It’s not cool to send people anon messages trying to figure out where they live. It’s not cool to stalk people’s blogs over it either. It’s not cool trying to figure out if you know someone if they’ve asked you to leave them alone or come off anon. It’s particularly not cool if that blogger writes a lot about their sexual assault and things like that and you creeping could endanger them.
This is not about my blog, it’s about someone else’s. And she’s freaking out. And seriously, what you’re doing isn’t ethical at all.
The first one is an edited image from an article from 2004: 80 Thai Muslims suffocate after arrest at protest. It has nothing to do with Burmese soldiers but Thai soldiers, and it was not a deliberate massacre. Those people died because they were weak from lack of food combined with the suffocation caused of being held together in a tiny area.
The second image is of Buddhist monks cremating China’s earthquake victims from 2010. And Buddhist monks are very unlikely to kill people- any people- at all, because of their beliefs- spreading lies about them like this is a complete disrespect of what they believe in.
Not only are those images and others like them a disrespect of what the Burmese people suffer from, they are nothing but misinformation and lies that complicate matters further and thus only hurt people. It is true that the Burmese government enforces the persecution of Muslims in Burma, but not like this. Spreading lies does not help the cause.Misinformation is not helping.
If you’re so concerned about what’s happening in Burma, then actually educate yourself about the issue instead of spreading lies.
i m just gonna keep reblogging this until ppl understand not to circulate around fake pictures. it would mean a lot if my followers did the same but no one is obligated to.
This goes out to all the cis people who, it’s quite obvious, want to help and befriend trans people, but who keep alienating and angering us instead. I’ve seen the befuddled looks on your faces when this happens, and I thought I’d try to clear a few things up for you. Let’s look at some common scenarios in which well-meaning cis people screw up with the whole pro-trans thing, and look at how some of these could go differently:
Scenario: You see someone whose gender you can’t determine just by looking at them. You want to make sure that you’re respectful of their identity.
Wrong Way to Ask:“Are you a man or a woman?” Phrasing it this way will put the trans person on the defensive, and make them feel like you’re questioning and possibly even attacking their gender. It can also make them feel highly insecure about their gender presentation.
Right Way to Ask:“What pronouns do you prefer?” This phrasing makes it clear that you intend to respect the person’s gender identity, regardless of what they look like. It shows an acknowledgment that the onus of respect is on you, and not their presentation or “passability”.
Scenario: You have just made an insensitive joke about trans people in the presence of your trans friend. You didn’t mean to hurt them, and you weren’t even thinking about them when you made the joke, but now the relationship is strained and you want to try to repair it.
Wrong Thing to Say:“Come on; it was just a joke! Lighten up!” This tells your friend that you don’t take their pain seriously, and that you don’t think they should take it seriously either. It sends a message that trans lives and trans experiences matter less than your feelings of guilt and unease at being called out.
Right Thing to Say:“That was really thoughtless of me. I’ll try not to do it again.” Nine times out of ten, your friend will know you didn’t mean to hurt them. Most people don’t. But they need you to understand that you have hurt them. They need you to know this, not so you can stew in guilt, but so all involved can heal and move on.
Scenario: Your trans friend doesn’t “pass”. You think you can see what they’re doing wrong, and you want to help.
Wrong Thing to Do:List off all the things they’re doing “wrong”, and tell them how to fix them. Trans people’s self-esteem is rocky enough as it is. By focusing on all the ways in which they look different from cis people, you are not only causing anxiety and dysphoria for the trans person, but also reinforcing the idea that trans people are “lesser” or “fake”. Besides, your friend may not even see “passing” as a desirable goal, in which case you are getting up in their face for no reason at all.
Right Thing to Do:Mind your own damn business. If your friend wants you to help with their image, they will ask you. Regardless, respect their gender identity unconditionally.
Scenario: You’ve messed up a trans person’s name/pronouns. You didn’t mean to, but you can see the anguish on their face, and you want to make things right.
