today i got some columbian food in the back of a haunted mall how was everyone else’s day
ok i will tell the tale
so im taking this spanish class, spanish professor wanted us to go out to eat to practice. im all prepared, i punch in the address and drive 2 the place. turns out this place isnt really a restaurant so much as it is a small habitable zone at the back of a vast, empty mall
there was dead silence and darkness. 90% of the outlets were shut down and blocked off
it was 2 o’clock on a Saturday, but this mall was COMPLETELY barren. an air of powerful curses hung in the air. none of the escalators were working, i had to hike up one like stairs
of course once i got to the restaurant i had a nice time and some p good food and a guy with a saxophone serenaded us with covers of pop hits
my freinds, it was surreal
so my plans got really mixed up today and i decided to revisit the cursed mall while i was in the area! it seems things have gotten even stranger
for the most part, it is still the creepy empty mall it has always been. but this time even less stores were open, even the columbian restaurant was closed.
the food court, which was slightly open before, was utterly barren, and for some reason slightly sped-up mexican sounding music played over the completely empty venue
this was a particularly strange outlet, where instead of the remains of a store, there was a neatly set up classroom in the display window
feminism didn’t make me hate men but men kind of did
elaboration:
feminism didn’t teach me that men are out to get me. it didn’t persuade me mansplaining existed a là wormtongue or tell me to set fire to my bra. it said ‘hey, has this ever happened to you?’, and it had.
it said ‘this happens to most women, and it kind of sucks, right?’, and i agreed that it did
and it encouraged me to question and to think: to not assume i had to be quiet and subsurvient, to question why i had to shave and my male friends did not, to use my voice when i was uncomfortable or unhappy
and i was shocked to realise all the garbage around me, but excited to do what i could to change it
and then i started to talk to men about it
and i was told women are sluts and bitches, and that we have it better than men, and that fat women are always unloveable, and that feminism is a hate group, that because the 77 cents figure was disproved no wage gap could possibly exist, that affirmative action is unfair, that women are just not as smart or capable as men, that i should get back in the kitchen, that i was too sensitive, that hot women will always be reduced to their bodies and ugly women will always be mocked for theirs, that mansplaining didn’t exist (this was, of course, mansplained to me), that women just aren’t cut out for STEM, that women these days are uppity, that i was a whore if i had sex and a prude if i didn’t, that i deserved what was coming to me if i took nudes but could i send them some anyway?
i will always fight to protect and support men and their rights. i care deeply about male suicide rates, male addiction rates and the attitude that prevents men from getting help, paternity leave, racial discrimination against black men, toxic masculinity, domestic abuse against men not being taken seriously…
but goddamn, when i talk to men and have them consistently refuse to acknowledge my experiences are valid, when they laugh and ask if i’m on my period or tell me to ‘smile!’, when they brush me off as a SJW or get angry at me for being a ‘bitch’, it makes me want to say ‘you know what? fuck men. i give up.’
feminism taught me to value myself. nothing more, and nothing less. that’s not what’s making me bitter here.
The Alternative Limb Project was founded by prosthetic limb creator Sophie Oliveira Barata to provide prosthesis wearers with unique art pieces that reflect their personalities and individual aesthetics.
I had been raised to be ‘good,’ whatever that meant, and I was terrified of evil, cruelty, perversity, the dark side of human nature. At the same time I felt obliged to know it, as if somewhere in that frothy black murk was the embryo of my natural charisma, my latent, essential personal force.
I guess nobody remembered that I was on FictionPress, too.
So, hi. I’m the girl you all knew as Tara. My FF.net account really was hacked (twice!), once in 2006 and again in 2009. As of 2017, Support still doesn’t answer my requests to regain it, although I can’t say I blame them. They’re probably scared I’ll flood their site with poorly written sex scenes again.
I’m lucky the hackers never migrated to this account, considering it had the exact same login credentials. (They’ve since been changed, don’t worry.)
I’ll let the account’s creation date speak as to whether it’s legitimate or not.
Thank you all so, so much for keeping My Immortal alive over the years. You fill my heart with so much love. (Preppy moment, oops.)
That’s about all I have to say for now.
—
Because I’ve received several messages asking this, and predict I may receive more, I’ll answer it here. No, I am not Lani Sarem. Really bad fiction simply tends to read the same. No, I’m not on Facebook. Or Deviantart. Or MySpace. Or Youtube. (Etc.) I am on Tumblr. But I use my real name there, and it’s not Tara.
daisychainnihilism 