“I’m going to be the kind of woman that just leaps out of bed and just does that [shaking head] and their hair looks perfect. Then they grab a home made muffin out of their Cath Kidston polka dot biscuit tin and head to work, wearing trainers at the bottom of a skirt suit to show off they’ve power walked in. They have pot plants that don’t die on them. Their fruit bowl isn’t full of 3 week old rotting pears because they actually eat the fruit. They have day bags, evening bags and a clutch. You know, they just grab a wheat germ smoothie in between work because that’s enough to keep them going, even though at lunch time they jogged - and enjoyed it, because they don’t have flesh that moves independently to their main frame. And finally they have easy access to pens to finish a crossword at a bar where the man they decided to take as a lover the night before says to them ‘hey, last night was great’. You know I’ll be that kind of woman.”—Miranda (2x01)
Dear Wilhelm, I have thought about all sorts of things, about people’s desire to spread themselves out, make new discoveries, roam around; and then again about the inner drive to yield voluntarily to restrictions, to go along on the track of habit without bothering about what’s to the right or left.
…Oh, distance is like the future! An enormous glimmering oneness lies before our soul, our feeling blurs in it along with our eyes, and we long to let go of our whole being to let ourselves be filled with all the bliss of a single great, glorious feeling.—But alas! When we hasten there, when there becomes here, everything is as it was, and we stand in our poverty, in our finiteness, our soul thirsting for the refreshment that has slipped away.
Thus the most restless vagabond longs at last for his home country and finds in his hut, on his spouse’s breast, in the circle of his children, in the tasks of supporting them the bliss that he sought in the wide world in vain.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther (via burdgeinthehand)
I read Werther when I was way too young for it. I remember it fucking with me for a while. Probably worth a revisit.
“Essentially, the idea of a “slut” is a myth told to women to keep them in their place. Just as Santa will not actually bring you coal on Christmas if you break a few of the house rules, you will not actually turn into an intrinsically tainted, unpalatable creature if you break one of society’s rules and have sex with one too many men. The word “slut” isn’t a criticism for having too much sex necessarily, but for being a woman: a real, living, breathing woman with quirks, foibles, normal sexual feelings, and personality; and failing to live up to the societal ideal for a woman: the passive, pliable, perpetually innocent, and sexually available Barbie doll.”—The Slut Myth (via simonefiasco)
Whenever I leave my office building and begin walking home, I am in awe of the uncanny realism of the virtual reality surrounding me - until I remember it’s actual reality, and maybe I should be concerned about my ability to understand basic spatial situations such as being outside