*wakes up* what the fuck
this guy was watching the vmas with me and now he’s educating himself how precious is that
he keeps asking me all these questions about aspects of feminism and he’s like “so basically it’s about letting women do what they want without being judged for it” and I was like yea and he was like “oh okay that’s so simple why isn’t everyone a feminist” it’s precious
update: I banged him
Feminism isn’t about standing up for pedophiles and abusers? I think he needs a new teacher
yall giving this boy too much credit imho no offensive
catch me looking up the google definition of feminism on my phone. ladies i am single :)
is “update: i banged him” now the saddest four words in the english language
Commentary. A long time ago I posted a link here about the difficulty black men have with depression, suicide, and receiving treatment and I always wanted to do a strip about it. Recent events motivated me to find a way. Before drawing, I did research this topic and yes, black sufferers of depression have had this reaction from therapists. The third leading cause of death of young black men is suicide, the first is homicide (again, think recent events). The lives of young POC are grim and it’s very VERY important that we recognize this so that something can be done.
On the regretful front, I had a chance to do a more interesting character design for this character and I didn’t and he looks more like depressed character #3’s husband, I may have to redraw this strip because not drawing more diverse is not a cool thing to do by any means.
This is so on point I’M CRYING.
n. the moment of realization that your quintessential self isn’t going to show up, which forces the role to fall upon the understudy, the humble kid for whom nothing is easy, who has spent years mouthing their lines in the wings before stumbling out into the glare of your life, which by then is already well into its second act.
This is the email I woke up to. Terrifying.
Honestly, I don’t know what to do at this point. Within ten minutes of sounding the alarm via Twitter, my account had been restored, but I’m one of the lucky ones. I have the privilege of asking tens of thousands of people to write into Tumblr on my behalf, and I can only imagine how helpless someone might feel who woke up to the same letter with no way to do anything about it.
I went back and searched through my old email address. Sure enough, under the “Social” tab of a gmail account that I never use anymore were a handful of Tumblr DMCA notices, all originating from some sniveling cunt stain named Jeremy Banks of the IFPI. I saw none of the notices until this morning, not that it would have mattered, because they were all for songs that I posted years ago.
I’ve been posting music for over half a damn decade. I have no idea what songs Jeremy Banks is suddenly going to give a shit about. Short of deleting every song I’ve ever posted, there’s nothing I can do to retroactively protect myself from this kind of arbitrary account termination.
Shit, we all post music. We all click the little box. We all know damn well that we don’t own the copyright, but we do it anyway. We’re not stealing. We’re not making money off the backs of musicians. We’re sharing our favorite songs with our friends.
God damn, I’m still shaking from all the adrenaline. I’m genuinely upset right now. People are suggesting that I export my blogs and migrate to independent hosting, but I don’t want to have to do that.
I love Tumblr. I love the community it fosters. I love my dashboard full of people I follow, and I love the interactions I have with all the people who follow me. I don’t want to leave Tumblr, but I don’t want to be so beholden to the whims of some DMCA termination robot either.
At the very least, I need to find a way to separate and protect Dear Coquette and my other blogs where I’ve never posted any music.
Ugh. This is not good. This is not good at all.
Tumblr is handling this appallingly.
This is really problematic, you guys.
Sounds like you’re enjoying your early twenties.
n. the awareness of the smallness of your perspective, by which you couldn’t possibly draw any meaningful conclusions at all, about the world or the past or the complexities of culture, because although your life is an epic and unrepeatable anecdote, it still only has a sample size of one, and may end up being the control for a much wilder experiment happening in the next room.
"Too many books?" I believe the phrase you’re looking for is "not enough bookshelves".