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just some of the the changes in design for the Penguin Symbol on old Penguin Paperbacks 

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What "abolish the police" doesn't mean:

Privatize the police.

Give the police less money.

Rename the police.

Shrink the police.

Diversify the police.

Give the federal government control of the police.

Repaint the police cars.

Get rid of police unions.

Maybe take tanks away from the police?

Fire police and then hire some again.

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pop me in the kiln to bake so sweetly im your air bubble clay freak

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A school of fish following a duck

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I just want to make music and write it all to make it my legacy instead of my detriment.

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earlier my friend said to me “somewhere out there, in an alternate universe, there’s an all female rock band called ‘king’” and I’m STILL recovering from that mental image and how gay it made me feel

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"we were born alone & we die alone" you delivered yourself during birth? built all the roofs that have ever given you shelter? sown the wheat in your bread?? weaved the clothes on your back??? wrote all the books youve ever read and the music youve ever listened to????? who made the literal bed youre going to die in - you, all alone?

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i personally think its pretty crazy that karl marx actually knew what was gonna happen to us back in 1850 like this guy comes out of nowhere at what the fuck o'clock and goes, capitalism is going to creep into every single crevice of your lives there will be nothing left and all creativity and integrity will be taken away like. he just said that    and it was correct

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The last time I left my house was 17 days ago and on that day I walked past a man who was sitting in his car with the windows open and as I walked past, someone on his radio said “now sports! sports is, there are no sports”

That was the last day of Massachusetts

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a list of things i’ve never done or seen/experienced:

never watched bambi

never played minecraft

never seen dumbo either

barely played any videogames at all now that i think about it

never read that one book about the tree that gives the boy all of this apples and branches and shit

never seen or read arthor, like the bear and his family but it looks fucking weird as hell

growing up i never watched mary poppins which seems to flabbergast a lot of people. i first watched it when i was like 13? 12 maybe? wish i grew up with that sort of shit

what the fuck are the berenstain bears?????

why is it that so many people have such similar childhoods and i’m over here growing up with shakespeare and edgar allan poe as bedtime stories. the first movie i can ever remember watching is Wolverine for fucks sake

i can hardly even remember the names of common fairytales. i know cinderella where the doves peck out her stepsisters’ eyes and they have to cut off their heels and toes to fit into the slipper but i’m told that isn’t the story most people know? actually i’ve been told that nearly all of the fairytales i know are the demented/original versions

what the fuck is icarly

what the fuck is good luck charlie

why the fuck is my upbringing so fucking different?

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went to an lgbt women’s group last night and at the end we were stacking up chairs and there was a particularly large/heavy stack that needed to be added to the ones at the back and this girl was struggling to lift it so she asked someone to do it and I volunteered. and when I lifted it with relative ease there were no fewer than 4 gay women around me noticeably looking at my arms 

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Actually life is beautiful because the sound I make while trying to breathe around hot food sounds like my dog trying to eat an apple. When I yawn my cat tries to put his face in my mouth like a little dentist man and when he yawns I put my finger in his obligate-carnivore trapzone and we both know he will not hurt me. When I do not fold my clothes, they do not hold it against me.

I am demonstrably sad, and lonely, and full of fear. But there are other people who will hold my hand, who will point out the hawk overhead, who will give you That Look in a public place. The other day at a coffee shop a child said "look! It's snowing!" so all of us strangers went to go look out the windows. It wasn't the first snow and it won't be the last but wasn't it lovely, like that?

How wonderful to live in a world where birds and frogs both say beep! How wonderful to have an ocean of beautiful sharks with their dinosaur teeth! How wonderful the moon and her changing face, how wonderful the bees and their dancing to communicate, how wonderful shrimp and their forbidden layers of vision! How wonderful, you, and what you will give the world! The way we love things enough to spend entire blogs devoted to them? How people will let me explain my Pokemon team to them? How we will both jump at the scare in the movie, how we laugh so loudly, how it feels to give someone your baking? How wonderful to be alive. I am sorry for forgetting.

This is the process of getting better. With wonderful people and wonderful strangers and wonderful friends: I am getting better, slowly. Thank you, whoever you are. In some way, you've been wonderful, and left a wonderful place in the world to ripple out to me. In some small way - isn't it beautiful - I promise, you've been helping.

