here's to amazing @contagiousintimacies - Tumblr Blog

In case you’re not aware, Tumblr has recently announced that on the seventeenth of December they’ll start purging all porn and porn-adjacent content on Tumblr. Why does that matter to LWU, you ask? Well, they’re using their bots to identify it, and we’ve all seen how well THAT works. One of my Wander posts even got flagged as sensitive for no apparent reason. What I want to do is reassure you all that I’ve taken steps to back up all of the content on LWU to my hard drive using a tool I was recommended a couple weeks ago. I’m going to continue to do so on a regular basis just in case, so there’s very little chance that my stuff will be lost.

loreweaver-universe

I’m using this one! It condensed my entire blog as of November 20th into one 4.36 gigabyte folder.

damaramegido

Any notes on how to use it? I can’t figure it out.

loreweaver-universe

Okay, so here’s how to do this.

First off, go here and make sure you have Python installed. For Windows it should be the very bottom link, the x86 MSI Installer. You don’t have to do anything but install it.

Second, go here, and click “Clone or Download” (the green button on the right). Select “Download ZIP”.

Make sure you have WinRAR or 7zip or something installed that lets you extract zip files.

Next, make a folder on your desktop. I named mine “Tumblr Backup”, and in the following instructions I’m going to assume that’s what you’ve named yours as well; replace “Tumblr Backup” with whatever you name yours if it isn’t.

Drop the zip file you downloaded into Tumblr Backup. Go in and extract it; this should create a folder called “tumblr-utils-master“.

Open your Command Prompt. If you don’t know how to find that, click your start menu button and type “CMD”, which should give you this:

That should open this:

That frog over there is blotting out my profile name on my computer. Whatever your profile name is when you sign in (e.g. “Max” or “Snugglebuns” or “froglord69”) is going to be in that spot on the address path. If it instead says something about Windows and System 32, that’s okay, what I’m gonna tell you to do will go to the right place either way.

Next, input this command–keeping in mind that the parts in bold should be changed based on your profile name and what you named the folder on your desktop:

CD C:\Users\froglord69\Desktop\Tumblr Backup\tumblr-utils-master

There! Now you’re in the right folder! Next, enter this command, replacing the bolded bit with your own blog name:

tumblr_backup.py yourblogname

You should see this:

Then just…let it run! It took less than five minutes for my computer, though it will vary by processor and connection. Once it’s done, you’ll have something like this:

That “index” opens in an internet browser. It’s basically a webpage stored directly on your computer. Some pics of mine:

So…not pretty, but it’ll save the content of your posts. Hope this helps!

gorgeousgag

Spread this so as many people as possible can see it

montecervesa-deactivated2018121

Mac users:

Create a folder somewhere convenient and name it something like ‘Tumblr Backup.’

Download the script as described above. Save it to the folder you just created. Double click it, and it extracts in place.

open a terminal.app window. Terminal.app is located in your /Applications/Utilities folder. Usually, just typing command-space to bring up the spotlight window and then typing in ‘term’ and hitting return does the trick.

If you are not accustomed to UNIX command prompts, do not be scared. You got this.

At the ‘$’prompt, type in ‘cd’ and then space, and then drag and drop the decompressed tumblr-utils-master folder onto the terminal window. The path to that window should appear. Hit return.

Boom. You’ve switched to that folder. Type ‘ls’ to make sure. Should look like a list of the folder’s contents.

Type ‘./tumblr_backup.py [yourblogname]’ and hit return.

Boom. Your blog starts downloading. Go drink coffee, enjoy some porn, hang out with your dog, cat, other pet, or lover/s who may also be your pet/s, and let the script run. Depending on your connection speed and just how much of a pervert you are, this could take a while.

contagiousintimacies

with thanks to everyone in the thread <3

In the waiting room at my therapist today. The most #gpoy2018 book I’ve ever seen.

#gpoy

dearydeerling-deactivated201904

Thank you.

javatap

venus in retrograde. message requests from someone i last spoke to in january 2016, via tinder, never met, he had to cancel our date, then ghosted on me. over a year ago.

the following month, february 2016, i met someone else, slept with them, wasn’t sure what i thought about them, but agreed to be picked up on a date to the drive in cinema. i’d never been, and we both agreed it seemed like something we should have done years ago. the day of the date they never replied to my messages. never heard from them again. a few weeks later, received a pair of socks in the mail from their tech company that he’d ordered before he disappeared.

i am going to continue to ignore the messages, not click Ignore or Accept. i asked a friend on messenger to connect me with someone so i could see if a message request had a read notification. they don’t, but i now have a brilliant new friend in canberra who told me a story about her kid’s friend’s name on snapchat and we talked about gardening. so maybe good things come from “i am persistent ... hehe”

