colorfuloddity:

firemen:

firemen:

British people are just now becoming scene and it’s so funny

image

I’m never getting over how Britain is consistently 5-10 years behind the US in fashion trends like remember 2007 shows featuring bell bottom jeans and crop tops and 90s hair

remember Rose Tyler

I’m so confused by this - scene stuff has been around in the UK since I was like 14 - ie: like, 2006? No one over here thinks scene kids are a new thing, they’re like mid-noughties throwbacks. 

And for people suggesting that style reaches us later because it originates in poorer urban neighbourhoors (ie: in US cities) and then filters outwards so obviously we get it last - you do know there are ‘poor urban neighbourhoods’ in the UK right? I know all the culture that gets exported shows stupid Downton Abbey style stuff (because that’s the sort of UK culture that is marketable in the US) but we’re not all upper middle class suburbanites. London and other UK cities are centres of style and music including streetwear, punk and anything else. 

Fenario

oldsampeabody:

Richard ShindellFenario

Brave my love, but false the King
False his wars, and false his dawn
Damn the gray that gains the sky
Damn the sun, the King’s cold eye

Darkness, darkness bind him to me
Hide him in your velvet cloak
Come the dawn he’ll rise and go
A-marching to Fenario

Simulation is different than a simple representation. A representation is our way of communicating and abstracting a “real” entity. So, our word “pumpkin,” or an image of one, represent the real thing that is a pumpkin. Simulation, on the other hand, is the negation of the “real” pumpkin. A simulacrum doesn’t cash in it’s value for the real thing, it only seeks to be exchanged with other simulacra and itself. It’s where semiotics meets capitalist commodity fetishism.

Understanding Jean Baudrillard With Pumpkin Spice Lattes (via flavorpill)

Yes, Clarissa thinks, it’s time for the day to be over. We throw our parties; we abandon our families to live alone in Canada; we struggle to write books that do not change the world, despite our gifts and our unstinting efforts, our most extravagant hopes. we live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep - it’s as simple and as ordinary as that. A few jump out of windows or drown themselves or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us, that vast majority, are slowly devoured by some disease or, if we’re very fortunate, by time itself. There’s just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seen, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we’ve ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more.

Heaven only knows why we love it so.

The Hours, Michael Cunningham, pp. 225-226.

We were lied to. The women of my generation were told that we could ‘have it all’, as long as ‘it all’ was marriage, babies and a career in finance, a cupboard full of beautiful shoes and terminal exhaustion – and even that is only an option if we’re rich, white, straight and well behaved. These perfect lives would necessarily rely on an army of nannies and care-workers, and nobody has yet bothered to ask whether they can have it all.

We can have everything we want as long as what we want is a life spent searching for exhausting work that doesn’t pay enough, shopping for things we don’t need and sticking to a set of social and sexual rules that turn out, once you plough through the layers of trash and adverts, to be as rigid as ever.

As for young men, they were told they lived in a brave new world of economic and sexual opportunity, and if they felt angry or afraid, if they felt constrained or bewildered by contradictory expectations, by the pressure to act masculine, make money, demonstrate dominance and fuck a lot of pretty women while remaining a decent human being, then their distress was the fault of women and minorities. It was these grasping women, these homosexuals and people of colour who had taken away the power and satisfaction that was once their birthright as men. We were taught, all of us, that if we were dissatisfied, it was our fault, or the fault of those closest to us. We were built wrong, somehow. We had failed to adjust. If we showed any sort of distress, we probably needed to be medicated or incarcerated, depending on our social status. There are supposed to be no structural problems, just individual maladaption.

Mainstream feminism is tepid and cowardly: Work, sex, race, “having it all” and true liberation - Salon.com (via becauseiamawoman)