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if i look back, i am lost
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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Not today Justin
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@anomellee
Hi I'm anomellee (she/her).
I'm 30s (🔞), white girl, trans dyke, scientist. ACAB.
Posts: random gay & trans shit, transmisogyny, abolition, family, science, and concerning thoughts that i dont share with people irl. I usually follow back if you're trans or gay
this will be the year I finally convince everyone to abandon New Year's resolutions in favour of Yule Boasting, the clearly superior tradition
allow me to explain. Yule boasting is an old Norse tradition of getting shitfaced at the winter solstice feast and standing up to proclaim all the great, infamous, and wildly improbable deeds you will perform in the coming year. can range from an unlikely but technically possible claim, like "I'm going to rob 300 banks", to something you'd have to bend the laws of the universe to actually accomplish, like "I'm going to punch a god in the dick and steal his horse". these are not plans. they're not even goals. they're the things you'd do in a self-insert superhero fanfic. and honestly all I want this holiday season is for a bunch of friends to go all in on this nonsense with me and hype ourselves up in ways previously unimaginable
Or A Thug For J. H. Blair
People loved their work once, and it didn’t matter if they worked in the public sector or in the private one. The men who worked in the CCC would take their grandchildren to see the forests they planted, while the men from the auto plants would point out the cars they’d built as they passed them on the new interstate highway system. The women who fastened the engines on the wings would watch the B-17’s fly off to make a liar out of Goering, and the women who taught in the public schools would point with pride when one of their old students got elected mayor. Work was about making money, certainly. It was about feeding the family and keeping the roof where it was, and maybe having a little left over at the end of the day, or at the end of the week, for some amusement. Maybe a trip to Lincoln Park or White City or a hundred other places, where you could take a moment and enjoy the cool of the evening, music riding the nightwind from a dance pavilion down along the lake.
But it was also about Doing A Job, and doing it well, which was different than simply Having A Job. It was about making good cars and strong steel and sturdy furniture. It was about learning a craft, even if what you were doing wasn’t recognized as one. There was a craft in tightening rivets, or feeding the open-hearth furnace, or planing the wood just so. You had your craft, and the person next to you had theirs, and, when all the work was done, and all the craft was practiced, and practiced well, there was something you could look at with pride and say, that is something I have given to the world. Job well done, as they used to say. You could teach seventh grade civics and then, one day, you’re on a podium outside of City Hall. That kid right there, you could say. That kid is something I have helped give to the world. Job well done, as they used to say.
Unions were greatly responsible for the pride that people took in the work they did, especially in the middle of the last century, when unions helped build the most formidable middle class in human history.
There was an autoworker, Ben Hamper, who wrote a column in the Flint (later Michigan) Voice, which was the alt-weekly Michael Moore first made his name by running. A lot of his columns got collected and repackaged in an excellent book, Rivethead, that I read in college.
I read it in a class with Stuart Blumin, who was my favorite professor and de facto advisor. He was an American historian, focused on labor and class and the development of capitalism, you could tell he was heavily influenced by EP Thompson and the Communist Party Historians Group over in the UK.
He was quite open that he had expected Communism to ultimately triumph, and that he had been wrong about that, and in subtext that he had wanted it to ultimately triumph, and didn’t think he had been wrong about that.
Anyway, Rivethead. The story is that Hamper was born in 1956, a fairly clever kid growing up in Flint, Michigan, the chronological and geographic apex of American industrial unionism, where everyone’s dad worked for GM.
And he could have gone to college but he gets some girl pregnant and so he goes to work on the assembly line not even really out of obligation or Catholic guilt or whatever but because that seems as good a life course as any, it’s what every man he’s known does, under the mighty UAW the pay’s on par with the kind of “educated” jobs you could get anyway, why not.
And so he goes to work on the line and eventually he ends up writing a column about it, and he talks about the color of the factory culture, playing soccer with rivets for balls and cardboard boxes for goals, drinking mickeys of malt liquor in your car on lunch break, the absurd fursuited mascot “Howie Makem, The Quality Cat” that GM would feature at rallies and shop-floor tours, being laid off in economic downturns and put into the “job bank” where you get paid waiting to be rehired in the next upswing, developing a perfect rhythm with your partner, training into a rhythm so perfect you can each trade off doing the two-person job yourself for 4 hours while the other one goes out to a bar on the clock, the dignity and solidarity of the American worker.
