seekingfollowingfound
iwriteaboutfeminism:

stfueverything:

pixiepienix:

look at this fragile delicate flower of a man look at how precarious his value and identity is wonder at the marvel that is masculinity

This makes me want to cry blood.
This is a prime example of patriarchy at work. He can’t handle holding a fucking purse for 2 fucking seconds before he has to bust out his “man bag” so he can feel validated by his male peers who are rooting him on for not wanting to be feminine. Is his ego and sense of masculinity so fragile he can’t possibly brush it with the slightest amount of femininity before he crashes and burns??

Not to mention the fact that a symbol of feminity is being equated to a literal piece of shit.

iwriteaboutfeminism:

stfueverything:

pixiepienix:

look at this fragile delicate flower of a man look at how precarious his value and identity is wonder at the marvel that is masculinity

This makes me want to cry blood.

This is a prime example of patriarchy at work. He can’t handle holding a fucking purse for 2 fucking seconds before he has to bust out his “man bag” so he can feel validated by his male peers who are rooting him on for not wanting to be feminine. Is his ego and sense of masculinity so fragile he can’t possibly brush it with the slightest amount of femininity before he crashes and burns??

Not to mention the fact that a symbol of feminity is being equated to a literal piece of shit.
happinessweareallinittogether
A God who cannot suffer is poorer than any man. For a God who is incapable of suffering is a being who cannot be involved. Suffering and injustice do not affect him. And because he is so completely insensitive, he cannot be affected or shaken by anything. He cannot weep, for he has no tears. But the one who cannot suffer cannot love either. So he is also a loveless being.
Jurgen Moltmann, The Crucified God (via ijohndaniel)

My studio smells like beeswax, wood smoke, and polyurethane.  Onion paper flutters, the breeze brings sweet sawdust. Push pins, sketches, color theory.  Embroidery thread. Thomas Aquinas and Saint Luke gaze down at me from the shelf. 

This show is about sacred spaces.  Through the process of creating, my studio has turned into its own sacred space.  Prayer candles melted together to form an unstable structure.  A Bible, deconstructed and rebound into individual books.  Gold thread. 

I only pray that I can do this concept justice. 

J went to bed at 8:30, and I tried to as well but, let’s be honest: 8:30 is a terrible time to go to bed. So I’m up, chilling on tumblr and thinking about food. 

As concerned as I am for my apparent lack of maturity, I actually am more worried about people who go to bed at 8:30. A.K.A. Jeremy. 

I also really miss the friend thing.  You know, the thing where you’re sitting around and then somebody texts you late at night and says “hey let’s get burritos.”  So you do.  

Basically, my husband is a responsible adult and I’m complaining because I’m not going to get any midnight burritos out of this deal.