“At that time Blixa was in a constant cocaine delirium. He worked as a film projectionist at the Tali cinema at Kottbusser Damm. Today it’s the Moviemento. They only played “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” The cinema was run by Elsa Maxwell and Blixa. They never paid the film distributor, so they had to give the cinema one day. Any cash that came in went straight up their noses. Back then, cocaine, wasn’t all that much cheaper than it is today. It was a total state of paranoia. I hardly ever drank alcohol back then, and had only just learned to roll a cigarette so that I could roll a joint. After the film ended I sometimes had to go through the aisles with a flashlight because Blixa was too paranoid to check for himself whether there would still be people, or as Blixa feared, hiding somewhere. That was all before the Neubauten.”—Alexander Hacke (via blixa-blutsauger)
HAHAHA HOLY SHIT WE WERE LOOKING AT PICTURES OF SURGERIES IN CLASS AND ALL THE GUYS WERE HOOTING AT THE SLICED BREAST ONES AND THEN THE TEACHER SWITCHED TO A PENIS PIC WHERE IT WAS CUT OPEN AND SOME 300LB JOCK DOUCHEBAG FAINTED RIGHT OUT OF HIS CHAIR BOYS ARE WEAK BOYS ARE FUCKING WEAK
I remember when I thought people in their 20’s were adults. Now all of my friends are in their 20’s and everybody is just kind of fumbling around bumping into each other, trying to figure out where the free food is
In honor of Mardi Gras I generously showed my titties to like a dozen bros and now there is a fine selection of new suspiciously-lifelike marble statues scattered along High Street if you like that sort of thing
if i were rewriting the original star wars trilogy leia would be the main character, vader and han(nah) would be chicks, the main plotline would follow leia attaining jedi knighthood, luke would do a lot more rebel adventuring with lando, lots of lesbian romance, and there’d be, like, 400% more skin colors other than nuclear winter white.
i arrived at the venue(Huset i Magstræde) which is a 15 minutes bus ride and walk from where i live at 3 o’clock.i walked up and down the stairs in boredom, but then i met Martina, Blixa’s cellist. she was very kind and said i could go with her to the stage itself and see the soundcheck. And so we did, the Messer Quartet string girls played so beautiful. i met lars top galia from sort sol and sods, he is part of ArtFreq. who booked the concert. a couple of hours went, teho arrived and was very nice and happy.AND THEN BLIXA ARRIVED. actually i was sitting in a chair looking at my phone, texting auntie gorgo on facebook, when suddenly a huge man in a long black coat came in and walked up to the stage. blixa! the soundcheck was all very beautiful, and also entertaining because blixa was saying the funniest things like ‘i dont need bass! my voice has enough bass!’ <3 then i when they were finished blixa drove off to some gourmet restaurent and i went down to eat with the messer quartet and the artfreq people. then when there was half an hour until the show started i went to wait in front of the door, and there were my two friends who were also gonna se the show. we got in when they opened and we sat on the front row, i got the seat right in front of blixa, probably the best seat! then the concert started and it was truly outrageous. after the show i spoke to lars about meeting blixa. he said that there could be an opportunity if i waited around. so i did! then lars had to go down and meet blixa, and he told me i could go with him -backstage. so i did, and who did we find, sitting on the stairs? blixa! he was about to leave through the door when i said ‘blixa!’ and he turned around and looked at me. ‘thank you s much for everything’ i said. he shook my hand and said ‘thank you for your support and attention’. i whispered ‘i love you’ and he said ‘thank you’. then he left and i said goodbye to martina and went home.
Augh I have the best “disgusted Siouxsie” gif somewhere and cannot find it anywhere and I know I’ve used it before also I seem to have entirely lost my enormous 1/2” thick black glass spiral earrings what is my life
“Psychologists have found that people’s belief in a just world helps explain how they react to innocent victims of negative life circumstances. People become cognitively frustrated when presented with stories of victims who suffer through little fault of their own. They can deal with this frustration in two ways: they can conclude that the world is an unjust place, or they can decide that the victim is somehow to blame. Most people reconcile their psychological distress by blaming the victim. Even when we know that suffering is undeserved, it is psychologically easier to blame the victim rather than give up the idea that the world is basically fair.”—
This is also referred to as The Just World Fallacy. If the world is “good and just,” then bad things must only happen to people who “deserved it or caused it.” Except the world is not good and just. And despite individual people choosing to be good and/or just, structures, institutions and systems remain corrupt overall. Primarily through the media is the idea that bad only happens to those who deserve suffering conveyed. Add this to the manifestations of oppression based on gender, race, class, nationality, citizenship, sexual orientation, size, etc. and things like rape culture for example, thrive. And even ideologies that appear “harmless” to some people like prosperity gospel, positivity culture, the law of attraction and American exceptionalism are based on ignoring systemic inequality and focusing on exceptional cases. They stand firm in this particular fallacy.