And time goes on and eventually his marriage fails but he takes it in stride, and his column gets recognized and he takes pride in that and then eventually he has an epiphany, and a complete breakdown, which are basically the same thing. And the inciting incident is when an older line worker, some guy he’d looked up to as a model of quiet, philosophical stolidity, just shits himself and is barely coherent enough to even notice this and he realizes the guy hadn’t been a Zen master, he’d just been checked-out mindless drunk on the line every day.
And he realizes that the rivethead life is destroying him, that the only thing holding it together was a budding alcoholism, and that it’s doing the same to all his co-workers, and looks back and realizes it had done the same to every grown-up man he knew, his father and uncles that growing up he had looked up to as models of masculine strength and fortitude really had just had their spark snuffed out and the life beaten out of them long before, and whatever pride they took in the cars out on the road was a defensive attempt to locate in an external form the sense of self-value that had been exterminated within them.
When Marx talked about “alienation”, well.
And he went crazy, and couldn’t bear to work on the line anymore, and there’s no redemption, that’s where the book ends.
And that was a theme that cropped up again in Professor Blumin’s class, that there were two great working class traditions that echoed through the ages, and they were
avoiding work
and
drinking
Back in the premechanized age of small-group workshop manufacturing, workers would celebrate “Saint Monday”, which was to say just not showing up for work, hung over after the weekend.
(This was riffing off of Catholic feast days, or holy days, from which we take the word “holiday”, and as time went on counted an increasing share of the days of the year. There was a reason that poor workers were aligned with the Church, and nobility, in “Altar and Throne” coalitions resisting the development of industrial capitalist liberal democracy.)
In the ‘80s, the crap time of American auto manufacturing, one trick that was passed around (pre-internet, so by word of mouth largely) was to look at the codes stamped on car bodies, which would tell you what day of the week they were manufactured, and to avoid Mondays and Fridays. Because those days had the highest defect rates, because the workers tended to be drunk, or hungover, or absent.
And back in the workshop days, you’d drink at work. Apprentices would be sent out for growlers or buckets of beer, there were elaborate rules of who in the hierarchy of workers was expected to buy rounds for who and when. And there was hellacious resistance to attempts to get them to knock this off, as the industrial era kicked into swing.
Those great satanic mills, where women and children worked in shifts at great water- or steam-driven sewing and spinning machines, stories of little kids getting their hands mangled by the machinery? One of the major reasons women and children were preferred was because they would actually show up on time every day, and stay sober around all those hand-manglers.
And I mean, this maybe sounds like an argument for socialism. Though not of any actually-existing- variety, as capitalist propaganda will be glad to tell you, Soviet work culture, at least when the morale thrills of the Revolution and Great Patriotic War faded from personal to institutional memory, was all about shirking and vodka.
So those complaints about how America celebrates Labor Day instead of May Day, ignoring the true meaning of labor - solidarity - in favor of mindless distraction? Psssh. Labor Day is a celebration of the truest, most ancient, most fundamental traditions of labor: not working (especially on Mondays), and getting drunk.
Happy Labor Day!
hinge is simultaneously great for my self esteem and mildly soul crushing, the way the likes pour in, till they see my message saying I'm trans and immediately unmatch lol
apparently an avocado and two slices of bread isn't enough food for a day?
when you're horny as shit but you can't fuck for medical reasons i think this is just about the most anyone has ever suffered
apparently being bisexual means, at least three times a year, deciding "no I'm basically straight and just appreciate women aesthetically" only to be proven wrong like four hours later when I see a hot woman and forget how to breathe
part of the problem i think is that in previous relationships with women I've felt pushed into a more "masculine" or "male" role. men feel safer in that I'll always be the more feminine one. ofc they can try to misgender me but that just feels ridiculous at this point
apparently being bisexual means, at least three times a year, deciding "no I'm basically straight and just appreciate women aesthetically" only to be proven wrong like four hours later when I see a hot woman and forget how to breathe
Common Counterrevolutionary Talking Points About Trans People
Don't worry about trans people. There's disproportionate focus on them, considering they don't matter politically.
Trans women in sports (and at the workplace, and everywhere formal competition or hierarchy exists) will be rare and never win and stay subordinate to cis women at all times.
Youth transition is well-gatekept and rare, and there are many guards in place to keep it that way.
Most of them don't medically transition, and in a happy future even fewer will.
Sometimes even the ones who do detransition later.
There aren't many trans people overall. They're just a small percentage of the population.
Of that percentage, a lot of them die anyway. The Black women are murdered and the rest kill themselves. Statistically significant amounts.