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The most aggravating thing about the radfem anti-makeup discourse, on a personal level?  That whole “don’t buy in to patriarchal beauty standards, resist conforming at all costs” attitude was almost identical to my mom’s reasoning behind not allowing me to do the fun shiny stuff I wanted to do. She thought she was “protecting” me from getting brainwashed into thinking that I had to be pretty to be worthwhile, but what ended up happening in reality was that I learned that I don’t deserve to own things that make me happy because they’re “wasteful”, and that I should be afraid of attracting ANY attention whatsoever, because all things bright, gaudy, attention-grabbing… I couldn’t have them, because drawing attention meant drawing negative judgment, in my mother’s social-anxiety-warped mind, and anything that went even a little bit beyond the bare minimum to serve functionally while avoiding looking so ugly as to be attention-drawingly so, was “wasteful”. And yes, I had experiences of growing up poor, but the real poverty hit when I was in high school, when my dad left and my mom lost her job within the same year. I’m talking here about stuff that was a well-established dynamic even when we were comfortably middle-class (my private-elementary-school life) and there was room in the budget for things like a burgundy leather four-piece living room set, a new car (not new-used, I mean an actual new car that no one else had ever owned) and occasional weeklong vacations to the coast. When my parents got me a kiddie passport because they genuinely anticipated being able to take an international family vacation soon enough for that to seem like a practical thing to get out of the way ahead of time.  Even for special occasions, where it would have been entirely socially appropriate for a kid to wear a glittery dress, I learned fast to always include an option in my clothing picks on the shopping trip that my mom would actually have a chance of approving, lest I be forced to wear something I hated. My opinions were taken into account JUST enough to give the illusion that I was truly being permitted choice. Just enough that most of the time, I could look in the mirror and not completely hate the reflection of someone else’s dress-up doll.  And contrary to maybe most AFAB folks’ experiences with similar dynamics of being forced to wear stuff that doesn’t really suit their personality… I wasn’t being forced into hyper-femininity. I was being pushed AWAY from it. Sure, there were Events where I was expected to wear a dress – no hardship for me, I liked dresses just fine, I still do. But I wasn’t allowed makeup until I needed it for stage performance reasons (at which point I got to own one eyeliner, one blush, one mascara, and one eyeshadow quad. I still wasn’t allowed black mascara or eyeliner, just browns, because something something my mom’s assumptions about how complexions work and me being a brunette… YES I know that’s not ideal stage makeup don’t @ me, my mom wouldn’t fucking listen). I wasn’t allowed much in the way of jewelry – I had a few small, subdued necklace pendants, but I wasn’t even allowed to get my ears pierced until middle school, and my earring options were heavily restricted afterward. I wasn’t allowed to shave my legs, I was only permitted clear nail polish. I wasn’t allowed to wear heels for the most part – my first pair was half-inch high, plain cream-colored maryjanes, and I had to practically grovel to be allowed to get those. I wasn’t even allowed haircuts besides various lengths of straight-across-the-back and an option of fringe or no fringe.  Even as an adult my mom tries to bully me into conforming to her boring aesthetic sensibilities. She’ll say whatever she thinks I’ll find shaming enough to stop doing the thing she said it about. She’ll mock my “grand rebellion” in one breath and then tell me I “look just like everyone else” in the next. She’ll tell me I look like a trashy teenager and then turn around and tell me I look old.  Stop assuming that everyone grew up with the same pressures toward hyperfemininity that you personally experienced. Y’all sound like my mother with the assumption that I must only want any of the trappings of femininity because I’ve been brainwashed into it (despite that I also wasn’t allowed to watch tv that my parents hadn’t first watched and given approval for, or read magazines besides NatGeo and Readers’ Digest for the vast majority of my childhood), and y’all can fuck right off with that. My mom did her damnedest to brainwash me to NOT like makeup, nail polish, glitter, and Being Fancy. She failed overall, though she did succeed in leaving me with an internal flinch reaction every time someone Notices My Aesthetic, because her Notice meant a berating, and she impressed upon me that I can’t even trust a compliment from a stranger, because she insisted that if I had gotten any compliments at all on an outfit SHE didn’t like, that the compliments must entirely have been fabricated out of an attempt to “sabotage” me. But y’know what? I know how to hear the little inner voice that tells me what I like for myself, what actually makes me happy, and I’m not about to let trauma responses and brainwashing attempts keep me from doing the things that make that little voice SING.

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FUCK holding hands for romantic purposes. hold my hand while walking on an icy sidewalk so if one of us slips we both eat shit

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https://www.instagram.com/p/BmdoKm1gKc7