See, it requires quite a bit from a person to be willing to challenge the world as is. It is psychologically, emotionally and intellectually easier to victim blame. It also helps people protect their psyches from the thought that something bad could happen to them or worse, that they are the causes of those bad things happening to others.
Still…it’s unacceptable. Victim blaming = unacceptable. The right thing to do is listen and support victims/survivors of anything and the oppressed of any form of oppression and work to deconstruct the structures, institutions and systems that make it possible. On an individual level, it requires accountability.
What men don’t understand is that women are FIERCELY PROTECTIVE of underage girls because we remember when we were young and some adult man made us uncomfortable or manipulated us or was inappropriate with us and we were powerless.
… except not all of us are, because of internalized misogyny
… and also because if we hold underage girls responsible for what adult men do to them then we can argue that we were also responsible for what adult men did to us when we were underage, which means we were not and are not victims, oh no, we weren’t powerless, we were in control swear to god
let’s not forget how hard it is for a lot of women to admit that what men have done to them wasn’t okay
I agree with the Sibyl up there (although I do feel fiercely protective of girls, personally) and I’ll toss in my usual bit about how it’s so fucking convenient that somehow we have developed this idea that being a victim is bad and a moral failing, and how we now use the word in place of other words, such as “whiny,” “lazy,” or “incompetent.” Gosh, isn’t it so fucking convenient that one of the most powerful words we had to describe exactly what people with more power do to people with less power has been manipulated and twisted into a nasty name. Isn’t it so fucking convenient that now we have to have been “strong” through our abuse (or our disability, or our systemic oppression, etc.), and always be “rising above” it or “recovering from” it, rather than being allowed to admit that it has hurt us and is still hurting us and that maybe we’re not sure what to do about that. We can’t simply be injured, and we’re not allowed to be truly helpless, because that’s “being a victim,” which apparently is now a moral position rather than a position which deserves kindness and empathy. If you’re “just being a victim,” apparently you retroactively deserve whatever the fuck happened to you in the first place.
It’s almost like language is manipulated by oppressors to make sure that marginalized people have no language with which to name the crimes that have been perpetrated against them! Well I’ll be damned!
When you are hurting, there will always be people who find a way to make it about themselves. If you break your wrist, they’ll complain about a sprained ankle. If you are sad, they’re sadder. If you’re asking for help, they’ll demand more attention.
Here is a fact: I was in a hospital and sobbing into my palms when a woman approached me and asked why I was making so much noise and I managed to stutter that my best friend shot himself in the head and now he was 100% certified dead and she made this little grunt and had the nerve to tell me, “Well now you made me sad.”
When you get angry, there are going to be people who ask you to shut up and sit down, and they’re not going to do it nicely. Theirs are the faces that turn bright red before you have a chance to finish your sentence. They won’t ask you to explain yourself. They’ll be mad that you’re mad and that will be their whole reason alone.
Here is a fact: I was in an alleyway a few weeks ago, stroking my friend’s back as she vomited fourteen tequila shots. “I hate men,” she wheezed as her sides heaved, “I hate all of them.”
I braided her hair so it wouldn’t get caught in the mess. I didn’t correct her and reply that she does in fact love her father and her little brother too, that there are strangers she has yet to meet that will be better for her than any of her shitty ex-boyfriends, that half of our group of friends identifies as male - I could hear each of her bruises in those words and I didn’t ask her to soften the blow when she was trying to buff them out of her skin. She doesn’t hate all men. She never did.
She had the misfortune to be overheard by a drunk guy in an ill-fitting suit, a boy trying to look like a man and leering down my dress as he stormed towards us. “Fuck you, lady,” he said, “Fuck you. Not all men are evil, you know.”
“Thanks,” I told him dryly, pulling on her hand, trying to get her inside again, “See you.”
He followed us. Wouldn’t stop shouting. How dare she get mad. How dare she was hurting. “It’s hard for me too!” he yowled after us. “With fuckers like you, how’s a guy supposed to live?”
