CUMBERB[I]TCHING AS PER USUAL

Dear Jesus,
Sometimes I feel like boys are an Oscar and I’m Leonardo DiCaprio
AlsoalsoalsoAlso I’ve gotten to this point in my Christmas shopping where I’m like “am I alsoalsoalsoclose enough to this person to buy them underwear?”
Am I pathetic what are boys I hate love
Thanx!

Hi boo ❤
That shit is bananas
I wouldn’t want you to slip and fall into that gaping plot hole
Your heart is going to explode!
You are not pathetic! You are a ducking beautiful tropical sunfish
P.S.
For me, the answer is YES

I’m so glad we had this talk
this is magical-like
VERY CHILL BEANS
or a tiny karmic kale
*glugs wine instead*

It’s true, just yesterday I was wishing Isis would stop juggling my penis.

Oh my god.

…P.S. my favorite palindrome is “a butt tuba”

JESUS, WHY ARE YOU SO STUPID

The Creator has disbanded this group, so this number is no longer active.


Aren’t text poems fun, though?

Demystifying the Female Orgasm

The other day, I was working at a coffee shop with the worst crick in my shoulders. So, I stretched. Nothing crazy or anything – I just laced my fingers behind me and pulled my arms back. Next thing I knew, the owner was telling me I needed to “stop sticking my boobies out” because it was “unfair” to the young male barista as I was “being such a distraction.” Then he laughed, like it was a hilarious joke, and pulled out a handful of ones from the register to wave in my face, effectively telling me I was a stripper.

Saying I was upset doesn’t even begin to cover the confused, angry disdain I felt realizing that he thought it was perfectly fine to talk about my body that way. Forget for a moment that he completely mistreated and harassed a customer; he absolutely crossed the line when it comes to social etiquette – the basics of how a human should treat another human. It was the definition of objectification. Unsurprisingly, it’s also nowhere close the worst story I’ve heard to-date.

From Hollywood to porn, the female body has for years been seen through the male gaze. If you don’t believe me, turn to your nearest library and look some books up; you’ll be drowning in the research. Go home and watch some porn: you’ll realize that as soon as the man orgasms, the scene ends, regardless of what’s going on with the woman. Sit on a populated street corner for an hour – I guarantee that a woman’s body will be objectified, will be repurposed for the pleasure of her onlookers, at least once: someone will tell her to smile, talk about that ass in those jeans, whistle, maybe even ask her for a price. Watch as women with deep cleavage are applauded. Then watch as a woman sitting down to breastfeed her child, a perfectly natural part of the human process, is shamed.

That is not the way that we should appreciate the female body – or any body, for that matter – but it’s the one that happens most often. It insinuates that all we do, the way we dress, down to the timing of our stretch, isn’t for ourselves but for you. It’s dissecting our bodies into little pieces for someone else’s gaze, Frankenstein-ing them into something that will give someone else the most pleasure.

Entertainment has perpetuated so many myths—one of which is that sex doesn’t need to really be talked about. That if it’s not fabulous from the start, the relationship is doomed. That penetration is the height of pleasure – which both, again, rests power in the phallus, and ignores the needs and beauty of the female experience. Publicly discussing female pleasure – even the fact that it exists – is and always has been considered socially inappropriate. On top of that, most sex scenes, all fast and hot, with men magically knowing exactly what to do, remove that safe space from the bedroom before it’s even been given. And that means that the female body is just not talked about – at least, not in any way that is at all enlightened.

Now, I know some of you are probably upset, angry, thinking that you of course would never do any of the above. I’m not here to point fingers, so take yourself out of defensive mode. Instead, think on this: you can’t feel the injustice as deeply because you are in the power position. In many ways, it’s not even your fault. Since you were born, society has inculcated in you beliefs about gender roles—what it means to be a man, what it means to be a woman. You didn’t start it, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t perpetuating it—and that is why it’s important to perk your ears and listen.

That’s where https://www.omgyes.com/ comes in. It opens the door to the bedroom to talk about sex and the female orgasm, and it’s an incredible, much-needed step forward for female empowerment.

