à l'allure garçonnière

my real blog is alagarconniere.wordpress.com.

tumblr visitor

#friendship

anarkitsch:

[Image: Excerpt from Doris zine. Typewritten words on a white background.]

Friendship should not be a way to pass the time, a way to kill time, a distraction. Friendship should be a beginning place for the revolution.
Prioritize friendship. don’t get sucked into the isolation of just being a couple of wanting just truloveonepersontoreallyunderstandyou. don’t force someone to be monogamous, don’t force someone to be non-monogamous. If your loved one is sick or hurting so bad, prioritize them. Know the difference between self-righteous politics and a politic of compassion and love. But prioritize friendships. Talk to your friends about your hopes and dreams and fears and secrets that you usually save for your lover. Let them close to you. Commit yourself to them. Move to maintain friendships, not just to maintain relationships.

Fixed the source. If you take credit for words & creations that aren’t yours, you’re a douchebag and you need to exit the internet immediately.

anarkitsch:

[Image: Excerpt from Doris zine. Typewritten words on a white background.]


Friendship should not be a way to pass the time, a way to kill time, a distraction. Friendship should be a beginning place for the revolution.

Prioritize friendship. don’t get sucked into the isolation of just being a couple of wanting just truloveonepersontoreallyunderstandyou. don’t force someone to be monogamous, don’t force someone to be non-monogamous. If your loved one is sick or hurting so bad, prioritize them. Know the difference between self-righteous politics and a politic of compassion and love. But prioritize friendships. Talk to your friends about your hopes and dreams and fears and secrets that you usually save for your lover. Let them close to you. Commit yourself to them. Move to maintain friendships, not just to maintain relationships.

Fixed the source. If you take credit for words & creations that aren’t yours, you’re a douchebag and you need to exit the internet immediately.

the other day i was listening to the virgin suicides soundtrack and my partner said something to the effect of how it was a beautiful film about how being a teenage girl can feel so much more tragic than it is, and how it was more a film for adults than for teenage girls. i was all “HELL TO THE NO, are you fucking kidding?” and quickly remembered how much this movie meant to me when i saw it. and then i thought out loud about how i wasn’t really sure why it was so important to me at the time… and also how awkward i’ve always felt about how much i love the story of teenage girl sisters told from the perspective of a bunch of teenage boys who hardly know them (written by an adult male). for some reason though i’ve got a lot of respect for jeffrey eugenides and feel like he can tackle the stories of girls without coming off as appropriating their stories.
when arguing with my partner about the film and which audience it was intended for, this was the image that came to mind. celia in that white lace late seventies dress, and the plastic bangles covering her self-inflicted wounds. i remember the teenage girls who cropped it and used it as their livejournal icons in the early 2000s, where they talked about their (non existent and/or unrequited) lovers in the most melodramatic of ways… i remember that line about how old men could never possibly know what it was to be a thirteen year old girl.
i was a bit older than thirteen when i saw the film, 14 or 15 maybe, but i’m pretty sure i used that line on more than one occasion when someone tried to make me feel as though my feelings weren’t valid, simply because i was a young girl.
(i miss writing about movies, maybe i should make more time for that again)
(been thinking lots about girlhood lately, does it show?)

the other day i was listening to the virgin suicides soundtrack and my partner said something to the effect of how it was a beautiful film about how being a teenage girl can feel so much more tragic than it is, and how it was more a film for adults than for teenage girls. i was all “HELL TO THE NO, are you fucking kidding?” and quickly remembered how much this movie meant to me when i saw it. and then i thought out loud about how i wasn’t really sure why it was so important to me at the time… and also how awkward i’ve always felt about how much i love the story of teenage girl sisters told from the perspective of a bunch of teenage boys who hardly know them (written by an adult male). for some reason though i’ve got a lot of respect for jeffrey eugenides and feel like he can tackle the stories of girls without coming off as appropriating their stories.

when arguing with my partner about the film and which audience it was intended for, this was the image that came to mind. celia in that white lace late seventies dress, and the plastic bangles covering her self-inflicted wounds. i remember the teenage girls who cropped it and used it as their livejournal icons in the early 2000s, where they talked about their (non existent and/or unrequited) lovers in the most melodramatic of ways… i remember that line about how old men could never possibly know what it was to be a thirteen year old girl.

i was a bit older than thirteen when i saw the film, 14 or 15 maybe, but i’m pretty sure i used that line on more than one occasion when someone tried to make me feel as though my feelings weren’t valid, simply because i was a young girl.