Wrong Thing to Say:“I’m sorry; it’s just that you’re still [previous name] to me!” Of all the things you could possibly say to a trans person, this is among the most hurtful. It’s one thing to struggle to accept someone’s identity; it’s quite another to impose the wrong identity on that person in order to excuse your difficulty.
Right Thing to Say:“I’m sorry. I’ll keep trying.” Everyone makes mistakes, and everyone has difficulty adapting to a major change in another person. What’s important is that you try, and that you correct yourself when you mess up. That’s all anyone can reasonably ask; at the same time, it’s the least you can do.
Scenario: You’re framing a health issue in terms of a specific gender (e.g., framing menstruation in terms of women), and a trans person points out that it isn’t necessarily unique to that gender and/or that they’re being left out of the discussion by your framing.
Wrong Response:“Well, BIOLOGICALLY speaking, it really does only affect [gender].” Framing gender solely in terms of biology is always hurtful to trans people, no matter what the context. It’s even more hurtful when people who are strongly affected by an issue are deliberately erased in discussions of it.
Right Response:“Good point. I’ll try to remember it.” We’re all soaking in narratives that mash all the complexities of gender into two discrete categories, so it’s understandable that you’d initially think in those terms as well. But expanding your mind is never a bad thing, especially when it means including people who need/deserve to be included.
Scenario: You’ve known your trans friend/relative by one gender all your life, and now, all of a sudden, they’re asking you to call them by a different name and pronouns. This comes as a shock, and you feel like you don’t know them anymore; you feel like they’ve died and some new person has taken their place. Yet you want to stay in relationship with them, somehow.
Wrong Thing to Do:Categorically refuse to respect their request, insisting that it’s too difficult and hurtful for you. Your trans friend/relative has taken a great risk by revealing their identity to you, and they’ve done so because they want and need to stay in relationship with you. For you to refuse to accept them, for you to prioritize your (relatively smaller) pain over theirs, is terribly cruel. Your pain is absolutely valid, but this is not the way to handle it.
Right Thing to Do:Work out your grief issues with a counselor and/or with cis friends, away from your friend/relative. The person you thought existed is gone, most likely forever. This is going to be very tough for you to deal with, and you absolutely do need to deal with it. But the person who does exist, the person you’ve loved, will need your continuing love and support — and that person is not responsible for your healing. Do whatever you need to do to get to a place where you can relate to them respectfully and lovingly, and do it without placing additional burdens on them.
In short: respect us; care about us; treat us as equals; be willing to learn; be willing to grow. Once you get the hang of it, it’s really not as hard as it seems.
Okay, guys, here’s the situation. thelittlekneesofbees is having a hell of a time right now after coming out to their family. Their home situation has gotten to toxic levels and they are literally having to live a lie to make sure their parents don’t kick them out. They need to move out, ASAP, but are lacking the funds. You can read about their situation here[[WARNING: triggers for religious abuse, homophobia and probably related others I missed.]]
I’m not a great artist, but I wanted to do what I could to help them. I understand their situation, and I know others out there know it even more-so. No one should have to live in fear of their parents, their parents’ ideology, or their bigotry. thelittlekneesofbees is asking for any kind of donation, but as of right now, they’re running out of time.
SO. I’m offering my services as an artist. I’m not amazing, but if you’d like, I’ll digitally paint a bust of you, or another character/person of your choice, for a $5 donation that will go straight to thelittlekneesofbees.
Here’s some quick samples of my artwork (my DA is here with fancier pieces):
Here’s how you do it: 1. Message me with your art request. Give me details about what you’d like/send me a picture of you/of whomever else you’d want me to draw. I’m not good with drawing animals, so no anthro unfortunately. ): 2. Send $5 to thelittlekneesofbee’s paypal donation address at firstname.lastname@example.org or by going here directly. Once they’ve sent me a message about receiving the donation or you send me a screenshot of the paypal checkout screen/the confirmation email (whatever’s easier), I’ll carry on with your art piece. 3. Once it’s been confirmed, and I’ve finished the piece, I’ll send you a screenshot to make sure it’s what you want. :) If it is, I’ll send you the full resolution finished picture! 4. Congrats, you’re awesome!
