Margaret Atwood: Femininity Is A Performance Art Course You Will Never Graduate From And Man Is Your

actually i love growing older and learning how i work as a person like realizing what kinds of fabrics feel best on my skin or what brand of yogurt i like best or how I want to be touched. watching myself change, enjoying brussel sprouts when I used to hate them as a child, understanding why I got angry in that one conversation 10 years ago… there are so many mysteries inside me that i have yet to unravel and there will always be more and sometimes i think maybe its all worth it

the bisexual energy jumped out

no offense but i do not have time for ppl that have no emotional depth and don’t even attempt to understand themselves or others

There is no audience to perform for. No audience. You are alone, no one is seeing you. Repeat it, repeat it, repeat it and understand it. Let it sink into your mind.

A little message for my maladaptive daydreamers out there, who have a problem with their paras always knocking on the door. For the ones who always feel like someone is watching, even if you know they're not real. For the ones who are just exhausted from always being in someone's company... even if you're actually not.

You are alone. No one is there. You can let go now.

there is no audience to perform for, there is no approval, no admiration to attain. there is no role worth playing, there is no one to convince. let it go

Czech

Cas: „Vždy jsem přemýšlel, od toho, co jsem na sebe vzal to břemeno, tu kletbu, přemýšlel jsem, co by to mohlo být, jak… jak by mé pravé štěstí mohlo vůbec vypadat. Nikdy jsem nenašel odpověď. Protože ta jediná věc, kterou chci… je věc, o níž vím, že ji nikdy nemohu mít. Ale myslím, že vím… myslím, že teď už vím. Štěstí se nenachází ve vlastnění. Je v bytí a ve vyřčení věcí.“

Dean: „O čem to mluvíš?“

Cas: „Já vím, já vím, jak vidíš sám sebe, Deane. Vidíš se stejně, jako tě vidí naši nepřátelé. Jsi destruktivní a jsi zlostný a jsi zlomený. Jsi… jsi ‚tátův ztupený nástroj.‘ A myslíš si, že nenávist a hněv je to… že to tě pohání. Že to jsi ty. Ale nejsi. A každý, kdo tě zná, to vidí. Všechno, co jsi udělal, to dobré i to špatné, jsi udělal z lásky. Vychoval jsi svého malého bratra z lásky. Bojoval jsi za celý tento svět z lásky. Takový jsi. Jsi ten nejstarostlivější muž na Zemi. Jsi ten nejobětavější, nejvíce milující člověk, kterého kdy poznám. Víš, od té chvíle, kdy jsme se potkali, kdy jsem tě vytáhnul z Pekla, jsi mě změnil. Protože ses staral, staral jsem se taky. Záleželo mi na tobě. Záleželo mi na Samovi. Záleželo mi na Jackovi. Záleželo mi na celém světě, jen kvůli tobě. Změnil jsi mě, Deane.“

Dean: „Proč mi to zní jako loučení?“

Cas: „Protože je. Miluju tě.“

Dean: „Nedělej to, Casi… Casi.“

Cas: „Sbohem, Deane.“

I invite to all my friends to reblog Castiel's beautiful declaration of love and translate it into your languages. Because is a gift for our fandom. I will start it now.

English:

Cas: “I always wondered, ever since I took that that burden, that curse, I wondered what it could be, what...what my true happiness could even look like. I never found an answer. Because the one thing I want...it's something I know I can't have. But I think i know...I think I know now. Happiness isn't in the having. It's in just being. It's in just saying it.”

Dean: “What are you talking about, man?”

Cas: “I know. I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive and you're angry and you're broken. You're...you're 'Daddy's Blunt Instrument.' And you think hate and anger, that's...that's what drives you. That's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love.You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. You know, ever since we met and ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam. I cared about Jack. I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean.”

Dean: “Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

Cas: “Because it is. I love you.”

Dean: “Don't do this, Cas...Cas.”

Cas: “Goodbye, Dean.”

Spanish

Cas: “Siempre me pregunté, desde que tomé esa carga, esa maldición, me preguntaba qué podría ser, cómo ... cómo podría verse mi verdadera felicidad. Nunca encontré una respuesta. Porque lo único que quiero ... es algo que sé que no puedo tener. Pero creo que lo sé ... Creo que lo sé ahora. La felicidad no está en tener. Está solo en ser. Es simplemente decirlo ".

Dean: ¿Qué estás diciendo, amigo?

Cas: “Lo sé. Sé cómo te ves a ti mismo, Dean. Te ves a ti mismo de la misma manera que te ven nuestros enemigos. Eres destructivo y estás enojado y roto. Eres ... eres el 'Instrumento contundente de papá'. Y piensas en el odio y la ira, eso es ... eso es lo que te impulsa. Eso es lo que eres. No es. Y todo el que te conoce lo ve. Todo lo que has hecho, lo bueno y lo malo, lo has hecho por amor. Criaste a tu hermano pequeño por amor. Luchaste por todo este mundo por amor. Eso es lo que eres. Eres el hombre más cariñoso de la Tierra. Eres el ser humano más desinteresado y amoroso que jamás conoceré. Sabes, desde que nos conocimos y desde que te saqué del infierno, saber que me has cambiado. Porque a ti te importaba, a mí me importaba. Me preocupo por ti Me preocupaba Sam. Me preocupaba por Jack. Me preocupé por todo el mundo por ti. Me cambiaste, Dean ".

Dean: ¿Por qué suena esto como un adiós?

Cas: Porque lo es. Te amo.

Dean: No hagas esto, Cas… Cas…

Cas: Adiós Dean.

////

Types of People as Piratecore Things!