(i miss writing about movies, maybe i should make more time for that again)

(been thinking lots about girlhood lately, does it show?)

Vintage photographs of lesbian couples.

killyourinspiration:

lawlipahp:

deadsunsanddyingstars:

Vintage pride, so amazing.

I’ve reblogged most if not all of these photos before, but they’re too lovely to not reblog again.

i can get behind the message of this, but the fact that these are posted without credit, context, dates, not to mention under the headline “vintage photographs of lesbian couples” kind of irks me.

credit from what i know:

  1. La Grosse Claude et son amie, au “Monocle” by Brassaï (from his “ladies at the monocle” series in the 1930s)
  2. Tango in the east end (1954) by Thurston Hopkins
  3. At first I thought this was part of Deborah Bright’s Dream Girls series but I can’t find any credit/source on it.

i can’t find sources on any of the other images. i understand the desire to find images that speak to us and our realities in the past, but i feel like it unfair to ourselves and to the artists who took these photographs to erase the real stories behind them. aside from the bottom photo (which i’m pretty sure is just of models hired by a saucy photographer) these look like photographs of real people with real lives. i think it’s important to do justice to that. …and this is all without talking about how shitty it is that even though these images are beautiful, they are all still pretty resoundingly of conventionally “beautiful” white folks. sadly another instance of even queered images reproducing dominant norms.

also it makes me want to dig up an old article i wrote about queering images that aren’t necessarily queer…

quick thoughts

i never thought my tumblr would turn into where i share my personal thoughts; i always intended it to namely be a place for me to share images i find inspiring, empowering, wonderful, disturbing. but now i’m trying to negotiate that when i want to share my frustrations or elations, i end up coming here. (i still have a lot of qualms about how public it is, how it remains overall impersonal even though there are a good dozen of you i admire and know have got my back) thinking this shit through lately.

i found a ride and got out of town this weekend. coming home to an empty apartment things feel… different. i tell myself the change of seasons does this to me, this confusion of wanting everything to change, now, like the flowers that seem to sprout overnight.

anyway, all of this to say this weekend was good. montreal is so, so different than québec city in so many ways; the bikes everywhere, the weather feeling months ahead of where we still are, the amazing mix of people walking through the park, the films you can see in english or french (or spanish or moroccan or creole), the food. the food. and coming back to québec city reminds me of why i love how they are different, but how close they still are. hopefully i will find a way back before the end of the month.

in the course of two and a half days, i got to meet some really wonderful people, and got to catch up with some good friends. it is simultaneously so comforting and so disorienting to see people you haven’t seen in three years and still feel… like you know each other? a person who knew me gawky and awkward at twelve, thirteen, fourteen. a person who’s walked me home when i was falling down drunk, a person who saw me figure myself out, a person who saw me heartbroken and lovesick, people who have seen me angry at everything and everyone… and who still want to know me. and take the time to see me. i value these friendships more than i can possibly express.

on top of that, i met two brilliant writers i have admired for years. their reflections on time, reality, truth, and the radical potential of literature (fiction) has left me rethinking my feelings as a writer, a journalist, and led me to question why i stopped writing fiction (unless you count a handful of unfinished songs written last year). i’m left overwhelmed at the inspiration they left at my feet, not knowing where to begin, but mostly i am excited by their generosity and genuine spirits. i promised neil i’d read his fiction (“…in english! throw simon’s french translations away, will you?”) and he insisted a dinner date once i’ve finished. nicole can’t wait for august, and neither can i.

my love is leaving for europe tomorrow, for a month. i’m excited that upon his return, it will be summer, and soon after that all of our ambitious plans will start to fall into place. i’m trying to keep feeling the good, and figure out where to put the bad. there’s a lot of bad, some of it capital B bad but most of it manageable lowercase bad. there’s a lot of tough awesome people in my life to help me figure out how to… figure it out. so i can sleep tonight.