RAN INTO A ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL SITE CALLED TOONATORAND YOU CAN JUST FUCKING POP RIGHT ON AND ANIMATE YOUR LITTLE HEART OUT. ITS FUCKING FREE AND EASY AS SHIT TO USE TOO. (LOOK I MADE A PROFILE. IT ME.)
Do you understand that you are exactly attractive enough and thin enough (even if you weigh four hundred pounds) and smart enough and funny enough, even if you cannot tell a knock-knock joke without fucking it up? You are exactly everything enough to the person who thinks you are.
Arms lowering down from the target board, Takumi only stared blankly. Sunset eyes hazed with sorrow and emptiness. Flickers of hatred and resentment stroke across the surface of his irises. Dry lips pursed and tightened for Gods know how long, he only let his mind wander to such malicious thoughts.
1. It is completely irresponsible to use cultural words you don’t know and just nonsensical to accept definitions from people who are not from that culture.
2. Black people are trying to reclaim the word, yes, but that does not change the history of the word, which means when you, who are not black, use it, no it cannot mean “friend/bro/homie.” It does not and cannot mean anything other than the racist connotation with which it was originally intended. Anti-blackness is a global issue so it doesn’t matter that you aren’t white, you are not black either so again, not for you.
3. There is a Thai word for the n-word. There is a Korean word for the n-word. There is a Japanese for the n-word. There is a word for the n-word in almost every language, so to say these people don’t know what it means is bullshit. It’s also lowkey racist, too, because you assume that these people don’t have access to modern technology or you infantilize them into these people who know nothing outside of their country. South Korea has the fastest internet in the world. There is no excuse.
4. You can find obscure dab and naenae videos, the newest of Western memes, but you can’t Google the n-word, a word you use??? Okay….
tl;dr: Stop defending these idols when you have no stake in what they’ve done. If you have a stake, err on the side of accountability. If they don’t know, teach them, if they did, they will pay, but excusing their actions just gives way for them to go unchecked and continue to be problematic.
In these dreams it’s always you: the boy in the sweatshirt, the boy on the bridge, the boy who keeps me from jumping off the bridge. Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued. Your jeep. Your teeth. The coffee that you bought me. The sandwich cut in half on the plate. I woke up and ate ice cream in the dark, hunched over on the wooden chair in the kitchen, listening to the rain. I borrowed your shoes and didn’t put them away.
One thing I don’t see anyone mentioning about the new episode: Amethyst was on top of her game. Like, she was the one who saved Steven when they were falling and figured out how to slow down the walls around Garnet and Pearl. She seemed so responsible in this episode and that makes me so happy.
Old gods lurk on the curbs of street corners,
Kicking the concrete with worn out shoes
And tipping back cheap booze,
Eyes empty and hopeless as mortals hurry by,
Wondering why they let this go so far
Fallen angels blow smoke rings
Huddled around bus stops with flickering florescent lights,
Gospel tearing through their throats
And curling into the stiff night air-
It whispers holy, holy, holy,
And then it is gone
Prophets scratch at their skin,
Mumbling to themselves absently,
Because the Voice of God waits for no one,
Especially not a cappuccino and a handful of change.
The bags under their eyes are almost as dark as the bruises on their throat-
it is not easy holding the weight of Heaven in your ribcage-
And the delicate flesh will blossom into purple and black.
It is scripture, they say.
Holy words, sacred words, words that can not yet be spoken,
Words to fell empires,
Or raise kings.
Sometimes, they will walk past a group of sullen looking youths,
Perfect, angular, model-like,
All pouty lips and narrow eyes,
Cigarettes poised like an accusation,
But full of terrible, burning rage.
Dipping their head low, they try to ignore the hisses,
And glares that feel like the scorch of a fall from grace
Blame, blame, blame
This is because of you.
It becomes more and more difficult for prophets to decipher scripture from scarring.
The words tumble from their lips,
Faster and faster,
Kneeling on a prayer mat made of old clothes and crisp packets,
Why me? Why?
From the window, God bites His lip.
If He had known, child.
If he had only known.