Leviathan: an ancient curse, unnaturally clear water, it goes down and down and is so very dark and you still can't see the bottom, shadows beneath the waves that are more unsettling when you stop seeing them, a pistol at your side, constant vigilance, knowing so much and so little, salt-sores, whispering, always a second away from a mutiny

Whale Song: leaning out over the bow, held up by your faith in your ship and in your own body, wind tangling your hair, broken harmonies falling like meteors from the ratlines, rough hands, knowing how to wash blood out of your clothes, screaming and yelling out to the endless expanse of blue just for the sake of it, running barefoot over the deck and pulling the splinters out one by one, poke and stick tattoos, your crew is your family and you live and die like blood and saltwater

Torn Sails: storms, thunder, toothy smiles and missing teeth, sharks, trusting your blade and nothing else, knowing how to fix broken things, a half-full bottle of rum, always drinking straight from the bottle, intricate tattoos, a story only you can read, maps sprawled beneath your hands, tearing and taking from the world with hungry eyes and sharp teeth

Gold: rich wine, tired eyes, rare smiles, crooked teeth, expressions you've never learned to school into a mask, never being satisfied, the glutted feeling of success, bloody hands, thick soled boots, superstitions, refusing to learn how to swim, strange foods from strange ports, the skeleton of a mermaid hanging in your quarters, piles of coins and artifacts, you've long ago forgotten to fear death

Treasure Map: adventure, lusting for the unknown, another land, another port, another mile from anybody and anything that could stop you, long gulps of alcohol, sleeping rarely, open eyes, you will touch every corner of this earth or you will burn it down trying, knowing every star in the sky by name, never needing or wanting a map, trusting your crew with you life, unwavering faith that the horizon is just another rule to be broken, crooked fingers from being broken and never set properly, scars on your shoulders and left leg, the sound of striking matches one after another

Bloodied Lip: give em hell, bloody smiles like the end of the world, the sound of cannonfire ringing in your ears, sore muscles, pouring alcohol on the cuts that score your body, half because you know what happens if you don't, half to feel the burning one more time, a grave bookmarked at the bottom of the sea, dull knives and false hopes, a shipwreck and laughter as your last words

Hopefully this will lift the heavy weight off someone's chest today.

reading vincent van goghs letters and he keeps repeating the same thing.. that i may be of use in the world. he repeats it over and over, in questions, in musings, in desperation. how can i be of use in the world? (the most precious question!) how can i be of use in the world? (how can anyone?) reminds me of that mary oliver quote: to pay attention, this is our endless and proper work. if i were any more insightful i could say something profound here, but i think if we keep focused attention on the question, we may find a way to be of some good. like rilke meant. by loving the questions themselves, we may one day stumble upon the answer.

the men in my life are all good men, or, at least, they are men who are not violent - and that is enough for a man to be considered good; that he could be violent but is not.

the men in my life are good men. recently at a hardware store one of the men in my life let me stand behind him, just a little, in that ghosting way that girls can learn. the disappearing technique we master of shadowing behind our Good Men. this was to protect me from a man who was not-being-good.

i fall down. one of the good men in my life offers me one arm like a knight, we are laughing while i clamber back onto my feet. i give the good men in my life piggy back rides because i like to show off how strong i am. i give the good men in my life run-at-them hugs. i let the good men in my life pick me up like i am a sack of grain; i get the good men in my life coffee, i make them sandwiches, i teach them dancing.

i am a man-hater, obviously. i am gay enough the insult is sort of funny. waiting for the bus, where there are men who are not-known-to-be-good, i google how to make a fist. i can never remember if the thumb goes on the outside or the inside, only that it is imperative that i do not fuck it up or i will break my thumb at the same time the man tries to break me. 

i walk my dog around the track only-at-dusk and-no-later. i made that mistake once, in august, hoping i could take a later run and maybe see the stars - i romanticized the idea of being able to skulk like a fox. the man that followed me across three lawns, two road-crossings, and back to my car - he spent the whole time whistling. the good men in my life say - oh, do you need me to come with you? and are actually asking - do you feel safe?

i fall down in a supermarket. a man i do not know grabs the inside of my knee. i do not know if the man is good, but i am supposed to give men the benefit of the doubt, so i laugh while standing. a man trying-to-be-in-my-life says what, no hug? and i have to decide if it worth it to just take off or put up with it. a man who-might-not-be-good stares at me while i walk by - i have to calculate if he’s just looking or if he’s watching. other men have badly hurt me, physically. the casual remark made is that those men are not real men. but they were real enough, to me.

there are many men who are mad at me. an entire reddit thread once was dedicated to how to dox me for feminist ranting - it was kind of funny, when it wasn’t downright scary. i have been stalked and harassed and treated horribly. they are all good men, in their own lives, you know. they are not violent, usually, unless provoked, and all it takes for a man to be good is for him to not be violent unless provoked, and i am, of course, always provoking.

a man in my life rolls his eyes. “i am sick of hearing this. we get it, all men are fucking evil. get over it.”

a man who-is-not-good shouts something unwritable at me. i have to tell the good man i am standing next to - it’s okay, this is nothing compared to what-could-be, this happens, it’s really not that big of a deal to me. 

“but it should be,” he says. “it should be.”

Honestly, it was worse than Game of Thrones. It really was. I can't believe this ending isn't just a some kind of a collective bad fever dream.

Let's check the prognostic made by the writers on the spn finale:

Like if you're part of the 30% that liked it

Reblog if you're part of the 70% that didn't like it

I'm curious to see the results.

“February is nearly always melancholy.”

— Anna de Noailles, tr. by Norman R. Sharpiro, from “Your Hidden Fleshly Grace,”