i liked this movie a lot

may god grant us a pope who knows what it is to exist between the world’s certainties

I’m into their dynamic because one of them NEVER EVER EVER has sex and the other has ALL OF THE SEX every day

I passed out and when I woke up I had Jiglup on my drawing tablet

Barnard Bulletin, New York, December 20, 1935

Glad to know that the people in 1935 were EXACTLY the same as we are lol

Every time I see this I lose my mind over the idea of being super behind in tiddle de winks and ping pong and in dire need of catching up

Same, D.H. Same…

The complete list

giving birth sucks tbh. not only do you and the baby you’re birthing almost die, usually you shit yourself and often you tear your taint. then you have to push an organ out of your body (placenta) and if even a little of that remains in your body, you can hemorrhage to death or develop an infection that essentially rots your body from the inside out. even if you had a relatively “easy birth”, you bleed for weeks on end. even after that stops, your body and brain is changed for the rest of your life, the pregnancy leeched minerals from your bones, that can cause osteoporosis later. minor urinary incontinence is not uncommon, brain scans of people who gave birth show permanent changes in their brain, you’re never quite the same.

I say all of this not to say giving birth is disgusting but it is a harrowing and visceral experience. society downplays how fucking awful it is and makes it out to be a ~magical~ experience but it isn’t a magical transformative experience for everyone. it can be an extremely traumatic experience for someone who wanted to carry a pregnancy to term, much more so for someone who did not want to be pregnant in the first place or someone who knows their baby won’t survive the birth. anyway, abortion is a right. pregnancy and birth aren’t just inconvenient, it’s fucking awful.

How is it that in this entire post you didn’t say the word “woman” once? Only one sex gives birth. Only women have these experiences, only women are at risk for everything mentioned here, women are the only people this applies to. Erasing the word enables the problem.

I’m an evil trans man with a big fat pussy and it’s my life’s purpose to erase women by using inclusive language. Everyone I make a post a random woman disappears off the planet. Clean vanishes. They’re renaming all maternity wards labor & delivery wards because of me. The word breastfeeding no longer exists in the dictionary. It’s all chestfeeding now. Many world powers are trying to stop me. They can’t. They’re too slow. I’m always two steps ahead.

i love writing porn and i wont feel bad about it. understanding the eroticism of a character is character analysis if u are enlightened.

i love you porn i love you smut i love you intricacies of human sexuality i love erotica i love you freak nasty walls of texts i love you analyzing the subconscious through the lens of sexuality i love you bdsm i love you weird fetishes . u move me

This is a comment someone appended to a photo of two men apparently having sex in a very fancy room, but it’s also kind of an amazing two-line poem? “His Wife has filled his house with chintz” is a really elegant and beautiful counterbalancing of h, f, and s sounds, and “chintz” is a perfect word choice here—sonically pleasing and good at evoking nouveau riche tackiness. And then “to keep it real I fuck him on the floor” collapses that whole mood with short percussive sounds—but it’s still a perfect iambic pentameter line, robust and a lovely obscene contrast with the chintz in the first line. Well done, tumblr user jjbang8

I hate that my aesthetic sense agrees with this but everything you just said was correct

I went back to dig up this post because I was thinking about poetry.

This is one of those non-poem things that are among my favorite poems.

As the OP stated, the use of alliterative consonants is aesthetically just great, especially the placement of the strongest use at the end: “fuck him on the floor.” The use of “chintz” is indeed great word choice.

Because I’m insane, decided to scan the poem:

Not only is the second sentence, indeed, perfect iambic pentameter, the entire poem is perfectly metered, though the first sentence has four iambs rather than five.

There are further things I love about this poem, though: I like the casual connotations of “keep it real” juxtaposed with “chintz.” It causes me to interpret the “chintz” more strongly as meaning something fake, a facade. There is also of course the coarseness of “fuck,” which is a contrast with “chintz” but a different kind of contrast, gutsy and carnal where “chintz” is flimsy and inanimate.

And then there is the storytelling: there is SO MUCH storytelling in just these two lines. To break it down: The speaker is having sex with a married man, in the house he shares with his wife, which is “filled with chintz”—something that here connotes fakeness, in contrast with “keep it real.”

The illicit encounter in the poem takes place within a house filled with facade, the flimsy construction of the wife’s marriage and domestic sphere, but the encounter itself is a taste of something “real.” That’s a story, and it’s just two lines.

This is EIGHTEEN SYLLABLES, y’all. The amount of meaning condensed into these eighteen syllables is stunning, and it is so elegantly done.

From a technical standpoint (and ive taken 300- and 400-level poetry classes so I can say this) this is damn near flawless as a poem.

Kept thinking about this ever since I saw it and had to do something

there's art now

Ah dang to go further; the floor is framed as a refuge. As if there is literally no other space in this house that hasn't been populated by his wife with flimsy inanimate fakery. There is no space for this man in this house save for the floor. There is no space for him on the sofa, oon the counter tops, and most notably, no space for him in the marital bed.

I’d also like to point out the use of the word “has.” The wife has filled the house with chintz. She isn’t filling the house with chintz. She doesn’t fill the house with chintz. She has filled the house with chintz. Use of the past-tense makes the wife a subtly removed element in the story, someone whose presence we see in the environment, but who is blissfully distant during the actors throes of passion. There is an element of physical as well as emotional separation from the wife that is catalyzed by being fucked on the floor. Use of the past tense is an end to the wife presence in the actors life, a carnal catharsis amid cold fragility and emotional distance.

This is my new favourite post in the world

everyone cheer for the one (1) time tumblr had reading comprehension

Then there's nothing I can say, is there?

Yes, George, there is: You could tell me not to GOOOOOOOO!!

No one is you and

No one can be,

But no one is ME, George,

NO ONE IS MEEEEEE!

ok, little rant about a use of a leitmotif in les mis that i think has slipped under most people's radars!

so you the know the police leitmotif? the "tell me quickly what's the story/who saw what and why and where/let him give a full description/let him answer to javert!" tune that appears whenever somebody gets arrested?

now turn your ear to javert's suicide, specifically the "i am reaching but i fall/and the stars are black and cold" part. it took me a while to notice, but this whole section of the song is just a snippet of the arrest leitmotif:

but he never completes it. the snippet repeats and repeats. try as he might, he finds himself unable to sing the same old song of Justice and Law and Righteousness and Order. he's like a jammed cassette player spitting out the same second of music over and over and over and over again, unable to follow his old ways, but unable to let them go. he's stuck, but he will keep throwing himself against the walls of the cage.

javert is desperately trying to run on his old tracks of thought, but, as vicky h puts it, he experiences "the derailment of a soul, the shattering of an integrity irresistibly propelled in a straight line and dashed against God".

: )

like a dog called to heel

the metaphor of overpowering duty and guilt. AU where Javert survived the Seine and decided to turn Valjean in. I’m sorry

Querelle fanart

end of summer