hyrude:

me: hmm… i wonder if the reason im doing this unhealthy thing… is because it’s at least something i know how to control… unlike that glaring problem in my life that i dont understand how to fix?

the microsoft paperclip that lives in my brain and thinks it has a phd because it took a semester of ap psych in high school: hi! it looks like you’re using language of introspection. are you trying to self-actualize?

me: i need to do it on my own this time, clippy

queeranarchism:

chicklette:

qlazzarusgooodbyehorses:

foxsgallery:

shinelikethunder:

can we please bring back “in poor taste” as a concept

Because at some point it got folded in under “problematic,” and now every damn thing that has Unfortunate Implications or deals with sensitive topics indelicately enough to raise hackles or gores somebody’s sacred cow is treated as a grave injustice or a threat to society. Online activism culture has lost the vocabulary to express “this deals with touchy stuff in a way many people might find inappropriate, and you should probably avoid it if insensitivity on this subject gets you angry/upset, but it’s not promoting hateful ideas or demeaning people or affecting anything but my opinion of the creator’s sense of tact.”

I think this really an important post.

We’ve fallen into such a rut of “everything is right or wrong, no inbetween” that stuff that’s merely in poor taste is conflated with things that are actually offensively malicious.

this is so well worded like i been trying to say this for awhile thank you

Damn. This is the thing.

I also kinda dislike that people started saying ‘problematic’ when they could be specific about what someone did wrong. It becomes this vague scary this that someone ‘said something problematic’ and you don’t know whether they passionately defended nazis or made a clumsy joke about retail workers. 

sherlock-overflow-error:

Tip: This Valentine’s Day, don’t be romantic. Be Romantic! Recite Lord Byron

on the edge of a barren cliff! Feel the gusts of the thunderstorm blow through your hair as you sob! Become a reclusive poet who trusts no one and is only seen at 2 am, wandering half-dressed through the streets and muttering in Old High German! Drown your lonely heart in laudanum and die at age 34 of tuberculosis, martyrdom in a small and ill-fated revolution, or wasting away from a disease that makes you look wan but poetic! Forget “forever alone”: You’ll always have your haunting past, your wasted ambitions, and the melancholy of a life unlived to keep you company!