(i remember being annoyed by the spaces between punctuation in his messages. the ? and ... he is an artist in his 40s, and over a year ago explained that he just preferred it, a design thing. ugh.)

it’s almost midnight and i’m watching terminator while writing about temporality and social media and young people’s anxiety. sarah connor fighting for john, her child, before he was born. motherhood as the premise for the future. and killing her - killing motherhood - as the way to destroy humanity and secure skynet’s genocide. the father dies, he was just the infatuated one-time lover, with guns and some useful skills (surviving psychiatry, shooting back). it seems so simple that terminator dies in the press. i wonder what upgraded terminator might be imagined in a decade. would motherhood survive?

This has amused me far more than it should. Via IG.

things i know for certain:

- i do not want to be (or become) my best self

this week i started to venture out of my bedroom-lounge-room-work-library-pilates-”getting food down the road”-”getting groceries” cycle.

my new housemate, L, and i had dinner one night at one of my favourite places, mostly inspired by him asking me to be a sounding board about his intense friendship with an ex/sort of lover and that he feels anxious about not checking in about their intimacy. i had no advice, but his friend is looking to buy a small apartment, thinking about having kids, has expressed that she’d like to date him. is our age. his anxiety, as a gesture of care and not wanting to hurt her, unfolded into overthinking, as it often does. and the impasse. she was over the next night but i haven’t asked if there was resolution or recallibration of their friendship.

on the way home from dinner, walking through the neighbourhood and past doctors’, psychoanalysts’ and curators’ houses (well, they’re the professions of the rich folks i know who live here) we saw my friend who works in mental health accommodation (and his new partner), and puzzled over the new six storey high art sprayed onto a new apartment block of a woman with, we think, a black eye. we don’t get it.

then L and i saw my friend’s daughter, walking home from a memorial for a friend who died the year previous. her friends have a tree decorated with plastic flowers and frames with in joke sayings. i noticed it a few weeks ago when i went to the women’s football (but didn’t get in). after explaining the memorial she showed me messages from her mother, one of my close friends and ex-colleagues, who is in the middle of her phd. i miss her mum’s affection, intensity and cups of fresh peppermint tea.

the next night i found myself unable to move after a short film screening. themes of queer mythology, filipino feminine power, club soundtracks, and one of the rare moments of hearing someone brilliantly talk about their practice in a formal setting (well, as formal as acmi gets). i hugged an old friend in the audience, talked about class and whether undergrad degrees are watered down now. declined to go out for dinner.

walking to the tram, saw my lover from easter-ish last year. the one who sat with me while i would press my forehead into his arm, and eat indian while i told him about mum’s surgery (this happened at least three times, but the repetition was comforting). (relationships that are perfect for that moment, but you know won’t persist beyond a few months.) we had different ideas about relationships, work, life purpose, managing writers block. even now i keep holding in my mind his claim that academia doesn’t change anything. he’s an artist, and i could never find the right words to throw back: and you think (your) art fucking does? (this seems more an attack on my own ideas about art than a challenge to his.) he liked partners who were happy in long intellectual conversations. i wanted to put my forehead on his arm and know he would be at my house often enough that i wouldn’t have to wait a week for a reply to a message (”oh i was filming a music video in the country” was the reply a week later to my “we should end this” message, after trying to organise dinner for a week to end it).

there’s something reassuring about seeing old lovers and being excited to hear about their lives, but not feeling excited to touch them or feel them. there were waves of disgust under our conversation and i think i often ~performed~ when we slept together, not that he asked for it, not that he expected it (esp as he wasn’t straight), but maybe because the other things worked for me: foreheads, dinners, ranting, arguing, and he didn’t snore.

this morning my plans to write the chapter fell apart when the person i loved/love/liked/attached to (last year and into this year) messaged, unexpectedly, after a period of silence, to see if i would have breakfast with him. i mentioned needing to shower, he wanted to join me, i said no, then received “don’t worry about it. see you later.” the push-pull of the messages before breakfast, his frustration that i was slow to message because i was talking to L who he thought was a colleague and not my housemate.

the breakfast was reassuring: we are friends, we made plans to work on a project together, we left after a gentle hug. the day unravelled when he messaged talking about desire but also refused to discuss our relationship, i emailed about the project and he said he was uncertain about it because of desire. i replied with long messages about planning conversations about desire, that i can’t say yes because of his other constraints and his refusal to share what those constraints are (including a refusal to see me on weekends or nights). he’s seen the messages, but there is no reply, so i wrote only 347 words of the chapter, made a batch of chicken ginger soup, a chocolate sponge cake, and procrastinated.

