so there’s this moment in Man of Steel

where Zod is explaining to Superman that his (Zod’s) purpose in life, down to his very DNA, is to protect the people of Krypton. even if that means genociding earth he will, and indeed must, do what he can. But Superman sliced his ship in half with his laser eyes and with the ship went the birthing chamber and with the birthing chamber went all the would-be Kryptonians, and Zod warned Superman before he did this that if he pulled his laser eyes stunt that there would be no more Kryptonians, that would be it. and Superman made his choice and the ship went kablooey. I get why Superman made the choice that he did, I really do, and if such a choice has a right answer his was probably the right one. but Supes, man, you just ended a people. try to look like you give a toot:

Brooke Candy, brooke candy brooke candy brooke candy. Brooke, candy brooke candy. Brooke candy brooke candy; brooke candy.Brooke Candy.

Brooke Candy, brooke candy brooke candy brooke candy. Brooke, candy brooke candy. Brooke candy brooke candy; brooke candy.

Brooke Candy.

there’s a whole lot going on here and most of it is AMAZING

(via trillwavefeminism)

yo I know PRO is like a mostly-joking term but goddamn that is so PRO it is terrifying

yo I know PRO is like a mostly-joking term but goddamn that is so PRO it is terrifying

(via velogogo)

imathers:

project-blackbird:

Emily Vancamp as Sharon Carter in “Captain America: The Winter Soldier”

Here’s an example of what we call a “soft no”. Sharon turns down Steve’s offer in a way that’s meant not to insult him but never actually uses the word “no”.

Steve clearly gets the message, though, and importantly offers to leave her alone. Sharon’s comment afterwards gives him an opportunity to try again later, but he doesn’t press and respects her rejection of his company even though it’s probably hurt his feelings a bit.

Just in case you ever wonder “What would Captain America do?”; there you go.

Dear guys complaining about the friendzone: a dude who was frozen in ice since the 40s is officially better at reading social cues than you are (and respecting other people, but we already knew that).

washing scrubs from the infectious disease ward in the building’s washing machine seems irresponsible, agent carter

heartbarf:

Ever wanted to read nine poems about Lana Del Rey songs? You’re in luck, because I wrote nine and they’re here at boringrain.com.
Many thanks to Nitsuh for helping me with this.

THEY GOT MY LETTERS

heartbarf:

Ever wanted to read nine poems about Lana Del Rey songs? You’re in luck, because I wrote nine and they’re here at boringrain.com.

Many thanks to Nitsuh for helping me with this.

THEY GOT MY LETTERS

(via agrammar)

gpoy

gpoy

if in that moment / it is clear that in our entire, graceless rage / it is what we have, and all along, / most yearned for, / then let us be spared by that which has the power to spare us / the knowledge that it is too late / to disclaim anger, find the will / for love and tenderness, beg / for pardon

again and again and again

John Engels, “For the lately dead” The Kenyon Review, Autumn 1984.  (via sorryeveryone)

I lay on the cream shag carpet with my brother
and argue what a kobold is, and is not. I am nine.
Behind the oblong dresser in the basement
is a white stub of chalk with a wolf spider
crouching on it. It does not know I am about to pick it up.

When I am twenty-one, I clutch a cold ten dollar bill.
The gas attendant has a gold tooth.
Says, what are you all dressed up for, missy.
I smooth the gray wool of my bridge coat.
A bell chimes and my shoulder blades flinch.
I cannot see the snowflakes melting into my cuffs.
No eyes watch my body shuffle back to the car
across the ice, no witnesses.

Years later, a lover’s shadow traipses diagonally
across the floor of the limehouse. He’s just told me
he didn’t fall in love with me. The moon in splinters
across stack piles of buildings. I open his refrigerator,
gulp milk from a glass bottle.
There is nothing left for me to do.

My brother has been dead for nine years. A kobold:
a kind of sprite with thin, ivy-colored arms.
See, he is not here to dispute this.
This is what I think when the lover asks why I am
so quiet. My body shaped like a C at the foot of his bed.
My fingers coiled in blankets. Thick and coconut white.
I miss everything.

Regina DiPerna, “Where My Body Has Been” from The Boston Review (via postcardsforpoetry)

(via bostonreview)

poetsorg:

Advice to young poets from Mark Wunderlich. 
To see more postcards from our 2012 Poets Via Post program, visit poets.org.

why not

i love my mother

poetsorg:

Advice to young poets from Mark Wunderlich

To see more postcards from our 2012 Poets Via Post program, visit poets.org.

why not

i love my mother

sorryeveryone:

sarahluz:

winonaforever:

Winona Ryder circa 2002
Robert Rich Lets Sofia Coppola Raid His Star-Studded Polaroids

my biggest regret is that i never got a ‘free winona’ t-shirt. 

this photograph is really important in ways i’m having trouble explaining

still

sorryeveryone:

sarahluz:

winonaforever:

Winona Ryder circa 2002

Robert Rich Lets Sofia Coppola Raid His Star-Studded Polaroids

my biggest regret is that i never got a ‘free winona’ t-shirt. 

this photograph is really important in ways i’m having trouble explaining

still

Anonymous said: does being male make relating to literature easier? a lot of the time i end up feeling sort of alienated by near-universal use of male pronouns...

Short answer: being male makes most things easier. That said, literature works both ways, because sometimes I find dude perspectives alienating and resent the implication that I should see myself in them. I appreciate you bringing this up, it’ll make me more cognizant of the speaker in my own work, and whether or not I’m being inclusive. But in defense of Dunn and a thousand other dudes, for a lot of people poetry is a pretty intensely personal thing, and their perspective is the only one they have. Thinking more about it, maybe I don’t have any real right to aim for a more universal perspective. This is tricky stuff!

I’ve actually been trying to formulate a post about reading women authors and beyond that, seeking out women authors operating in women-controlled spaces. It’s not ready yet, but suffice it to say fellas if you are a regular reader and you cannot name lady authors you like, you should fix that!

Anyhow, I’m assuming this came in response to the last bit of poetry I posted, so with that in mind here are some female poets whose work I have liked:


(I would spend the week tumblasting snippets of poetry by ladies but it happens to be Lil’ Kim week next week (though she is, of course, a lady poet) so maybe come back in a week?)

He’d learned, but forgotten, / the pointlessness of seeking; / he was, after all, alive, / and desire often sent him aching / toward some same mistake.
Stephen Dunn, “Meaninglessness” Loosestrife