QuoteIcon April222014
“The reason that conservative politicians can keep launching one attack after another against sexual freedom and reproductive rights without worrying about losing their base of straight white male support is that straight white men know they will never have to obey these laws. So they can feel free to posture about how terrible all this sex is and how it’s supposedly ruining “the family,” all while knowing that they are safe to keep having all the sex they want, even the kinky sex, without any real fear of being punished for it in the way that other people have to fear they will be.

With this law, the reason is obvious: Because of Lawrence v. Texas, the ban on oral sex in Louisiana is unenforceable. So this is purely a symbolic move, meant to shore up a general social disapproval of non-procreative sex. But, let’s be clear that social disapproval will be selectively applied. Straight men will continue to enjoy social support for having sex while their female partners are shamed for it.”
Straight White Men Don’t Have to Fear the Anti-Sex Political Crusade (via brutereason)
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vintagegal:

Ronnie Spector of The Ronettes, 1963

vintagegal:

Ronnie Spector of The Ronettes, 1963

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(Source: socialismandstuff)

Reblogged from: life is art / Post was created by: socialismandstuff Reblog notes: 6,314 notes
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(Source: kitschyofficial)

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policymic:

Spanish “Robin Hood” funneled $680K in loans into anti-capitalist activism

When capitalism fails, the best weapon against it might just be capitalism.
That’s Spanish activist Enric Duran’s reasoning for taking nearly half a million Euros in loans and funneling the money into building alternatives to a system that has wracked Spain’s economy and left its citizens buckling under catastrophic unemployment. He has no intention of ever paying those loans back, which has earned him a reputation as “the Robin Hood of the banks.”
Read more | Follow policymic

policymic:

Spanish “Robin Hood” funneled $680K in loans into anti-capitalist activism

When capitalism fails, the best weapon against it might just be capitalism.

That’s Spanish activist Enric Duran’s reasoning for taking nearly half a million Euros in loans and funneling the money into building alternatives to a system that has wracked Spain’s economy and left its citizens buckling under catastrophic unemployment. He has no intention of ever paying those loans back, which has earned him a reputation as “the Robin Hood of the banks.”

Read more | Follow policymic

Reblogged from: PolicyMic / Post was created by: policymic Reblog notes: 192 notes
QuoteIcon April202014
“Stonewall was colored folks, poor folks, transsexuals, femmes, butches… a little bit of everybody. But the narrative that gets sold to people is that it was all these ‘A-Gay’ white normative people. That’s not who riots. Sorry.”

Juba Kalamka in this interview (via soldadera-del-amor)

"that’s not who riots".

(via genderqueerkid)

(Source: niaking)

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(Source: hugepupils)

Play count: 72 Reblogged from: A Bloody Mess / Post was created by: hugepupils Reblog notes: 6 notes
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linzo:

always reblog

linzo:

always reblog

(Source: wehopeyourrulesandwisdomchokeyou)

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“In 1979, when the minimum wage was $2.90, a hard-working student with a minimum-wage job could earn enough in one day (8.44 hours) to pay for one academic credit hour. If a standard course load for one semester consisted of maybe 12 credit hours, the semester’s tuition could be covered by just over two weeks of full-time minimum wage work—or a month of part-time work. A summer spent scooping ice cream or flipping burgers could pay for an MSU education. The cost of an MSU credit hour has multiplied since 1979. So has the federal minimum wage. But today, it takes 60 hours of minimum-wage work to pay off a single credit hour, which was priced at $428.75 for the fall semester.”
The Myth of Working Your Way Through College - Svati Kirsten Narula - The Atlantic (via infoneer-pulse)
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the-final-sentence:

the-final-sentence:

March 6 - Gabriel García Márquez
Bio:  Born on March 6, 1928, writer Gabriel García Márquez grew up listening to family tales. After college, he became a journalist. His work introduced readers to magical realism, which combines fact and fantasy. His novels Cien años de soledad (One Hundred Years of Solitude) and El amor en los tiempos del cólera (Love in the Time of Cholera) have drawn worldwide audiences. He won a Nobel Prize in 1982. [2]
Anecdotes:
The highly political Marquez has long been a friend of Cuban president Fidel Castro. [3]
He claims that he wrote the book “One Hundred Years of Solitude” barricaded in his study in Mexico, after receiving a vision. One day, while he and his wife and children were in their car driving to Acapulco, he saw that he “had to tell [his] story the way his grandmother used to tell hers, and that [he] was to start from that afternoon in which a father took his child to discover ice.” He made an abrupt U-turn on the highway, the car never made it to Acapulco, and he locked himself in his study. Fifteen months later, he emerged with the manuscript, only to meet his wife holding a stack of bills. They traded papers, and she put the manuscript in the mail to his publisher. [4]
He has a yellow rose or tulip on his writing desk each day. [5]
When he was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer, he gamely declared to the world that the disease was an “enormous stroke of luck” because it finally forced him to write his memoirs. [6]
Final sentences:






‘Forever,’ he said.

from Love in the Time of Cholera (translated by Edith Grossman)











[He stumbled on the last step, but he got up at once. “He even took care to brush off the dirt that was stuck to his guts,” my Aunt Wene told me.] Then he went into his house through the back door that had been open since six and fell on his face in the kitchen.

from Chronicle of a Death Foretold











[And she, with a sad smile—which was already a smile of surrender to the impossible, the unreachable—said: “Yet you won’t remember anything during the day.” And she put her hands back over the lamp, her features darkened by a bitter cloud.] “You’re the only man who doesn’t remember anything of what he’s dreamed after he wakes up.

from Eyes of a Blue Dog (short story)

Only then did she understand that three thousand years had passed since the day she had had a desire to eat the first orange.

from Eva is Inside Her Cat (short story)

Before reaching the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.

from One Hundred Years of Solitude





Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

RIP Gabriel García Márquez

the-final-sentence:

the-final-sentence:

March 6 - Gabriel García Márquez

Bio:  Born on March 6, 1928, writer Gabriel García Márquez grew up listening to family tales. After college, he became a journalist. His work introduced readers to magical realism, which combines fact and fantasy. His novels Cien años de soledad (One Hundred Years of Solitude) and El amor en los tiempos del cólera (Love in the Time of Cholera) have drawn worldwide audiences. He won a Nobel Prize in 1982. [2]

Anecdotes:

  • The highly political Marquez has long been a friend of Cuban president Fidel Castro. [3]
  • He claims that he wrote the book “One Hundred Years of Solitude” barricaded in his study in Mexico, after receiving a vision. One day, while he and his wife and children were in their car driving to Acapulco, he saw that he “had to tell [his] story the way his grandmother used to tell hers, and that [he] was to start from that afternoon in which a father took his child to discover ice.” He made an abrupt U-turn on the highway, the car never made it to Acapulco, and he locked himself in his study. Fifteen months later, he emerged with the manuscript, only to meet his wife holding a stack of bills. They traded papers, and she put the manuscript in the mail to his publisher. [4]
  • He has a yellow rose or tulip on his writing desk each day. [5]
  • When he was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer, he gamely declared to the world that the disease was an “enormous stroke of luck” because it finally forced him to write his memoirs. [6]

Final sentences:

‘Forever,’ he said.

from Love in the Time of Cholera (translated by Edith Grossman)

[He stumbled on the last step, but he got up at once. “He even took care to brush off the dirt that was stuck to his guts,” my Aunt Wene told me.] Then he went into his house through the back door that had been open since six and fell on his face in the kitchen.

from Chronicle of a Death Foretold

[And she, with a sad smile—which was already a smile of surrender to the impossible, the unreachable—said: “Yet you won’t remember anything during the day.” And she put her hands back over the lamp, her features darkened by a bitter cloud.] “You’re the only man who doesn’t remember anything of what he’s dreamed after he wakes up.

from Eyes of a Blue Dog (short story)

Only then did she understand that three thousand years had passed since the day she had had a desire to eat the first orange.

from Eva is Inside Her Cat (short story)

Before reaching the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.

from One Hundred Years of Solitude

Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

RIP Gabriel García Márquez

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