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3:43pm September 1, 2014

 This is why you shouldn't click on the naked photos of Jennifer Lawrence

fabulouslyfreespirited:

If you deliberately seek out any of these images, you are directly participating in the violation not just of numerous women’s privacy but also of their bodies.
In what’s being called the biggest celebrity hacking incident in internet history, more than 100 female celebrities have had their private nude images stolen and published online. The bulk of the images posted have been officially confirmed as belonging to Jennifer Lawrence, but a complete list of victims’ names - including Krysten Ritter, Kate Upton, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Rihanna, Brie Larson and Kirsten Dunst - has been subsequently published. (Link does not contain pictures, only names.)
The images were first uploaded by an anonymous member of the underground internet sewer known as 4chan and have since been enthusiastically shared across platforms like Reddit and Twitter. A representative for Lawrence has confirmed the images are real, condemning the theft of them as a “flagrant violation of privacy” and adding that “The authorities have been contacted and will prosecute anyone who posts the stolen photos.”
There are a few different issues that a criminal act like this brings up, but before I get into them it’s necessary to make one thing clear: If you deliberately seek out any of these images, you are directly participating in the violation not just of numerous women’s privacy but also of their bodies. These images - which I have not seen and which I will not look for - are intimate, private moments belonging only to the people who appear in them and who they have invited to see them. To have those moments stolen and broadcast to the world is an egregious act of psychic violence which constitutes a form of assault.
The people sharing these images are perpetuating an ongoing assault. The people gleefully looking at them are witnessing and enjoying an ongoing assault. When you have been asked by victims of a crime like this not to exacerbate the pain of that crime and you continue to do so anyway, you are consciously deciding that your enjoyment, your rights and perhaps even just your curiosity are more important than the safety and dignity of the people you’re exploiting.
That out of the way, let’s get a few other things straight.
1. This is not a ‘scandal’
It’s a crime, and we should be discussing it as such. Some media outlets are salaciously reporting it otherwise, as if the illegal violation of privacy involving intimate images is little more than subject for gossip. When associated with sex, the word ‘scandal’ has been typically interpreted as something that assigns responsibility to all parties involved, a consensual act unfortunately discovered and for which everyone owes an explanation or apology. Remember when private nude photos of Vanessa Hudgens (whose name also appears on the list of victims) were leaked online and Disney forced her to publicly apologise for her “lapse in judgment” and hoped she had “learned a valuable lesson”? Never mind that Hudgens was an adult and a victim of privacy violation - the ‘scandal’ was painted as something for which she owed her fans an apology. Which leads us to:
2. These women do not ‘only have themselves to blame’
While depressing, it’s sadly unsurprising to see some people arguing that Lawrence et al brought this on themselves. Part of living in a rape culture is the ongoing expectation that women are responsible for protecting themselves from abuse, and that means avoiding behaviour which might be later ‘exploited’ by the people who are conveniently never held to account for their actions. But women are entitled to consensually engage in their sexuality any way they see fit. If that involves taking nude self portraits for the enjoyment of themselves or consciously selected others, that’s their prerogative.
Victims of crime do not have an obligation to accept dual responsibility for that crime. Women who take nude photographs of themselves are not committing a criminal act, and they shouldn’t ‘expect’ to become victims to one, as actress Mary E. Winstead pointed out on Twitter. 
Sending a photograph of your breasts to one person isn’t consenting to having the whole world see those breasts, just as consenting to sex with one person isn’t the same as giving permission for everyone else to fu*k you. Victim blaming isn’t okay, even if it does give you a private thrill to humiliate the female victims of sexual exploitation.
3. It doesn’t matter that ‘damn, she looks good and should own it!’
Stealing and sharing the private photographs of women doesn’t become less of a crime just because you approve them for fapping activity. I’m sure many of the women on this list are confident of their sexual attractiveness. It doesn’t mean they don’t value their privacy or shouldn’t expect to enjoy the same rights to it as everyone else. It also doesn’t mean they want strangers sweating over their images. That line of thinking comes from the same school which instructs women to either ignore of welcome sexual harassment when it’s seemingly ‘positive’ in its sentiments.
None of these women are likely to give a shit that you think their bodies are ‘tight, damn’. Despite what society reinforces to us about the public ownership of women’s bodies, we are not entitled to co-opt and objectify them just because we think we can defend it as a compliment.
I will not be seeking out these images out and I urge everyone else to avoid doing the same. I hope that all the women who have been victimised here are being appropriately supported by the authorities and their network of friends. And I hope sincerely that more people take a stand against this kind of behaviour.
Because this incident aside, it strikes me as deeply ironic that we will vehemently protest a free Facebook messenger app because we’re outraged at reports that it can access our phone’s numbers, and yet turn around and excuse the serving up of women’s bodies for our own pleasure. Our appreciation is no less disgusting just because it’s accompanied by the sound of one hand clapping.
3:41pm September 1, 2014
Let’s go bleed on congress

Let’s go bleed on congress

3:40pm September 1, 2014

 http://adventuresofcesium.tumblr.com/post/96384067194/websandwhiskers-its-been-a-little-while-since

websandwhiskers:

It’s been a little while since I’ve seen anyone post *news* about Ferguson - like it just sorta faded into the background, wasn’t the issue of the hour anymore.

This needs to not fade.

