living-for-fiction:

primadonna-grrrl:

what have egalitarians actually done?????

Complained a lot? Cried into their milk over semantics? Played the “what about men!” game?

Idk that’s all I can think of.

Ruined the word “egalitarian”

(via primadonna-grrrl)

thepoliticalfreakshow:

The Transgender Crucible: Rolling Stone’s Article on Trans Former Inmate CeCe McDonald [TW: Descriptions of Transmisogyny, Transphobia, & Anti-Trans Violence]

A dozen eggs, bacon, maybe some biscuits: CeCe McDonald had a modest shopping list in mind, just a few things for breakfast the next day. It was midnight, the ideal time for a supermarket run. Wearing a lavender My Little Pony T-shirt and denim cutoffs, CeCe grabbed her purse for the short walk to the 24-hour Cub Foods. She preferred shopping at night, when the darkened streets provided some relief from the stares, whispers and insults she encountered daily as a transgender woman. CeCe, 23, had grown accustomed to snickers and double takes – and was practiced in talking back to strangers who’d announce, “That’s a man!” But such encounters were tiring; some days a lady just wanted to buy her groceries in peace.

And so it was that on a warm Saturday night in June 2011, CeCe and four friends, all African-Americans in their twenties, found themselves strolling the tree-lined streets of her quiet working-class Long­fellow neighborhood in Minneapolis, toward a commercial strip. Leading the way was CeCe’s roommate Latavia Taylor and two purse-carrying gay men – CeCe’s makeshift family, whom she called “cousin” and “brothers” – with CeCe, a fashion student at a local community college, and her lanky boyfriend trailing behind. They were passing the Schooner Tavern when they heard the jeering.

"Faggots."

Gathered outside the dive bar were a handful of cigarette-smoking white people, looking like an aging biker gang in their T-shirts, jeans and bandannas, motorcycles parked nearby. Hurling the insults were 47-year-old Dean Schmitz, in a white button-down and thick silver chain, and his 40-year-old ex-girlfriend Molly Flaherty, clad in black, drink in hand. “Look at that boy dressed as a girl, tucking his dick in!” hooted Schmitz, clutching two beer bottles freshly fetched from his Blazer, as CeCe and her friends slowed to a stop. “You niggers need to go back to Africa!”

Chrishaun “CeCe” McDonald stepped in front of her friends, a familiar auto­pilot kicking in, shunting fury and fear to a distant place while her mouth went into motion. “Excuse me. We are people, and you need to respect us,” CeCe began in her lisping delivery, one acrylic-nailed finger in the air, her curtain of orange micro­braids swaying. With her caramel skin, angled jaw and square chin, friends called her “CeCe” for her resemblance to the singer Ciara; even her antagonist Flaherty would later describe CeCe as “really pretty.” “We’re just trying to walk to the store,” CeCe continued, raising her voice over the blare of Schmitz and Flaherty’s free-associating invective: “bitches with dicks,” “faggot-lovers,” “niggers,” “rapists.” The commotion was drawing more patrons out of the bar – including a six-foot-eight, 310-pound biker in leather chaps – and CeCe’s boyfriend, Larry Thomas, nervously called to Schmitz, “Enjoy your night, man – just leave us alone.” CeCe and her friends turned to go. Then Flaherty glanced at Schmitz and laughed.

"I’ll take all of you bitches on!" Flaherty hollered, and smashed CeCe in the side of her face with a glass tumbler.

Just like that, a mundane walk to the store turned into a street brawl, in a near-farcical clash of stereotypes. Pandemonium erupted as CeCe and Flaherty seized each other by the hair; the bikers swung fists and hurled beer bottles, hollering “beat that faggot ass!”; and CeCe’s friends flailed purses and cracked their studded belts as whips. When the two sides separated, panting and disoriented, Flaherty was curled up amid the broken glass screaming, mistakenly, that she’d been knifed, and CeCe stood over her, her T-shirt drenched with her own blood. Touching her cheek, CeCe felt a shock of pain as her finger entered the open wound where Flaherty’s glass had punctured her salivary gland. Purse still over her shoulder, CeCe fast-walked from the scene. She’d made it more than a half-block away when she heard her friends calling, “Watch your back!”

Transwomen and Danger: More Tales From the Front Lines 

CeCe whirled around to see Schmitz heading toward her: walking, then running, his face a twist of wild, unrestrained hatred. CeCe felt terror burst out from that remote place where she normally locked it away. She didn’t know that Schmitz’s veins were pounding with cocaine and meth. She didn’t know of his lengthy rap sheet, including convictions for assault. Nor did she know that under Schmitz’s shirt, inked across his solar plexus, was a four-inch swastika tattoo. All CeCe needed to see was the look on his face to know her worst fears were coming true: Her young life was about to end as a grim statistic, the victim of a hate crime.

"Come here, bitch!" Schmitz roared as he closed in. CeCe pedaled backward, blood dripping from her slashed face.

"Didn’t y’all get enough?" CeCe asked, defiant and afraid, while her hand fished into her large handbag for anything to protect herself. Her fingers closed on a pair of black-handled fabric scissors she used for school. She held them up high as a warning, their five-inch blades glinting in the parking-lot floodlights. Schmitz stopped an arm’s length away, raising clenched fists and shuffling his feet in a boxing stance. His eyes were terrible with rage.