PLEASE consider donating. I know what it’s like to have a parent force their ideology on you and basically dehumanize you because of your sexuality/faith/etc. It’s barbaric, and if you can help thelittlekneesofbees, I cannot thank you enough on their behalf. Even if you can’t afford it, please signal boost this post!!!! If you can afford less than $5, simply donate it when you can.
ALSO: If you are able to help by offering your own artistic talents in any way to help bring in more donations, PLEASE contact thelittlebeesofknees with the offer to help. Every bit counts!
I received a message from someone stating that they were going to work to make sure Project Offspring never happens. They said that not including bigots in the inclusive community was a racist act. Okay, no they didn’t word it that way. They said QUOTE “Someone being racist towards people doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be included. You’re the one who’s racist.” «No joke.
This person went on to say that they would QUOTE “Make stuff up if they had to” in order to make sure it never happened. They stated that I was the QUOTE “True racist” for saying that white people couldn’t use a racist word. (Not going to put the full quote here because…yes, it was as bad as you’d imagine)
I intended to ignore this message. I left Tumblr but couldn’t stop thinking about it. So instead, I decided to put them on blast. Here’s the best part, the page that they sent it from has disappeared. It’s like a damn theme today. Interesting, huh?
Instead of going on about how this is the VERY reason that Project Offspring is needed, I am going to say…
I have been a strong advocate of the “One dollar is enough if we all do it” theory but this crap, especially the “Make stuff up if I have to” part has sent me reeling.
To the person who sent the message: I am going to take a wild guess and say that you are probably “Hate following” me. That’s cool. Know this, you should have just left it alone. This crap has made me want to see this project through even more. YOU are the reason this is not only needed but GOING to happen. Thanks for the extra motivation.
This is a prime example of the lengths people will go to stalk and harass us. Even when we try to create safe spaces where we don’t have to interact with these people, they try to stop us. They’re constantly shouting “if you don’t like what I say block me,” and yet they’re constantly pursuing and harassing us no matter where we go.
“Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.”—Margaret Atwood, The Penelopiad (via delucazade)
I can simultaneously be angry with white supremacy and love white people. I can be in love with a white woman and hate her ignorance at her own white privilege. I can get so frustrated with racism that I barely want to be around any white people, and I can share that with my white friends over a few drinks.
You might think that’s confusing. You might even call it hypocrisy. I call it being a person of color.
I smile like dead cities sometimes, the ones that have lights crawling along the skylines like centipedes with dim legs but you should know, you’ve seen me hide in the morning fog.
(He used to find himself along the curvatures of my chapped lips, he told me he liked my raspy voice blown out of my throat because it made my smile look more beautifully familiar.)
I always laugh like taxis stuck in downtown traffic, the ones the tourists always confuse for welcoming store lights on stormy, dark days; I was meant to be gone with haste but instead I sit, inviting strangers into my prison with skull for walls and my impatient, lukewarm laughter innocently seduces your heart wet from the dismal rain. You really don’t know this, do you?
(He used to turn his head when I laughed because my voice reminded him of a beauty he could never achieve, and I always believed him because he was the one who told me I have broken constellations for neurotransmitters but his love for incomplete souls was real, he said.)
But you tell me my wandering days are what makes me shine like raindrops with the sun rays caught in their bodies - you tell me I am a pioneer with a goal, with a hint of ambiguous transparency and for all the seconds unspent, I will believe you.
We all have something in common and that is life. We do things through it that defines us good or evil. We lives as much as we can according to our personality. Still, i want to ask you is that the way you wish you have lived your life? What do you think of your life? Take a little moment and think through it from the beginning to where you are. Well this is a story of My Life when the electricity bill is not paid.
