This is the underside of my world.

Of course you don’t want me to be stupid, bless you! you only want to make sure you’re intelligent. You don’t want me to commit suicide; you only want me to be gratefully aware of my dependency. You don’t want me to despise myself; you only want the flattering deference to you that you consider a spontaneous tribute to your natural qualities. You don’t want me to lose my soul; you only want what everybody wants, things to go your way; you want a devoted helpmeet, a self-sacrificing mother, a hot chick, a darling daughter, women to look at, women to laugh at, women to come for comfort, women to wash your floors and buy your groceries and cook your food and keep your children out of your hair, to work when you need the money and stay home when you don’t, women to be enemies when you want a good fight, women who are sexy when you want a good lay, women who don’t complain, women who don’t nag or push, women who don’t hate you really, women who know their job and above all—women who lose. On top of it all, you sincerely require me to be happy; you are naively puzzled that I should be wretched and so full of venom in this the best of all possible worlds. Whatever can be the matter with me? But the mode is more than a little outworn.

As my mother once said: the boys throw stones at the frogs in jest.

But the frogs die in earnest.

Joanna RussThe Female Man (via yourdailyfeminism)

JOANNA ♥ ♥ ♥

(Most of the longass Russ quotes on goodreads.com are probably mine, heh.)
Cite Arrow reblogged from mswyrr
theparisreview:

“I do own a pair of unusual books that I treasure … they are collections of poems, written by Howard Moss, poetry editor of The New Yorker from 1948 to 1987. They originally belonged to the poet May Swenson (1913-1989), who has been a favorite of mine since I stumbled on her “Half Sun, Half Sleep” in high school … Each is heavily underlined, in both pencil and ink—an emphatic, and ugly, green ink, seemingly more suited for some censorious schoolmistress than for Swenson, a nicely calibrated nature poet. Still, I take great pleasure in her scarring underscorings and in her occasional approving check mark or cryptic annotation.”
For more of this morning’s roundup, click here.

'an emphatic, and ugly, green ink, seemingly more suited for some censorious schoolmistress'
YOU ARE FUCKING JOKING ME
Sexism in action: even your fucking ink is against you, women! Christ almighty.

theparisreview:

“I do own a pair of unusual books that I treasure … they are collections of poems, written by Howard Moss, poetry editor of The New Yorker from 1948 to 1987. They originally belonged to the poet May Swenson (1913-1989), who has been a favorite of mine since I stumbled on her “Half Sun, Half Sleep” in high school … Each is heavily underlined, in both pencil and ink—an emphatic, and ugly, green ink, seemingly more suited for some censorious schoolmistress than for Swenson, a nicely calibrated nature poet. Still, I take great pleasure in her scarring underscorings and in her occasional approving check mark or cryptic annotation.”

For more of this morning’s roundup, click here.

'an emphatic, and ugly, green ink, seemingly more suited for some censorious schoolmistress'

YOU ARE FUCKING JOKING ME

Sexism in action: even your fucking ink is against you, women! Christ almighty.

Cite Arrow reblogged from theparisreview

ironedorchid:

psychokandi:

Joan Jett’s jacket. Notice the pins.

"keep abortion legal"

"If she says no, it’s rape"

"Pro fucking choice"

This jacket is from about thirty years ago. These issues were big then. Thirty years later, these issues are still present. I was amazed to find these pins on the jacket, and realize this, because I would have thought, back then, if I was alive, that those issues would be solved by NOW.

But they aren’t. Joan Jett knew what was up.

Why can’t we take a minute and soak in her “bad reputation” and think about how in thirty years, abortion and rape culture STILL are huge issues.

Photos courtesy of EMP museum in Seattle, Washington.

I was alive back then (although young) and we did think a lot of this stuff would be fixed by now, but with every year that passed we saw the rise of the religious right, and we saw the same old ground contested again and again, and we also saw young women* writing articles about how they didn’t need feminism or that equality had already been achieved.

And over the years some of these women (and some men) had experiences that made them think “hey, this doesn’t seem like equality to me,” and we tried not to say “we told you so”.

And I don’t know if anyone had a jacket with pins on it, but I know in the 60s and 70s women were fighting for reproductive rights and to have their bodily autonomy recognized by both the state and by socual norms. I mean, Roe vs. Wade was in 1973 and in other countries there were similar laws being passed (in Australia it varied from state to state).


* just to be perfectly clear, I’m talking about my own generation. I turned 20 in 1992.

I am sure I reblogged this before but I do not care. Hell yes.

(Source: slow-down-grab-the-salt)

Cite Arrow reblogged from ironedorchid
vintageanchorbooks:

The Daily Routines of Famous Creatives

Hey, let’s do a VIDA count!

Two women. Two.

That really is awful, Vintage. (Also did you have to say “MARY Flannery O’Connor”? That’s not the name she chose to publish under.)

vintageanchorbooks:

The Daily Routines of Famous Creatives

Hey, let’s do a VIDA count!

Two women. Two.

That really is awful, Vintage. (Also did you have to say “MARY Flannery O’Connor”? That’s not the name she chose to publish under.)

Cite Arrow reblogged from vintageanchorbooks

Once, Jack Crawford called up a trainee barely old enough to rent a car, and asked her to interview the most notorious serial killer currently living, in order to catch one that was, for the moment, slightly less notorious. He knew he was making her a sacrificial animal; the second he saw her, Hannibal Lecter knew it, too—the hidden language of powerful men who understand each other. Hannibal was offended to have been sent a student; he had been prepared to crack whoever Crawford sent him until they broke, and felt he’d been robbed of an honorable victory by being given someone so green and so doomed to failure.

But she was Clarice Starling, and she won.

- G.L. Valentine

This is 1000% the beautiful brilliant response I wanted when people kept telling me “But you don’t understand, it doesn’t matter that they can’t have Clarice! There’s all these other women on the show!”

(via theredshoes)

This took off! Wow!

Cite Arrow reblogged from theredshoes

Have you ever had a guy come up to you — on the street, in a bar, whatever — and just straight-up say, “hey, I wanna talk to you?” Happens all the time, right? Happens to women, all the time. But have you ever just straight-up said, “no?” Not “no, I have a boyfriend,” or “no, I’m busy,” or “no, I have to race to save the city from the Joker’s diabolical machinations, for I am the Batman,” or any other excuse: Just the word “no,” by itself?

Yeah. So you know what happens next, after you say “no.” The guy always keeps talking. He tries wheedling, or begging, sometimes. But if you say “no” firmly enough, or often enough that he gets the point, the dude just starts yelling. He tells you that you’re not that hot. He tells you what a bitch you are. (“You bitch, I have a Rolls Royce,” was my favorite of these.) Sometimes he follows you down the street, yelling at you; sometimes, he follows you in his car. These dudes are always so fucking certain that they’re entitled to your time and attention that they will harass you until you give it, or at least until you’re scared and sorry for not giving it. You do not have the right not to interact, as far as these guys are concerned.

Tiger Beatdown › CHRONICLES OF MANSPLAINING: Professor Feminism and the Deleted Comments of Doom

Yeah. That.

(via theredshoes)

Going back through my archives I FINALLY found this — I think it’s my most-reblogged post, altho my Tumblr is so huge those little ‘your most popular posts!’ programs just either hang, or take forever so I just kill them off. What I loved most about this is how it turned into a hollaback session all on its own as hundred and hundreds of women reblogged it, adding their own experiences. That was humbling and amazing. I’m really glad I discovered it again. (God, Tumblr is the WORST at actually archiving posts. sigh.)

Cite Arrow reblogged from theredshoes