Here’s a fact: my father is Cuban and my genes repeat his. Once one of my teachers looked at my heritage and said, “Your skin doesn’t look dirty enough to be a Mexican.”
When my cheeks grew pink and my tongue dried up, someone else in the classroom stood up. “You can’t say that,” he said, “That’s fucking racist. We could report you for that.”
Our teacher turned vicious. “You wanna fail this class? Go ahead. Report me. I was joking. It’s my word against yours. I hate kids like you. You think you’ve got all the power - you don’t. I do.”
Later that kid and I became close friends and we skipped class to do anything else and the two of us were lying on our backs staring up at the sky and as we talked about that moment, he sighed, “I hate white people.” His girlfriend is white and so is his mom. I reached out until my fingers were resting in the warmth of his palm.
He spoke up each time our teacher said something shitty. He failed the class. I stayed silent. I got the A but I wish that I didn’t.
Here is a fact: I think gender is a difficult and personal topic and people that want to tell others what defines it just haven’t done their homework. I personally happen to have the luck of the draw and identify as female in a female body, which basically just means society leaves me alone about this one particular thing.
Until I met Alex, who said he hated cis people. My throat closed up. I’m not good at confrontation. I avoided him because I didn’t want to bother him.
One day I was going on a walk and I found him behind our school, bleeding out of the side of his mouth. The only thing I really know is how to patch people up. He winced when the antibacterial cream went across his new wounds. “I hate cis people,” he said weakly.
I looked at him and pushed his hair back from his head. “I understand why you do.”
Here is a fact: anger is a secondary emotion. Anger is how people stop themselves from hurting. Anger is how people stop themselves by empathizing.
It is easy for the drunken man to be mad at my friend. If he says “Hey, fuck you, lady,” he doesn’t have to worry about what’s so wrong about men.
It’s easy for my teacher to fail the kids who speak up. If we’re just smart-ass students, it’s not his fault we fuck up.
It’s easy for me to hate Alex for labeling me as dangerous when I’ve never hurt someone a day in my life. But I’m safe in my skin and his life is at risk just by going to the bathroom. I understand why he says things like that. I finally do.
There’s a difference between the spread of hatred and the frustration of people who are hurting. The thing is, when you are broken, there will always be someone who says “I’m worse, stop talking.” There will always be people who are mad you’re trying to steal the attention. There will always be people who get mad at the same time as you do - they hate being challenged. It changes the rules.
I say I hate all Mondays but my sister was born on one and she’s the greatest joy I have ever known. I say I hate brown but it’s really just the word and how it turns your mouth down - the colour is my hair and my eyes and my favorite sweater. I say I hate pineapple but I still try it again every Easter, just to see if it stings less this year. It’s okay to be sad when you hear someone generalize a group you’re in. But instead of assuming they’re evil and filled with hatred, maybe ask them why they think that way - who knows, you might just end up with a new and kind friend.
”—By telling the oppressed that their anger is unjustified, you allow the oppression to continue. I know it’s hard to stay calm. I know it’s scary. But you’re coming from the safe place and they aren’t. Just please … Try to be more understanding. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)
describing eye colors isn’t actually v helpful as a description??? talk about the makeup smeared on the left side, the lines under their eyes, the sloppily cut hair obscuring their eyes from view, how bloodshot or sunken they seem in the face, how wide they go at the slightest sound, how glassy and unblinking they seem, how they’re always darting away
all of that tells me a bit more about the character than whatever shade of gemstone they most resemble, seriously
"…So it’s all come back round to breaking apart again Breaking apart like I’m made up of glass again Making it up behind my back again Holding my breath for the fear of sleep again Holding it up behind my head again Cut in deep to the heart of the bone again Round and round and round And it’s coming apart again Over and over and over
Now that I know that I’m breaking to pieces I’ll pull out my heart And I’ll feed it to anyone Crying for sympathy Crocodiles cry for the love of the crowd And the three cheers from everyone Dropping through sky Through the glass of the roof Through the roof of your mouth Through the mouth of your eye Through the eye of the needle It’s easier for me to get closer to heaven Than ever feel whole again…”
Okay so the post before this is about the supermarket. I read this as two grown ass business men fighting over a box of oat meal in the middle of the lane. And now imagine thinking a goth person coming in and breaking up that shit. Then I saw the tags. Send help. It hurts….
You should see them shove each other to compete for who gets to stick their nose in my deathhawk, too. RATS.