My life, what can I say about my life. Based on your perception, i can say my life is what you wish you would never have to go through. My life is what nowadays they called depression I walked around with my head high as it can be; dragging behind me a life of sadness and frustration. I act as if i am happy about what is going on in my life. I talk as if i lived what you lived or feel what you feel, when deep inside i am carrying my own cross. I eat as if it makes me happy but pain is what is being afflicted in my body When i move i feel rusty, i feel chained to the bottom of sadness; the light is fading little by little Every second that passes in my life When i nourish my flesh, the food is to gnaw my inner being. When it landed there is no satisfaction, my hunger keep on roaring for me, my anger is raging increasing my loathe for mankind My life as today will never change because you do not change Nothing changes in this world. All that happen is that everything is re-introduce in another shape and persecute as harder than ever. You may get lost through my words but it will come down to this; My Life is the opposite of yours.
“Because when Kony 2012 came out, that was a big deal. But when Inuit children are starving because white people took over their country in epic acts of colonialism and to fix the problem white people might have to acknowledge their privilege to find a solution; well then no one wants to get their hands dirty.”—
“I used to work in a place like this” she said as we both watched the staff scurry between the office and the outside, swiping cards for freedom’s pass into the other realm, the one that would never quite feel like home again as she told me that it could happen to anyone “I used to work in a place like this” while they told us no and where we couldn’t go because it wasn’t time, everything was timed, allocated on printed out itineraries to keep us occupied so they didn’t have to but “I used to work in a place like this” made me wonder just what separated us from them and which one in years to come would sit next to a new young thing with their voice curbed by being shut in saying “I used to work in a place like this” in disbelief that the line between us had ever been that thin.
“I had rather be shut up in a very modest cottage with my books, my family and a few old friends, dining on simple bacon, and letting the world roll on as it liked, than to occupy the most splendid post, which any human power can give.”—Thomas Jefferson, from a letter to Alexander Donald dated 7 February 1788. (via bookoasis)
“Reading is everything. Reading makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something, learned something, become a better person. Reading makes me smarter. Reading gives me something to talk about later on. Reading is the unbelievably healthy way my attention deficity disorder medicates itself. Reading is escape, and the opposite of escape; it’s a way to make contact with reality after a day of making things up, and it’s a way of making contact with someone else’s imagination after a day that’s all too real. Reading is grist. Reading is bliss.”—Nora Ephron (via atomos)
“Literature was the passport to enter a larger life; that is, the zone of freedom. Literature was freedom. Especially in a time in which the values of reading and inwardness are so strenuously challenged, literature is freedom.”—Susan Sontag (via teachingliteracy)
In her stammering scintillations She owned the forlorn vesper Famished for an abeyance She was an armada of light A sprinkled sugar in the lattices Of a cobwebbed chandelier The ubiquity of the dark sky Was already her possession But she cannot see her petals That are tightly curled, of a sudden Wide open like a moonflower Fringing the dominion of The fringeless silhouette Of the constantly shifting weather And there was no trail That you have not followed Northern light, far behind Is south, distally are east and west What lisping choreography Can you not follow.
Anonymous asked: Okay, I've gotta be honest, first time I read your blog I was pissed. I felt so angry about what you were saying and was like "Why does she have to point out racism in fucking everything?" Two months later I'm glad to say, I'm a hell of a lot more intelligent because of your blog and I think I'm on my way of understanding and checking my privilege. Thank you so much.
You’re welcome. I keep telling people that the key is, when you get offended by something, stop, re-read the post about two more times, and then examine why you’re mad. If you go with that first knee-jerk reaction you’ll do nothing but contribute to the problem (and probably end up missing the entire point). Examining why you reacted the way you did will lead you to checking your privilege. It’s not easy, but it can be done.
“I scatter my voice to the four corners of the town
the water shapes time there
I mingle my body with the fragrances that emerge from night”—Abdourahman Waberi, from “Truce” (translated by Patrick Williamson)
We’re all bad people, we all killed someone we all self-harm we all kiss other boys and girls when our boy or girl is sitting at home crying. we all snort coke we all hold up 7-11s. we all want to watch the world burn hindenburg red. we all fall in love with the wrong people we all fuck strangers in bathrooms at parties
we’re all bad people just some of us have the decency to show it.
we’re all bad people, or at least I am, and you’re coming with me.
