🍇🐛🍯

strange girl, likes women and weed, flora and fauna, and all of Mother Nature

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Mae West, 34, says goodbye to prison warden Harry Schleth after leaving Welfare Island, April 29, 1927. She had served a eight days of a 10-day sentence (let out early for good behavior) for writing, directing, and performing in the play "Sex." Her pen name as playwright was Jane Mast.

In the drama, West played a prostitute who had to choose between two men: a young one to whom she concealed her profession, or an older one who accepted her for who she was. “People thought it vulgar, ridiculous, or funny, or a perfectly terrible play, laughed—and sent their friends to see the show,” wrote Thyra Samter Winslow in The New Yorker.

Photo: Associated Press via eBay

[the1920sinpictures]

1929 Painting "Madchenbildnis" by Friedrich Edler von Radler. From Art Deco, Art Nouveau & 20th Century Decoratif Arts Group, FB.

[ratcity]

James baldwin’s the artists struggle for identity. Btw.

[mercuryfountain-deactivated2024]

"That I have experienced my share of traumatic experiences, have survived abuse of various kinds, have faced near death from accidental circumstance and from violence (different as the particulars of these may be from those around me) is not a card to play in gamified social interaction or a weapon to wield in battles over prestige. It is not what gives me a special right to speak, to evaluate, or to decide for a group. It is a concrete, experiential manifestation of the vulnerability that connects me to most of the people on this earth. It comes between me and other people not as a wall, but as a bridge."

Olúfẹ́mi O. Táíwò, Elite Capture, 2022

[estrellasrojas]

Where, then, is the positive possibility of a German emancipation? Answer: In the formulation of a class with radical chains, a class of civil society which is not a class of civil society, an estate which is the dissolution of all estates, a sphere which has a universal character by its universal suffering and claims no particular right because no particular wrong, but wrong generally, is perpetuated against it; which can invoke no historical, but only human, title; which does not stand in any one-sided antithesis to the consequences but in all-round antithesis to the premises of German statehood; a sphere, finally, which cannot emancipate itself without emancipating itself from all other spheres of society and thereby emancipating all other spheres of society, which, in a word, is the complete loss of man and hence can win itself only through the complete re-winning of man. This dissolution of society as a particular estate is the proletariat.

—Karl Marx, “Introduction to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right” (1843)

[graveyardrabbit]

textures and colors of the bark of Methuselah the coast redwood

[patricksmom]

it's so cringe how every song on the radio by a woman is about how good she is at having sex. id make a song about being ass at sex. i twist the dick like a pretzel and bite it off that's what id sing

[patricksmom]

some ppl are calling me sex negative or a misogynist for this post so let me be clear:

IT IS CRINGE TO BRAG ABOUT BEING GOOD AT PLEASING MEN LIKE I CAN REALLY THINK OF NOTHING MORE LAME

[random-brushstrokes]

Paul-Élie Ranson (French, 1861–1909)

[antropofagis]

A Mulata Grande III por Carybé, 1980

[moriintus]

Memories from my grandparent's yard.

[chaumas-deactivated20240115]

Last week I accidentally took an edible at 10x my usual dose. I say “accidentally” but it was really more of a “my friend held it out to my face and I impulsively swallowed it like a python”, which was technically on purpose but still an accident in that my squamate instincts acted faster than my ability to assess the situation and ask myself if I really wanted to get Atreides high or not.

Anyway. I was painting the wall when it hit. My friend heard me make a noise and asked what was wrong—I explained that I had just fallen through several portals. I realized that painting the wall fulfilled my entire hierarchy of needs, and was absolutely sure that I was on track to escaping the cycle of samsara if I just kept at it a little longer. I was thwarted on my journey towards nirvana only by the fact that I ran out of paint.

Seeking a surrogate act of humble service through which I might be redeemed and made human, I turned to unwashed dishes in the sink and took up the holy weapon of the sponge. I was partway through cleaning the blender when it REALLY hit.

You ever clean a blender? It’s a shockingly intimate act. They are complex tools. One of the most complicated denizens of the kitchen. Glass and steel and rubber and plastic. Fuck! They’ve got gaskets. You can’t just scrub ‘em and rinse them down like any other piece of shit dish. You’ve got to dissemble them piece by piece, groove by sensitive groove, taking care to lavish the spinning blades with cautious attention. There’s something sensual about it. Something strangely vulnerable.

As I stood there, turning the pieces over in my hands, I thought about all the things we ask of blenders. They don’t have an easy job. They are hard laborers taking on a thankless task. I have used them so roughly in my haste for high-density smoothies, pushing them to their limits and occasionally breaking them. I remembered the smell of acrid smoke and decaying rubber that filled the kitchen in the break room the last time I tried to make a smoothie at work—the motor overtaxed and melted, the gasket cracked and brittle. Strawberry slurry leaked out of it like the blood of a slain animal.

Was this blender built to last? Or was it doomed to an early grave in some distant landfill by the genetic disorder of planned obsolescence? I didn’t know, and was far too high to make an educated guess. But I knew that whatever care and tenderness and empathy I put into it, the more respect for the partnership of man and machine, the better it would perform for me.

This thought filled me with a surge of affection. However long its lifespan, I wanted it to be filled with dignity and love and understanding. I thought: I bet no one has hugged this blender before. And so I lifted it from its base.

A blender is roughly the size and shape of a human baby. Cradling one in your arms satisfies a primal need. A month ago I was permitted to hold an infant for the first time in my life, an experience which was physically and psychologically healing. I felt an echo of that satisfaction holding my friend the blender, and the thought of parting with it felt even more ridiculous than bringing it with me to hang out on my friend’s bed.

[thethreerobbers]

8,000-year-old figurine, Neolithic, Çatalhöyük, Central Turkey

[azspot]

“Rich kids should go to public schools. The mayor should ride the subway to work. When wealthy people get sick, they should be sent to public hospitals. Business executives should have to stand in the same airport security lines as everyone else. The very fact that people want to buy their way out of all of these experiences points to the reason why they shouldn’t be able to. Private schools and private limos and private doctors and private security are all pressure release valves that eliminate the friction that would cause powerful people to call for all of these bad things to get better. The degree to which we allow the rich to insulate themselves from the unpleasant reality that others are forced to experience is directly related to how long that reality is allowed to stay unpleasant. When they are left with no other option, rich people will force improvement in public systems. Their public spirit will be infinitely less urgent when they are contemplating these things from afar than when they are sitting in a hot ER waiting room for six hours themselves.”

— Everyone Into The Grinder

[lionfloss]

Oil Paintings by Cindy Rizza

[ogrishpuntocom]

nobuddy feels like they have a sharp attention span these days, right? and we all just click “agree on terms of service” because its hard to love yourself sometimes, well

enter Terms of Service, Didn’t Read: a website and a browser addon that streamlines the terms of service of many popular web services to be read by the tech sunday drivers.

It’s graded from A (great) to E (awful) and if you have the addon you have access to the info about the website on your bar

[ogrishpuntocom]

this post came back to me like a dear son from war, hello ol boy

[achillesinhighheels]

Rush hour in New York City

Photographed by Jamel Shabazz (1988)

[avasgal]

Marilyn Monroe, c. 1946.

[gougarfem]

people on here are like "i shave my entire body twice a week because of sensory issues... anyway the new 100% polyester fishnets i bought from shein are sooo cute! i think this outfit will be better when i bleach my scalp and put on some liquid foundation though" and everyone is like yeah makes sense i'll do that too

[kiwimidnight]

TINY WRLD (2020)

[cocotine]