happened about a week ago to someone in (I think) New York. I’m not sure if that’s what you’re referencing or just a coincidence. 

It’s amazing how broken our criminal justice system is. 

I recently learned that we only flee, attack, or play dead after social engagement has failed. Our first instinct under stress or threat is to seek solidarity or comfort with others. If this succeeds, our panic systems disengage and we can return to other functions like play or invention. Knowing that our nervous system responds so powerfully to the presence of others, it becomes clear that self-care and reciprocal care cannot be separated.

Self as Other: Reflections on Self-Care

Like many survivors, I can isolate myself while engaging in the stereotypes of self-care. I may look brave or even enlightened as I take up yoga or running, write glowing reviews of books on self-acceptance, and channel my emotions into elaborate art projects and self-revealing blog posts. This form of self-care can feel less like liberation and more like solitary confinement. Sometimes what I actually need is someone to show up at my house with take-out, sit there while I pick at my food, stay with me until I’m falling asleep sitting up on the couch, and then send me to bed and tuck the blankets around me. Occasionally that happens without my asking. And sometimes I have to bravely reach out and alert someone that I need to talk, or cry, or most of all just not be alone. There are times when not insisting on taking care of myself is the most radical form of self-care I can practice.

Self as Other: Reflections on Self-Care

It goes to the heart of why these men are here - they are destroying their selves, in order to save themselves. The “I” who first spoke the words, who told me with averted eyes in intake interviews on soft leather couches about the stepbrother or family friend who shattered his boyhood, cannot the be same “I” who leaves the organization after twelve weeks, lest the entire experience be a waste. As they themselves have so eloquently explained, they’ve spent their lives since the abuse wearing masks, fending off intimacy for fear of discovery, or adapting chameleon-like to the desires and expectations of those around them, at the cost of their happiness. They’re not here to care for these confining and fabricated selves, but to transform them. There are two ways to understand this. In one view, underneath the trauma somewhere there lies a true self, an essence untarnished by abuse and its aftermath—and if only they can recover, this will reorient them into who they truly are and were meant to be. In another version, far more frightening and yet closer to the experiences they describe, there is no way to know who they might have been had their lives not been so cruelly interrupted, and they have no idea who they will become when or if they emerge on the other side. Jobs, relationships, identities, personalities—nothing seems fixed or stable. Hands intertwined, they inch towards the abyss, dizzy with the vertigo of impending freedom, or at least something different from their constricted lives.

Self as Other: Reflections on Self-Care

Your human frailty is not a regrettable fault to be treated by proper self-care so you can get your nose back to the grindstone. Sickness, disability, and unproductivity are not anomalies to be weeded out; they are moments that occur in every life, offering a common ground on which we might come together. If we take these challenges seriously and make space to focus on them, they could point the way beyond the logic of capitalism to a way of living in which there is no dichotomy between care and liberation.

Self as Other: Reflections on Self-Care