i still only have 347 words for a day that was meant to have 3000. i feel more stupid and angry at myself than anyone else.

today’s experiment to finish this conference abstract and a short paper: 6pm 50mg modafinil, after spending most of sunday at the farmer’s market listening to parents coax their children towards being interested in free range eggs, organic yoghurt, and choosing little organic apples (that are delicious, so that’s worth pushing onto their kids), and sleeping in that utterly exhausted, dark moon, jet lag type of sleep.

in the thirty minutes, i have cleared out my work inbox, listened to mary hk choi’s podcast with naomi zeichner, and downloaded things i will need to write the things i need to write.

i need to eat something too. need need need.

i don’t know what i want, though.

lazz

every productive academic i know is fueled by adderall. the ones who aren’t are out partying or sleeping or looking for love. you marvel at the sheer pace and volume of the others’ production but then somehow you find out they’ve been on amphetamines since they started their second book and you’re like ohh. does it make you feel better to know your insecurity is artificially induced? idk.

contagiousintimacies

i am fascinated by other academics’ ways of working and just before i saw this post was talking with a friend about whether to medicate my way through insomnia/phd completion productivity or if I should just continue this green tea/dark chocolate/lie in bed all night approach. oh, to sleep properly!

another colleague and i first bonded over sharing what we knew about the sleep patterns of some of the big names in our field. someone only needs four hours of sleep a night! no wonder they write a book every year or so. impressed, horrified, jealous, resigned. does it make you feel better to know your insecurity is artificially induced? maybe.

last night’s four hours of sleep has made today the most productive day in ages, but it is just productive for marking, emailing, arguing, reading and writing lectures. like working in a hospital again. the thesis still needs those three chapters written...

i am arguing about my workload plan with someone i haven’t met who has never taught or researched or lectured. who doesn’t listen to me and inside i am infuriated, and fantasise about tantrums and a labour revolution where i stand on tables. i dream about arguments and conversations with her to try out how i will reply to her. my therapist said this is exactly what i say about my mother. only this time i have email trails and union representatives to lean on. i am yet to stand on the table at my childhood home to command attention/love...

Perhaps my favourite moment at Crossroads XR2016 so far: Questions following Audra Simpson’s key note

Male academic: So you were trying to...

AS: No, I didn’t try, I did

*audible yessssses from the audience*

An honorable human relationship — that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word “love” — is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other. It is important to do this because it breaks down human self-delusion and isolation. It is important to do this because in doing so we do justice to our own complexity. It is important to do this because we can count on so few people to go that hard way with us.

Adrienne Rich

This keeps floating in my mind. “Refining the truths”

I went to Berlin and Krakow. The plan was a conference, and to finish my thesis, then a festival. Instead I ate a lot of pastry and drank a lot of tea. I only wore black because it seemed easier, even if cliched. I dragged my conference friends around Berlin on some ridiculous multi-trainline adventure (drinks, young feminist art show, small bar with dogs, dinner at felafel place with Turrell light ceiling, trans festival cabaret, down some garden, more drinks). I argued with my lover via whatsapp and realised I have no skill in taking selfies of anything other than my face anymore. I cried. I walked around in the rain. I talked about pills with my Melbourne friend, who invited me to 1 euro felafel in the rain. I avoided being picked up by that French guy at the sauna. I passed out after a sauna ritual at another sauna, apparently splayed naked, back of my head first onto cold outdoor bricks. I wore red lipstick. I ate more pastry. I wrote some of my thesis. I learnt important German phrases: ein bier bitte; ich liebe diesen hund; ich weiß es nicht. I wanted to reply in Italian and couldn’t work out why. I danced with - or watched - people I cite in my thesis. I found myself loving Krakow. I remembered that dancing for hours in almost-dark is sublime. I traveled with a friend who is also a therapist and is just as messy as me. I ate more cake. I took notes in a lecture about therapy that quoted Barad (I do not know how I feel about men talking about Barad). I looked at the cost of renting an apartment. I did not look at job opportunities. I listened to my friend talk about her break up and legal shit. I almost missed my flight home. I almost lost my luggage. I did not sleep or write on the plane. I listened to endless crying children and vomiting adults. I am now a morning person, until this jet lag passes. I have marking and writing to do.

A sentence or paragraph or photograph is a series of decisions someone made; it offers a new way to know them.

What Is Loneliness When Friends Are Always Within Reach? - Alexandra Molotkow - NY Mag

Industries within industries and whole shelves in second hand stores.

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