The existence of trans people won't change anything about society, because they will never be allowed to have any significant political influence as a class (& only rarely as individual capitalists and politicians)
You don't need to understand them or the things they're saying. You don't need to read their theory or listen to their analysis or consider whether their political goals might align with your interests and warrant genuine solidarity.
Trans people could just be given their own separate bathrooms. One for each sexgender class, men, women, and, you know..
i know most leftists agree that everybody should have a right to food, water, shelter, and healthcare but i think a vitally important fifth pillar is privacy. people should not be compelled to be tracked, monitored, or to share personal space with others to access their other essential rights
~ Wikipedia page: Broken Heart | @scriptastra | @inkskinned | @detailed-devilish-soul | @moxrglory | @bebs-art-gallery | @metamorphesque ~
THIS IS THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN
I’VE BEEN TRYING TO FIND THIS FOR SEVEN YEARS
DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW HARD IT IS TO ?????
That last fatal scream tho
THE TERROR IN HIS SCREAM OH GOSH
i’m crying
I will always reblog this on the off chance some other poor soul has been searching for it
IT’S BACK
HOYL SHIT ITS B A CK
IT’S BACK?? ON MY DASH?
re-blogging again xD
what was that we were just saying about still having posts circulating from ridiculous numbers of years ago? 😂
I feel like it’s a duty to reblog such a natural treasure
All those accounts though….
god damn nobody warned me that getting a pussy would turn me straight wtf
Ways to Improve Online (White-People) Recipes
If it asks for garlic, add that much ginger, and twice that much garlic.
If it asks for cinnamon, add 1 1/2 times as much cinnamon, and a small amount of nutmeg. If the MAIN flavour is cinnamon, also add a small amount of cloves and allspice.
If it asks for vanilla, also add a SMALL amount of almond extract. (Usually up to a few drops.)
If it asks for onions, also add some garlic, but add it 1 minute before you're either done cooking, or you add liquid
If the spices are pretty much only oregano or parsley, add both, as well as a small to medium amount of basil, thyme, summer savory, tarragon, and/or marjoram (the earlier two are great in beef, chicken and tomato dishes, while the others are good with pork, chicken, most vegetables, and pretty much anything else you can think of with a 'lighter' flavour)
if it asks for cheddar or mozzarella cheese, also add a bit of feta and parmesan
Don't be afraid of flavour!
What a sad generalization that white people don't know how to cook/spice their food. Why not just post it as "How to improve any recipe" idk. Seems unnecessaryrily discriminatory.
Some generalizations exist because they're true.
i see a cis guy at the transfem orgy and get really mad and am about to kick him out until I take a good look at his face and it’s vladimir ilyich lenin. naturally i let him hit.
male gaze is not 'when person look sexy' or 'when misogynist make film'
death of the author is not 'miku wrote this'
I don't think you have to read either essay to grasp the basic concepts
death of the author means that once a work is complete, what the author believes it to mean is irrelevant to critical analysis of what's in the text. it means when analysing the meaning of a text you prioritise reader interpretation above author intention, and that an interpretation can hold valid meaning even if it's utterly unintentional on the part of the person who created the thing. it doesn't mean 'i can ignore that the person who made this is a bigot' - it may in fact often mean 'this piece of art holds a lot of bigoted meanings that the author probably wasn't intentionally trying to convey but did anyway, and it's worth addressing that on its own terms regardless of whether the author recognises it's there.' it's important to understand because most artists are not consciously and vocally aware of all the possible meanings of their art, and because art is communal and interpretive. and because what somebody thinks they mean, what you think somebody means, and what a text is saying to you are three entirely different things and it's important to be able to tell the difference.
male gaze is a cinematographic theory on how films construct subjectivity (ie who you identify with and who you look at). it argues that film language assumes that the watcher is a (cis straight white hegemonically normative) man, and treats men as relatable subjects and women as unknowable objects - men as people with interior lives and women as things to be looked at or interacted with but not related to. this includes sexual objectification and voyeurism, but it doesn't mean 'finding a lady sexy' or 'looking with a sexual lens', it means the ways in which visual languages strip women of interiority and encourage us to understand only men as relatable people. it's important to understand this because not all related gaze theories are sexual in nature and if you can't get a grip on male gaze beyond 'sexual imagery', you're really going to struggle with concepts of white or abled or cis subjectivities.
i have this disease called i will open your message and get distracted and forget to reply and then the notification will be gone so i will not have replied for ages and you will think i am ignoring you but. i am not. it’s incurable
