punching holes in the sky

Joanna. Tough lady.

[kellysue]

You can cry and still kick ass.

@BritsAndBobs I promised you this story a while back, sounds like you need it today. (I have a long list today myself so I gotta make it quick, apologies.) (Also: trigger warning for rape scenario.)

Years ago, an incident at a club caused me to enroll in a full contact self defense class. (I wrote about it a bit before, here: http://kellysue.tumblr.com/post/62888516185/hey-kelly-sue-currently-engaged-in-a ).

I LOVED fighting. LOOOOOOVED IT. I loved watching my progress, feeling myself getting smarter and stronger. I was doing GREAT. The silent mechanics of it, the strategy, it was like meditation in a weird way.

Then came the day for the rape scenario role play. We were supposed to pretend to be asleep in our beds when an attacker came in. Instead of the out-of-context encounters we’d become accustomed to playing out, this time the attacker would speak. The guys playing the attackers seemed to chose the scenario best suited to freaking you the fuck out. Our role was to evaluate whether we could talk them down, how far away safety was and what we had to do to get there. My guy went with a serial killer/sadist character. No amount of talking was going to get me out of it. He had a knife and I was going to have to fight him to survive.

Now, look, I have a theater degree. I’m a trained actor and was a professional improv actor at the time I was taking this class. I am accustomed to play-acting. And yet… this guy freaked me the fuck out. I felt vulnerable and scared and ANGRY. (I go to angry when I’m sad or scared. I know, you’re shocked.) And when I get really angry, I cry. So in the middle of this role play, I start crying. Like, sobbing. I keep thinking they’ll call it off, but they don’t. Instead my coach just kept talking me through it from the sidelines. “How do you get the knife out of play?” “Where’s safety?” “How do you get there?” And finally, “You can cry and still kick his ass.”

You can cry and still kick his ass.

It sounds silly, but it was a revelation to me. You don’t have to deny what you’re feeling, swallow it down or hide it. You can feel it and keep going anyway. More than that, I’ve learned in the years since: you can use it.

Don’t write yourself off. Feel what you’re feeling. But keep going anyway. You can cry WHILE you kick ass.

(Some day I’ll tell you the story of the boundary setting exercise. But not today.)

[nailsbycanishiea]

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨💎💎💎💰💰💅shine bright like a Swavorski #nailswag #pinkyonfleek #nailsbycanishiea #selfexpresssionthrupolish#nailedit #naillife #nailsnails #nailjourney #nailsnails #nailsdone #nailswag

[mentaltimetraveller]

Sarah-Jane Hoffmann, Erotic System of Looks, 2016

The Absent Body

at  CINNNAMON, Rotterdam, The Netherlands

2016

[fisticuff-curricula]

[fisticuff-curricula]

Flower of evil @milanicosmetics @colourpopcosmetics

[imthehuman]

[frankocean]

i'm not even gonna say rest in peace because it’s bigger than death. i never met the man (i was too nervous the one time i saw him) and i never saw him play live, regrettably. i only know the legends I’ve heard from folks and what i’ve heard and seen from his deep catalog of propellant, fearless, virtuosic work. my assessment is that he learned early on how little value to assign to someone else’s opinion of you.. an infectious sentiment that seemed soaked into his clothes, his hair, his walk, his guitar and his primal scream. he wrote my favorite song of all time, ‘when you were mine’. it’s a simple song with a simple melody that makes you wish you thought of it first, even though you never would have - a flirtatious brand of genius that feels approachable.  he was a straight black man who played his first televised set in bikini bottoms and knee high heeled boots, epic. he made me feel more comfortable with how i identify sexually simply by his display of freedom from and irreverence for obviously archaic ideas like gender conformity etc. he moved me to be more daring and intuitive with my own work by his demonstration - his denial of the prevailing model...his fight for his intellectual property - ‘slave’ written across the forehead, name changed to a symbol... an all out rebellion against exploitation. A vanguard and genius by every metric I know of who affected many in a way that will outrun oblivion for a long while. I’m proud to be a Prince fan(stan) for life.

[altcomics]

Audrey Wollen

[wsswatson]

you know what’s really irritating

when male academics constantly refer to men by their surnames and women by their first names

like you’d never go to a lecture expecting shakespeare to be referred to as “william” but it’s not at all uncommon to sit through an entire lecture in which jane austen is referred to constantly as “jane”

it’s such a petty thing but it just really rubs me the wrong way, like it has a real suggestion of respect and admiration/lack thereof

[fisticuff-curricula]

As a graduate student who just had to listen to her professor claim that Lynne Huffer is “envious of Bersani” and “wants to be like the boys” this really speaks to me. D:

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

When you feel perpetually unmotivated, you start questioning your existence in an unhealthy way; everything becomes a pseudo intellectual question you have no interest in responding whatsoever. This whole process becomes your very skin and it does not merely affect you; it actually defines you. So, you see yourself as a shadowy figure unworthy of developing interest, unworthy of wondering about the world - profoundly unworthy in every sense and deeply absent in your very presence.