So, apparently the Ferguson PD is getting sued, for what I think is, all things…

3:35pm September 1, 2014

At our graduation party, he turns to me, still wearing his grad cap, and winks. I like the way you dance, he says. I have something to show you. Come to my car. I hesitate. I’m not sure, I tell him. All of my friends are here. Come on, he insists. Live a little.

OK now he was close, tried to domesticate you.

I walk four steps behind him to the driveway. I can hear the sounds of the party in the distance. Everybody I know is on the other side of the wall, but here, with his teeth gleaming, they seem so far away.

But you’re an animal, baby, it’s in your nature

He pops his trunk and pulls out a six-pack. Want one? he asks. I shake my head. He hands me one anyway. This is a party, he says. Have some fun.

Just let me liberate you

I pick up the bottle and gingerly take a sip. He downs his in one gulp. Then he leans forward and reaches out to where I am standing. He laces his arm around my hips and pulls me so I am leaning beside him on his car. Why are you so far away? he asks.

And that’s why I’m gon’ take a good girl

He begins panting in my ear and telling me how good I look in my dress. The dress my mother bought me for the occasion. I squirm. I try to break his hold. I tell him my friends are probably wondering where I am. I say, I want to go back inside.

I know you want it

He laughs. He puts his lips to my ear and tells me to have some fun. I feel his tongue slip into my mouth and go numb. My fingers begin to shake. I try to move away and he puts his hand on my stomach until it bruises and pushes me against the car, hard.

I know you want it

He puts his hand around my neck and begins kissing me. My tongue hangs there. I try to scream and end up only tasting him.

I know you want it

My legs go dead as his hand creeps up my thigh. I kick his shin and he smiles, then bites my lip before slipping his fingers behind my underwear. I squeeze my eyes shut. I dig my nails deep into my hand. My toes curl helplessly.

You’re a good girl

I feel him unbuttoning his jeans one-handed and using the other to completely restrain me. I think about how easy this is for him to do. I begin beating my head against the car, harder and harder. The thumping sound does not even slow him.

Can’t let it get past me

He is pulling himself out of me with a smile. There is no condom in sight. My underwear are ripped and at my feet. I look at my legs and notice I am bleeding.

I hate these blurred lines

With his arm still tied around my waist he asks, This wasn’t your first time, was it? My eyes are still shut. I do not say anything.

The way you grab me

The way you moved in that dress and your smile. Damn, I saw you from across the room. And the way you laughed at other guys’ jokes. If I didn’t get on that one of them would.

Must wanna get nasty

He grins. I knew I was going to get lucky tonight, but not as lucky as you made me.

Do it like it hurt, like it hurt

He lets go of me and I am hit with a sudden burst of air. I fall to the ground, heaving, as I listen to him open his trunk and crack open another beer.

What you don’t like work?

I’m going back to the party, he says. I lie still on the ground, feigning death. Are you coming? He reaches down to touch me and I begin to shake. Fine. Suit yourself. You should clean yourself up anyway.

I know you want it

I listen to his footsteps echo away. I try to sit up and collapse onto my knees. My limbs refuse to work. For the first time, I hear the sound of someone crying and choking on their breath. It takes me to realize it is me.

I know you want it

I roll myself to the front of the driveway and lie, with my head against the concrete, crying. On my legs there is still dried blood and cum. I open my mouth and nothing comes out.

I know you want it

I lie on the ground for the rest of the night, convulsing. I hear him
come out hours later with his friends, look at me, and laugh. I listen to him tell them I must be another “shit-faced bitch.” I stay still. I dig my nails deep into my hand. I try to scream and end up only tasting him.

— I Hate These Blurred Lines | Lora Mathis

In italics are the lyrics to Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” (via kamala-k)
3:28pm September 1, 2014

 Sept. 1 3:42 pm

justice4mikebrown:

2:52pm September 1, 2014

thymoss:

railroadsoftware:

no one ever says that Rome needed help from aliens to build their empire

#l laughed for days when i found out that #ancient egyptians used water to reduce friction and move blocks for distances #and that this was literally DEPICTED ON THEIR HIEROGLYPHICS #but ~western archaeologists~ #thought that the pouring of water depicted ~superstitious rituals~ #jfc

2:44pm September 1, 2014

I really like playing photo apps now :o

2:42pm September 1, 2014

Heck I look cute in my boyfriend’s clothes

2:27pm September 1, 2014

I’m 11, and my mother’s tickling me on the floor of our living room and she won’t stop despite my squealed pleas. I start screaming RAPE! RAPE! RAPE! at the top of my lungs because that’s what the boys at school yell on the playground while we play. My mother freezes and tells me that rape is not a joke and she never wants to hear me use it like one again.

I’m 14, and I’m sitting on the porch with my dad and his current girlfriend. She’s letting me wear her hearing aid and I can hear the air conditioner running in the house across the street. I can hear the crickets and my dad’s breathing slightly amplified. I can hear her tell me that if I’m ever assaulted, I should yell FIRE! instead of RAPE! because more people will care enough to help.

I’m 16, and the only gift my friend gets for her birthday is mace.

I’m still 16, and her mace is confiscated at a concert we go to. We are afraid on our walk home to pass the group of men that heckled us earlier. We see a police officer and almost ask him to escort us to the rapid before realizing he is also a threat. We run in our skirts with our hearts in our throats.

I’m still 16, and I’m scared that this is only the beginning.

— K.R (via kamala-k)