I love the way how shadows drape over bare skin, how they tuck away like scribbled secrets in the curves and creases made by muscle and bone.
I’d often find my eyes just tracing down your spine between the borders of light and shadow like they were the many faces of the moon.
and a lot of times I’d feel the absence of heat, how my hands were just trying to get a thermal reading from the surface and couldn’t but knew that there was still life in your complex infrastructure. so you’d try to draw me into your orbit, trying to reverse our polarities- but you could only ever pull tides, and you wanted to pull my arms like space shuttles and my fingers like astronauts which could only ever plant DNA onto your skin- because you wanted to fill the millions of craters on the surface of your skin not with the dying embers of stars or interstellar debris, but the feeling of fingertips leaving more than just DNA but the memory of touch that’d remind you each night you spent alone, someone would look up at you from stuffy bedroom sheets or the cold steel of park benches and say “Hello”. and thats the only thing you really needed to feel fine.
you once told me that we were two sides of a spectrum, but we we’re really just an inseparable pair in our own intimate orbit.
“Water: no matter how much, there is still not enough.
Come rain, come thunder, come deluged dams washed away,
Our thirst is unquenchable. A cloud in the water’s a siren.
We become two shades, deliquescent, drowning in song.”—Marin Sorescu, from “Fountains in the Sea” (translated by Seamus Heaney and Joana Russell-Gebbett)
1 later. late night, you’re shirtless, neck firm and pillow pressed to your chest as you lie in bed backside up. lights dimmed. spread across your sheets: an array of gauze and ointment. you’re biting hard into a stuffed animal i’m dressing your wounds (kiss each bruise, lick off the dried blood coat every gash in saliva?) and i’m trying not to glamorize what they did to you.
2 earlier. i am wearing a white bikini with a pattern of exploding red hearts lying on my empty stomach, legs slightly apart. you are twenty feet away. i don’t see you. you are pretending not to see me— and it’s not because i’m pretty, it’s because i’m there.
“What to do with this grief today? I don’t know what good is sadness unless we stand still with it, hold it under the tongue, savor it, and say to ourselves, “Here I am, if I had any doubt at all, here I am.””—Sandra Cisneros from her April 14, 2011 letter (via popca)
She’s indifferent to her beauty - now that’s a stunning feature. Comfortable with where her facial attributes sit and how her hair frizzes in even the slightest bit of humidity. She’s comfortable with the way her skin sits centimetres away from her bones; she loves the way it breathes after her daily sprint. Did you know, she used to sit in piles of National Geographic mags and Reader Digests? That someone in between the paper cuts and mental stimulation, she read that the average person spends a total of twelve years of their life in boredom - her lifetime had not surpassed the amount of years she was reading, and she froze in epiphany and she never spent another moment unconscious again; every action she imprinted onto the universe was analyzed with clarity. Even in struggle she was graceful. That’s what makes her extraordinary now; the time it took to ride the tram from school was used to think about the details of her day, the phrases she expressed, the stories she retained. Can you imagine the weight of your words with a subconscious that promises to befriend you, only so he can illuminate each neurone to exude the cruciality of every waking, breathing second. Knowledge like that is not a burden, a lifestyle of that magnitude is never an inconvenience with proper training. She met people who couldn’t stand the quiet because they hated the way the thoughts in their heads fell apart or spiralled themselves into dark places. It took her a while to understand that nobody lived the same way. It took a bit of time to get over the loneliness that comes with eternal fascination. That’s what makes her beautiful. She is a whole, solid, person. That is almost impossible to come by in your lifetime.