Ingmar Bergman (via violentwavesofemotion)

[thedollypartonscrapbook]

[the-x-x-x-files]

[academiaiskillingmyfriends]

#91

During my Ph.D. studies at an elite university I studied with a Famous Professor who casually made the argument that adults having sex with children was simply an expression of queer sexuality. I objected, arguing that the inherent power imbalance between adults and children was the defining feature of such relationships, not gender or sexual identity. Famous Professor silently smiled while the entire class took turns attacking me for being so provincial. I was extremely shaken and during the break confided to Famous Professor that I am a survivor of child sexual abuse and so I know first hand what I am talking about. Famous Professor said dismissively that adults often reconsider “abuse” they endured as children as simply part of their sexual histories and characterized the idea of trauma at the hands of a same gender abuser as homophobia and/or repressed sexual desire. I went numb. This was literally my nightmare fantasy of being disbelieved, which kept me from dealing with my rape openly for many years, fully realized. By this point in my life I’d worked through my abuse and was a happy, functional person– in part because of community with a group of other survivors, some queer and some not. So I knew that this was bullshit rape apology and not queer advocacy… So after class I went to my dept. and asked to switch out of the class and they demanded to know why before letting me drop. I did everything I could to avoid telling them–I just wanted to move on– but they didn’t give me a choice. The revelation of Famous Professor’s behavior initiated an automatic legal response from the school that required me to have a humiliating meeting with the Dept. Chair, who made me talk about my rape and then treated me like I was a broken, damaged, self-dramatizing victim who had over reacted. (Apparently Famous Professor called ahead to Dept. Chair and told a version of our conversation that painted me as less-than-stable. Surprised?) I calmly explained that I was a child-rape survivor who 1) has plenty of support from other survivors, and 2) wanted to drop this class to put space between myself and a toxic person who was dangerous to my recovery, and 3) that was an expression of my strength, not fragility. At which point Dept. Chair said patronizingly that when I began teaching myself I would inevitably end up hurting students with my own insensitivity (as if what Famous Professor did was comparable with forgetting my name or refusing to let me out of class for a religious holiday). And then Dept. Chair asked if I would meet with Famous Professor, who felt “really bad.” I lost patience at this point and refused, saying it was not my job to make Famous Professor feel better and I demanded to be allowed to leave the class. They (finally) acquiesced and set up an independent study. But the downside(s) from this incident continued for years, and the incoming Dept. Chair– great pals with Famous Professor–made no secret of their continued disdain for me. I lost opportunities and became known within my Dept. as a “problem”  who “badmouthed the Dept.” even though I’d tried to handle it as quietly as possible. The entire thing drove me back into therapy for several years and onto anti-anxiety and depression meds.  

[fisticuff-curricula]

yo i might be in this prof’s class RIGHT NOW. is there anyway OP could message me (on anon of course) so i can confirm? this week’s seminar is all going to be pedo apology so i’ve been trying to prep intellectually/emotionally/spiritually. Also can i just say that, as a sexual assault survivor, I think you were really brave to tell him and I admire your strength to do so <3

[missvvorld]

@ God donald trump is also 69 just lettin u know

[thisiseverydayracism]

Revealed: Qatar’s World Cup ‘slaves’

by Pete Pattisson | 25 September 2013 | theguardian.com

QATAR - Dozens of Nepalese migrant labourers have died in Qatar in recent weeks and thousands more are enduring appalling labour abuses, a Guardian investigation has found, raising serious questions about Qatar’s preparations to host the 2022 World Cup.

This summer, Nepalese workers died at a rate of almost one a day in Qatar, many of them young men who had sudden heart attacks. The investigation found evidence to suggest that thousands of Nepalese, who make up the single largest group of labourers in Qatar, face exploitation and abuses that amount to modern-day slavery, as defined by the International Labour Organisation, during a building binge paving the way for 2022.

According to documents obtained from the Nepalese embassy in Doha, at least 44 workers died between 4 June and 8 August. More than half died of heart attacks, heart failure or workplace accidents.

The investigation also reveals:

Evidence of forced labour on a huge World Cup infrastructure project.

Some Nepalese men have alleged that they have not been paid for months and have had their salaries retained to stop them running away.

Some workers on other sites say employers routinely confiscate passports and refuse to issue ID cards, in effect reducing them to the status of illegal aliens.

