art by alex hart @gallery-la-vie - Tumblr Blog

Tumblr Inquisition

When did freedom of expression suddenly become an online crime? When did an attack on a specific subset of any group ever work to the benefit of any institution?

In this bloggers humble opinion, Tumblr’s December 17th forced genocide of Adult Content blogs is just another example of how our society is slipping backwards in its level of tolerance towards anything that is different, preferring to have this type of content hidden away, and marked with a scarlet letter of intolerance and shame.

Are there issues revolving around certain types of blogs Yes. Child pornography and other unacceptably content is abhorrent to all. Is Tumblr going after those specific types of blogs? No. Are they setting up a system that blocks minors from accessing adult content blogs? No. They are preferring to follow a simplistic “nuke it all” approach rather than address the overall problem. Taking a M.A.D (mutually assured destruction) approach, can only end in one way, for without adult content, Tumblr will die off.

So my friends and followers(93k amazing individuals), I challenge you to reblog this note, and challenge Tumblr’s decision. Perhaps, if enough of us stand up and protest some good will come of it. Resist, and fight the good, and honourable, fight.

lnscoutstuff-deactivated2018121

Vero.com

Album cover for my new DJ Justforus mixtape Ooo Ooh Child #album cover #pointilism #feelbetterart

Some yarn-bomb guerrilla-marketing love for my newbie small press @feelbetterbooks #feelbetterbooks #northampton

Hart Bomb in Deerfield, MA. BOOM! #streetart #streetculture #orphanlove #feelbetterart

No-plan needlepoint, ended up liking the “wrong” side better. #feelbetterart

No-plan mini-looming with yummy leftovers yay! #feelbetterart

A recent motion video by moi.

This is Anita, one of my collaged dolls, visiting a street-art scene.

#collage #street art #art

Anita, a poem by Alex Hart

Those salsa lessons will have to wait. Shoot, I forgot to close the gate. There has been a spate of robberies of late.

My home is not stately, it boasts very little, is a bit brittle with age and weather’s demands.

But oh, the inside. No tide can reverse, can push aside what I have striven to provide for my three boys, the pride I feel as they tinker with their toys, as they toss dirty clothes near enough to the hamper, pull on soft robes, click a lamp on, a book clamped in their still-growing hands, pages turned with a burning desire to throw their reposed bodies headlong into story, into the glory of battle, of herding cattle, of trying not to tattle; into the airplane as it crosses the ocean; into the wizard’s den as he mixes a potion; into the mind of a writer, feeling so light, so high on story that my little readers’ tushes hardly touch the pillows beneath them.

Oh, the inside of our little domain. “Come again!” I call politely after a guest who has rested a night or two with us. But I don’t mean it, shut the door immediately and with glee.

Four is my number. Four plates, four spoons, four pairs of shoes in the mudroom. Four umbrellas for me and my fellas, for our walks in surprise rainstorms. We often abandon our cover. Like a lover revealing his whole, throbbing heart to the stars above, we cast impermeables to the wind, bodies soaked in minutes, eyes blinking, hair streaming with wet. We let ourselves get lost in weather for a moment, maybe two, tossed about by wind, sins washed away – better than confession! Who is boss out here? Who will hear us if we call, if our heavy breathing stalls?

Back inside, dripping togs in a heap, our kindred minds keep a new kind of time. No books now, no games with words and dice. We find ourselves sitting four in a row on our barely big enough couch, sides pressed one to the other. I am their mother. Allow me this.

#poem #motherhood #home

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