Let me tell you why I haven’t written a piece on fathers. The same reason I give back the roses on my door step on Valentines; the same reason I ask for no presents on my birthday. Crowds are vicious. The most beautiful things become toxic where there is over-population. I was given a chance to live three lifetimes - four including the one I write you with. One of a Roman Empire, set to fall by the hand of a magnificent rebel. Another, in a time of calculation and horseback conquer. And the last, in an ancient era where science and the gods are one. When I was twelve, hard headed and with a led filled heart in my left side that inked my eyes jet black, Islam taught me that the good fight. You see, you can’t simply sit and watch the back allied streets of India, as child after child dies. But what will it take. Watching a family on the floor in defeat after the nutrients in that 3 month old fail to give her one last breath. You can’t possibly imagine. The incomplete cry she let out before her eyes closed stays ringing in the room for days. And where there are rooms just as silent, you still hear her every so often. Or does it take holding that child and feeling the soul escape with an exhale before you have a fire that demands justice and equality. Sometimes you have to stand up and speak where others can’t - and the words etched in Arabic told me not to do so without a bellowing voice. You cannot train someone to go into battle without making a boulder of their mental wall. But then you meet the people who force themselves into indifference and you can’t fathom how someone simply turns robotic. Let me tell you. It is a procedure of constant lying. Mutilating themselves from the inside until they can’t feel anything else because the self infliction is so distracting - that’s what these people are made of - the ones at the top. I realized that all they know is fire so, I stood ready to torch them all but little did I know that they had flamethrowers much mightier than mine, because after all, that’s all they knew to do: react to hatred with a bigger dose of it. Just before I hit the trigger, Isa took my weapon away and told me to fix myself first. An act of kindness can be nothing more than a pile of ash if it is fuelled with nothing but anger and hate. But try to teach a soldier to love - it is almost impossible. How can you kill an enemy. How can you pierce your victim’s heart. It’s absurd at first but there are fragments in the words of a brown skinned man that hold more truth than any other modern day quote. He learnt it from the gods, but ‘nameste’ was highly untranslatable to his general population. Not to me. Not to someone who greets by addressing themselves and the ‘father’ as one. But my second life stood still as I regenerated; the Bhagavad told me before it was too late, that there was no line between evil and goodness. It is the most enlightening thing to understand that things simply are. Beings simply be. That is not to say you can’t change it - on the contrary - it’s within ourselves that all our power and influence lies. But you can only change it without rage and emotional hinderance. Your intellect is all. And all of these lives, all of these live within me. I am a glowing soul gliding through.
Now let me tell you what attempted to destroy these lives. People. When something so powerful and pure get into the hand of growing individuals - chaos ensues. Knowing your spirit is the most intimate thing. It’s baring your eternal self naked - it can’t be done in front of crowd. That’s why religious communities fail. That’s why educational facilities have hierarchies. That’s why political structures have no faces.
This knowledge was allowed in me by a man who grew callouses so I could read. These epiphanies grew rapidly with the safe haven he built for my mind. So let me tell you about love. A love that is harvested with the utmost struggle. An unconditional faithfulness. It is impossible to put into a lifetime - nevermind a day. Made by a man who built me to be a spiritual collage and scientist all at once.
I refuse to take anything I hold so dearly and give it to a community of people to compete and fight over. In a day they could destroy it. My love for him is not for display.
People will constantly advise you and tell you what to do with your life, who you should marry and how you should live, I may even do that once in a while but don’t ever fall into the trap of living our dreams. We may want you to be a doctor but if you want to be an artist living in a cool loft, waiting tables and rollerblading everywhere? Do that shit. Don’t ever let me or anyone else change the course of your dreams because really, dreams are all we have to hold on to that are purely ours. When you do start looking for a husband (or a wife) look for someone that looks at you and has that look in their eyes. You’re probably wondering what I mean by that look, I mean the look that lets you know that you’re the person they’ve always been waiting for and there’s no one else they’d rather see. Look for someone whose friends tell you your boo told them all about how successful you are, brave you are, strong you are, intelligent you are .. not just how beautiful you are. Find someone that can see your inner beauty and appreciates that more than the beauty that is noticeable to everyone. Find someone that will love every single inch of you and never tire of hearing about your day.
Because if you find someone that doesn’t do any of that and ends up being an asshole I’m just letting you know beforehand I will take of my earrings and handle that.
“To live in this world,
you must be able
to do three things
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.”—Mary Oliver, “In Blackwater Woods” (via trusimplicity)