Some labourers say they have been denied access to free drinking water in the desert heat.

About 30 Nepalese sought refuge at their embassy in Doha to escape the brutal conditions of their employment.

The allegations suggest a chain of exploitation leading from poor Nepalese villages to Qatari leaders. The overall picture is of one of the richest nations exploiting one of the poorest to get ready for the world’s most popular sporting tournament.

“We’d like to leave, but the company won’t let us,” said one Nepalese migrant employed at Lusail City development, a $45bn (£28bn) city being built from scratch which will include the 90,000-seater stadium that will host the World Cup final. “I’m angry about how this company is treating us, but we’re helpless. I regret coming here, but what to do? We were compelled to come just to make a living, but we’ve had no luck.”

The Guardian’s investigation also found men throughout the wider Qatari construction industry sleeping 12 to a room in places and getting sick through repulsive conditions in filthy hostels. Some say they have been forced to work without pay and left begging for food.

“We were working on an empty stomach for 24 hours; 12 hours’ work and then no food all night,” said Ram Kumar Mahara, 27. “When I complained, my manager assaulted me, kicked me out of the labour camp I lived in and refused to pay me anything. I had to beg for food from other workers.”

Almost all migrant workers have huge debts from Nepal, accrued in order to pay recruitment agents for their jobs. The obligation to repay these debts, combined with the non-payment of wages, confiscation of documents and inability of workers to leave their place of work, constitute forced labour, a form of modern-day slavery estimated to affect up to 21 million people across the globe. So entrenched is this exploitation that the Nepalese ambassador to Qatar, Maya Kumari Sharma, recently described the emirate as an “open jail”.

“The evidence uncovered by the Guardian is clear proof of the use of systematic forced labour in Qatar,” said Aidan McQuade, director of Anti-Slavery International, which was founded in 1839. “In fact, these working conditions and the astonishing number of deaths of vulnerable workers go beyond forced labour to the slavery of old where human beings were treated as objects. There is no longer a risk that the World Cup might be built on forced labour. It is already happening.”

Some Nepalese working at Lusail City tell desperate stories. They are saddled with huge debts they are paying back at interest rates of up to 36%, yet say they are forced to work without pay.

“The company has kept two months’ salary from each of us to stop us running away,” said one man who gave his name as SBD and who works at the Lusail City marina. SBD said he was employed by a subcontractor that supplies labourers for the project. Some workers say their subcontrator has confiscated their passports and refused to issue the ID cards they are entitled to under Qatari law. “Our manager always promises he’ll issue [our cards] ‘next week’,” added a scaffolder who said he had worked in Qatar for two years without being given an ID card.

Without official documentation, migrant workers are in effect reduced to the status of illegal aliens, often unable to leave their place of work without fear of arrest and not entitled to any legal protection. Under the state-run kafala sponsorship system, workers are also unable to change jobs or leave the country without their sponsor company’s permission.

Other workers said they were forced to work long hours in temperatures of up to 50C (122F) without access to drinking water.

PHOTO 2 Dalli Kahtri and her husband, Lil Man, hold photos of their sons, both of whom died while working as migrants in Malaysia and Qatar. 

The workers’ plight makes a mockery of concerns for the 2022 footballers.

“Everyone is talking about the effect of Qatar’s extreme heat on a few hundred footballers,” said Umesh Upadhyaya, general secretary of the General Federation of Nepalese Trade Unions. “But they are ignoring the hardships, blood and sweat of thousands of migrant workers, who will be building the World Cup stadiums in shifts that can last eight times the length of a football match.”

Source: http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/sep/25/revealed-qatars-world-cup-slaves

[nirbhoy]

This is modern day slavery, and this is heartbreaking

[mugglesofficial]

me: *full face of makeup & nowhere to go*

(deets ⬇️)

Keep reading

[mangoestho-deactivated20161001]

I’ll Never Be My Wife’s Equal — Matter

Sometimes partnership is learning to be second best.

Laura, my wife, is smarter than I am. She has almost double the degrees. (This bit shouldn’t be entirely surprising; the gap between college and graduate degree attainment for men and women is 4.7 percent). But even understanding that diplomas don’t equal intelligence — or, for that matter, equal pay or representation in the workforce — Laura approaches things intellectually that I can’t even wrap my head around. She can’t tell you who Coltrane’s band was on A Love Supreme or how many points Kevin Durant averaged in college, things that years ago would have been important to me, but she’s an in-demand educator. And there is likely no world in which I will ever be Laura’s financial equal.