Let them take the mic for a second:

Women’s sexual pleasure has hidden in the shadows for too long. It’s time to get it all out in the open.

There’s so much that’s been left unsaid, unasked, and unknown. All because of a taboo that, we believe, will look absurd in a few decades—the same way taboos from the 1950’s about oral sex and homosexuality are absurd to us now. We want to accelerate that transition.

It humanizes women—all women, not just the stereotypical hourglass college girls in wet T-shirt contests. It reminds the world that whether a woman is 90 or 20, curvy or slim, busty or flat, she can and should and does deserve pleasure. It encourages people to talk about the female orgasm—something that has thus been seen as confounding—in a way no one really has before. It takes the Vagina Monologues to the next level.

On the site, women unashamedly bare themselves—not to turn someone on, not to be sensual, but to educate. To see women from the female gaze. To talk about the clitoris and penetration and the vagina as openly as the world yells about penises. To make female pleasure important.

It’s giving women back the right to their own bodies. It’s opening up the opportunity to learn about and listen to their own bodies without being embarrassed about it, especially in a society that seeks so often to repress it. It’s giving women the power to ask for what will give them pleasure—and it’s showing everyone else how to give it.

It’s opening the door for so many conversations. That’s what you should perpetuate. So, please, talk about this site. Share it. Be open, be understanding, be honest.
Give it as a gift, or buy it for yourself.
Lift the veil.
What could it possibly hurt?

WE AREN’T IN THE AGE OF

sometimes
eyes wish your feet were my feet so I could better
taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap
mymymymymymymymymymymymy
toestoestoestoestoestoestoestoestoestoestoestoestoes
to this beatto this beatto this beatto this beattotototototo this beat
TiltTiltTilt my head
bobbingbobbinbobbing hat
justjustjustjustjustjustjjjust so
Looking like I know something
aboabout the pulse of the world.
I thought I got it

BUT HOW THE RHYTHM HAS CHANGED

I looked up what Jazz meant
thought it said a game of music
that is what this sounds like
people playing with sounds
fingers
stampeding
playing hearts
on strings
see,
(Wee god) Park-er’s souls sum time

My Insides Are Breathing Fire and Other Unfortunate Truths

I am so flipping angry.

I don’t know what what, why, towards whom (most likely, myself) or how long it’s been going on, but it’s there, burning in the back of my throat till I want to scream. I can feel my insides coiled with tension, turning into tighter and tighter rings as if the stress of the many lives I want to live, my hopes and dreams, have banded together and turned putrid – morphed into a cancerous, carnivorous, voracious monster ready to cut me open.

Okay, so I lied – Continue reading

If I Can’t Title My Blog Post, How Am I Expected to Title a Book?!

I know I have something to say.

I’m not sure what that thing is. The words aren’t exactly falling off the tips of my fingers, typing themselves onto this page. I can feel that my heart is racing, beating in a rhythm unreasonably rapid, and even when I’m not conscious of it, I’m worrying constantly about how I worry constantly about the future. It’s (un)shockingly exhausting.

It feels like I’m permanently anxious, guys, and the fear and the stress are giving me very real back problems, which is a sentence I had hoped I wouldn’t have to say until I was 40+. But here I am, barely grazing 24, and apparently my apprehension has decided to tuck itself into my shoulder blades, to keep them tense and angry and hurting, always. There’s a literal burden on my back, pressure coiling into a million hard knots to remind me that I’m sitting here in fear, determined to hope that my novel with drag itself out of me if I only keep my fingers pressed to a keyboard.

I have a favorite creative writing teacher who would laugh at me when I worried. He’d quote Oscar Wilde at me – Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about. The same wisdom’s everywhere, in literary or colloquial form: take a chill pill, don’t take Continue reading

Neil Gaiman

Life is sometimes hard. Things go wrong, in life and in love and in business and in friendship and in health and in all the other ways that life can go wrong. And when things get tough, this is what you should do.

Make good art.


Sometimes, we need a reminder.