"Bitch, you gonna stab me?" he shouted. They squared off for a tense moment: the furious white guy, amped up on meth, Nazi tattoo across his belly; the terrified black trans woman with a cartoon pony on her T-shirt; the scissors between them. CeCe saw Schmitz lunge toward her and braced herself for impact. Their bodies collided, then separated. He was still looking at her.

"Bitch – you stabbed me!"

"Yes, I did," CeCe announced, even as she wondered if that could possibly be true; in the adrenaline of the moment, she’d felt nothing. Scanning Schmitz over, she saw no sign of injury – though in fact he’d sustained a wound so grisly that CeCe would later recall to police that the button-down shirt Schmitz wore that night was not white but "mainly red. Like one of them Hawaiian shirts." CeCe waited until he turned to rejoin his crowd. Then she and Thomas ran arm in arm down the block toward the nearly empty Cub Foods parking lot, where they waited for police to arrive.

They didn’t see the scene unfolding behind them: how Schmitz took a few faltering steps, uttered, “I’m bleeding,” then lifted his shirt to unleash a geyser of blood. CeCe had stabbed him in the chest, burying the blade almost three and a half inches deep, slicing his heart. Blood sprayed the road as Schmitz staggered, collapsed and, amid his friends’ screams, died. When CeCe and Thomas waved down a police car minutes later, she was promptly handcuffed and arrested.

To continue reading the article, click here.

Source: Sabrina Rubin Erdely for Rolling Stone

(via socialistexan)

decolonizingmedia:

Dope 30 ft. tall, mural version of the #ItEndsHere poster put up at the Paint PHX event in Phoenix, AZ last weekend on International Women’s Day. Amazing work!
jaquefragua x greyeyesart rocking it. 
RISE and DECOLONIZE, y’all.
decolonizingmedia:

Dope 30 ft. tall, mural version of the #ItEndsHere poster put up at the Paint PHX event in Phoenix, AZ last weekend on International Women’s Day. Amazing work!
jaquefragua x greyeyesart rocking it. 
RISE and DECOLONIZE, y’all.

decolonizingmedia:

Dope 30 ft. tall, mural version of the #ItEndsHere poster put up at the Paint PHX event in Phoenix, AZ last weekend on International Women’s Day. Amazing work!

jaquefragua x greyeyesart rocking it. 

RISE and DECOLONIZE, y’all.

(via philtippett)


Mulder, where are you going?

Mulder, where are you going?

Mulder, where are you going?

Mulder, where are you going?

Mulder, where are you going?

Mulder, where are you going?

Mulder, where are you going?

Mulder, where are you going?

Mulder, where are you going?

Mulder, where are you going?
Mulder, where are you going?

(via baroncaveyeti)

mostlycatsmostly:

Esther’s Tree Explorations  (by aj 1982) mostlycatsmostly:

Esther’s Tree Explorations  (by aj 1982) mostlycatsmostly:

Esther’s Tree Explorations  (by aj 1982) mostlycatsmostly:

Esther’s Tree Explorations  (by aj 1982)

mostlycatsmostly:

Esther’s Tree Explorations  (by aj 1982)

(via outopoju)

thespacegoat:

the fact women are viewed as being more sexy at 15 than 40 is the creepiest thing in the world

(via misandristextraordinaire)

“Your mom has to be lazy if she needs to work 4 jobs to make a tenth of what my dad makes doing his one job.”
— First-Year Biology Major  (via shitrichcollegekidssay)

Classism.

(via katiedollthesillyhead)

(via primadonna-grrrl)

anarcho-queer:

thepeoplesrecord:

NYC approves apartment building with separate entrance for the poor
July 23, 2014

It would be difficult to come with a more on-the-nose metaphor for New York City’s income inequality problem than the new high-rise apartment building coming to 40 Riverside Boulevard, which will feature separate doors for regular, wealthy humans and whatever you call the scum that rents affordable housing.

Extell Development Company, the firm behind the new building, announced its intentions to segregate the rich and poor to much outrage last year. Fifty-five of the luxury complex’s 219 units would be marked for low-income renters—netting some valuable tax breaks for Extell—with the caveat that the less fortunate tenants would stick to their own entrance.

The city’s Department of Housing Preservation and Development approved Extell’s Inclusionary Housing Program application for the 33-story tower this week, the New York Post reports. The status grants Extell the aforementioned tax breaks and the right to construct a larger building than would ordinarily be allowed. According to the Daily Mailaffordable housing tenants will enter through a door situated on a “back alley.”

Any of the unwashed folk who complain about such a convenient arrangement, of course, are just being ungrateful. As the Mail points out, fellow poor-door developer David Von Spreckelsen explained as much last year:

"No one ever said that the goal was full integration of these populations," said David Von Spreckelsen, senior vice president at Toll Brothers. "So now you have politicians talking about that, saying how horrible those back doors are. I think it’s unfair to expect very high-income homeowners who paid a fortune to live in their building to have to be in the same boat as low-income renters, who are very fortunate to live in a new building in a great neighborhood."

In these economically fraught times, it’s easy to forget that the super rich earned their right to never see you, hear you, smell you, or consider your pitiful existence. Expecting them to share an entrance would be unfair.

Souce

According to the NY Post our ‘progressive’ Mayor, Bill de Blasio, voted in favor of the resolution that create the segregated entrances.