To my generation, boys birthed into the 80s and coughed up in the early-mid 2000s as men, this narrative is familiar. We were promised that the weight of our spectacular mediocrity would attach itself to a woman far more appealing and on top of things than we are; the women in our lives reduced to an overbearing, hysterical stereotype by our inability to bring anything to the relationship other than complication. I was conditioned to think a “healthy partnership” meant a woman absorbing my failures — especially if the woman happened to be successful and respected in other areas of life. When I was younger, I often saw myself as a guy who was “emotionally complex” and “misunderstood” by women. I made terribly sequenced mixtapes for women in order to show off my aforementioned emotional complexity, because this freed me from having to do it by showing any ACTUAL emotional complexity. I crawled out of stagnant relationships largely unscathed, having risked nothing, and blamed women for simply “not understanding me.”

Emotionally stunted men blame their romantic failures on the woman who just won’t love them “as they are.” They find themselves in relationships with stunning, successful women who have the primary function of simply surviving the mishaps of their partners. There is a long storied tradition of men burdening women with our inability to meet them half, or even a quarter of the way in relationships. Men — always the central figures — forget anniversaries, spend money on silly things, neglect the needs of their children, and are ultimately forgiven.

I spent my formative years seeing romantic partnership reflected back to me in the form of dominant men living like children due to the safety net of a woman. Being in a relationship with someone who both has their shit together and has no time for me to NOT have my shit together is a crash course. I went from attempting to coast by on half-measures in our early dating, to waking up in a reality where I was really in a battle for our shared joy. And I was expected to take it on with her, at every turn. When Laura and I got married, we decided to take on each other entirely. We both hyphenated our names, partially for the sake of pre-existing publications on both of our ends, but also as a small symbol of us standing on the same ground, each with an equal view of the horizon.

A lot of men like to talk in gym locker rooms. I have always known this, but fully realized it last year, when the regulars at my gym found out I was getting married. The advice that I most regularly received was in the form of jokes from other men, generally in their 40s and 50s, who had been married for years. They’d lightheartedly tell me how much of a burden their wives were, before breaking out into laughter; they’d gift me tips on how to build a “man cave” and the importance of getaways. All the advice revolved around escaping the presence of someone you promised to love.

The thing about undertaking any partnership — not just romantic ones, not just hetero-romantic ones — is the entire process of unlearning the selfishness that we’ve all cultivated (potentially) over decades. In my case, I’m with someone who almost certainly would be just as successful without my presence, which accelerates the process of becoming less self-involved. It’s easy to romanticize sacrifice in tandem with love, but it isn’t easy for men who have spent their lives reading the hype of their own existence. What my gym mates didn’t tell me is that the best part of any commitment, explicitly for men who are told that they have to escape, ISN’T looking for a way out. It’s also understanding that hiding from growth puts an inescapable burden on the women we love.

One day, three weeks before my wedding, an older guy who often ran on a treadmill next to me at the gym gave me the only tip I considered worthwhile. He stopped me on my way out of the locker room and said: “Look. The best and most exciting part of marriage is figuring out how to do it.” I laughed and asked, “Well, how long does that part last?” His reply was, “If you’re lucky, your whole life.”

Partnership is a learning process that never stops. I still make mistakes. I spend money that should be in savings on sneakers. I don’t go on a big grocery shopping trip with Laura, even though I know she needs help, so that I can play an hour of video games. I apologize lightly for these things but case the “sorry” in the accusation that my needs are being ignored. So often, I got caught up in the idea of simply feeling the feelings of love. The mixtape as a bridge to my emotions, my writing as a bridge to my understanding. Early in our marriage, Laura told me that she believes that the key to marriage is coming to terms with the idea that loving each other is a choice we make, every day. It is either something that you decide to do, or not do. It’s not enough to just feel love. You have to do the very real work that comes with it, and constantly think of the person who exists at the other end of your desire.

I once thought myself massive and unwilling to shrink at the feet of anyone. I once thought myself a window, but never a mirror. I still do, sometimes, on days when I use the myth of “emotional complexity” that so many men hang their hats on as an excuse for not giving my partner all of myself. Yes, it is not a “man cave” or a bar where you can run to at night after your wife falls asleep — it’s worse than that. And it stops men from reaching their full potential, from being the best partner that they can be.

When men stop relying on the women who love us to do the heavy lifting of partnership, we can name these things on our own — which gives them a life, a moveable body. I am lucky to love a woman who allows me to realize my own flaws; allows me to name them and watch them grow smaller and smaller. Until there is enough room for both of us, and all we carry.

[peacall]

“hiding from growth puts an inescapable burden on the women we love”!!!!

[freshrosemary-deactivated202303]

Such a good read.

[absquatulate-deactivated2018082]

Holy. Shit.

[styro-sometimes]

In a meeting today I learned that overall, men lag behind women from 12-20% in undergraduate graduation rates.  

[apocalypanties]

all of this