J. Blare @jblareink - Tumblr Blog

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"The surest way to work up a crusade in favor of some good cause is to promise people they will have a chance of maltreating someone. To be able to destroy with good conscience, to be able to behave badly and call your bad behaviour 'righteous indignation' — this is the height of psychological luxury, the most delicious of moral treats." -Aldous Huxley

#writing #literature #moral crusaders #political extremism #censorship #aldous huxley

the-hollow-quiet

…if you’ve come to love my poetry, all I can wish is that it has enough beauty to not be an agony

jblareink

Never heard of beautiful agony?

the-hollow-quiet

have you not heard of these bittersweets

of poetry?

the roiling calm

of symetry

the terrifying peace

of serendipity

the excruciating luxury

of ecstasy—

surely the lesser of these

is the beauty of agony

—RLKing

#poetry #writing #beautiful agony #ecstasy

#bandcamp #grunge #alternative #punk #post punk #no wave #live

Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminism: Where Feminism & The Far Right Meet

Trans exclusionary radical feminists have done the previously unthinkable: divorced women’s rights from human rights and aligned their rhetoric with some of history’s most misogynistic and homophobic movements.

If the arguments you make about “pure biological femininity” echo those of Joseph Goebbels and Eugen Fischer’s discussions on the pure, biological Aryan or Anglo-Saxon races this should immediately send up red-flags.

The TERF movement has sought to define a “pure biological woman” as someone born with a vagina and uterus who can go through the trauma of childbirth. This rather narrow definition immediately excludes intersex people, who have neither or both primary or secondary sexual characteristics of males & females. Many women do not menstruate and cannot become pregnant for medical reasons. This stigmatizes those women who go through hysterectomies or mastectomies for medical purposes.

Another common straw man argument is “men are dressing up as women to infiltrate safe spaces for women.” Trans women may not feel comfortable using spaces for men, especially given that they are the group most impacted by sexual assault, rape and murder. A man who dresses up as a woman to commit sexual crimes is exactly that. They are not trans, not members of the trans community they are men committing sexual crimes.

These arguments are quite familiar coming out of the mouths of white, male, right-wing media personalities like Tucker Carlson and Alex Jones which makes it all the more shocking coming from self-identified feminists

Most of the trans people I know appear to be female, including in height and weight. Women are at least given the dignity of a separate prison to protect them from sexual violence. My friend who is about 5′6 and trans was sent to an all male prison in Georgia. Not long after her release she had a permanent psychotic break.

I’m hesitant to post this given the almost certainty I will receive anything from personal insults to death threats but writing unpopular opinion pieces is the duty of any writer. However this was sparked by a personal reaction someone had to me saying I had trans friends and on occasion lovers. That's what society refers to them as. They’re women to me.

A representative of the TERF movement decided to tell me my own sexuality (apparently I’m a gay man) and make several untrue statements about my personal life. My last long term relationship was with a CIS woman, same with the one before that. I find someone’s personal qualities such as kindness, intelligence, empathy and creativity more interesting than what they have between their legs

the-hollow-quiet

…shout out to everyone who medicates, one way or the other. May your vices be as healthy as possible. We are all living in a dystopian novel that feels like we need it to have a happy ending. Not like The Road. That was a bad ending.

shisasan

Anaïs Nin, Henry and June [originally published 1986]

vylirium

moon goddess III 💫✨

fragrantblossoms

Clara Sipprell. In an Abandoned Garden, Dalmatia–Yugoslavia, ca. 1926.

shisasan

Eros and Psyche, Gustav Vigeland (1908)

the-hollow-quiet

…the melancholic rivers of ice flow all converge here in my ancestral home. The murk, the cold, wild swept skies, the rough jagged evergreens that haunt so gorgeous and eerily. You are my shattering. You make me break.

How sweet the sound of all my world crashing down, to the ears of those who’ve hated the wilderness and the beauty within me.

But that’s the point of wild things…they don’t give a damn. They come at you wild in the night, teeth bared and grinning. They have survival inside. They bite throats and take no prisoners. They tear in and pull out all that soft muscley flesh and they move on and live anyways.

They form into packs, collecting like bubbles magnetizing to each other, one wild thing stuck wildly to another.

They roam and they are loyal and they trust each other. They find comfort in the ferocity of the other. They rely on it. They sleep soundly in it.

When all their world shatters it is just music, it is just drive. They understand the fleetingness of being alive.

So as I break, today or any other, it’s just part of living. I am so very much alive, with every breath I have a passion that will not die.

the-dead-poets

for the ophelia girlies

rockandrollsstuff

Janis Joplin at home in San Francisco, 1968

photo by 📷️ Jim Marshall

alexandraadavies1996

The outfit has to be a little ugly to be truly good, this outfit was inspired by the native bluebells here :)

Ig: alexandraadavies1996

senor-plume

A Bruised Birthday

The balloons all popped early (not one escapee) and the confetti never fell

the cake… once proud under a vanilla coating sits now dejected …growing crunchier as the hours wheel on

but the anxiety pills have been unwrapped (with the daintiest of bows covering the calm within) and I now have a birthday date with my nonjudgmental sheets

hot May

24 rude wave of the hands

muted lips which require an apology to open

four days later and the glue has yet to give

forty eight years of chump change damp in my palms as I whistle an over-sung song to myself

head down tight against the flannel twisting like lemon to fillet trying to ignore:

the facts the bold rudeness the wet hefty sneezes the downward spiral

I crash I crash

as the not so happiest of birthdays fades into a bruised purple