chained-to-reality:

artifedex:

ginsengteacat:

Fuck it.

You do realize that if someone is “tearing up” your art, and you, it’s probably because they don’t like you.

And if it’s such a big passion for you, then fine. But as soon as you put it online, it’s public right to say whatever we want—the internet makes it public. What about you and criticizing other people for drinking and “slutting it up”? You’re violating their ~feelings~ and calling them names, and throwing all kinds of insults at them. I can’t make you not say that shit, because hey the internet is public and all that jazz, but what I can do, is retort, or criticize you.

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND THIS. The internet doesn’t suddenly bow down to you like you’re a fucking princess, and then you get to do whatever you feel like without any retaliation.

It will happen, and guess what? You can’t make it stop. You can tell people “hey I don’t want critique ok?” and discourage it, but you don’t have the power to make everyone not retort/critique in some way.

So yes, people will get angry at you for your rape=critique comment, and they will say something. Because let’s face it—it’s fucking stupid. Bodily autonomy is a right, and has nothing to do with critiquing art.

Like someone commented once: “You have all the right to put up pictures of you showing your cleavage, and I have all the right to ogle, or even right click and save. Once it hits the internet, it’s public right to all.”

You can ignore critique. You can’t just ignore being overtaken and dominated both physically and emotionally. I can’t just stand idly by while you compare those two not-related-in-any-way things.

Also, “bakas” ruined all seriousness of what you said.

Another to note to what my great friend has said, never EVER say the word baka outloud like that. You obviously sound white and dont even TRY to make it sound the way it should sound. Baka should never EVER have an s at the end oh my lord.

Ginseng…. I cant take you seriously… I really cant.

I didnt think anybody ever really took her seriously ever. This just became the icing on the cake.

committingsuicide:

Always bringing shit to the U.S., California to be more specific. Got damn it! Stay ya’ll asses over there, which is wherever the hell you came from. I’m so tired of this shit, always bringing a got damn disease. Can’t just come and be illegal. Nah! Gotta bring death and sickness with you. I swear we need to do something about these damn immigration laws, they asses just hoping borders and shit, bypassing all the procedures to be a LEGAL CITIZEN. 

What’s the point of coming ALL the way over here for a ‘Better life” if you’re just going to be illegal, struggle, and poverty stricken. Like serious? How much sense does it make?

• The cost of living is higher here, then it is there.
• You can’t do most ANYTHING, because you’re illegal.
• No drivers licence
• Can’t vote
• and No REAL job, which means no real money, which = poor.

I mean damn just go about shit the right way, people always want a easy way out. Making shit harder for everyone else, not paying taxes and shit. If my mom has to pay taxes, then why doesn’t yours?  

Im not even mad at this for the fact of how little you know and Im not being sarcastic about that or anything. Idk, this is the second post you made like this and its just a little funny about how much you dont know but its even funnier at how people will react

The only thing I will correct you on is that life across the border has a very lower quality of living compare to the US so you can imagine why they would come to a country that likes to tot its horn on the American Dream so if u hatin hate on the motto

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apihtawikosisan:

Early twenties at the most, I suppose.  He’s wearing nice clothes, hip but neat.  He rocks back and forth in his seat and he mumbles to himself.  This draws attention, and the ladies next to him are visibly uncomfortable.  They are waiting to see if he is violent…this is a human trait I think.  We filter out the ‘normal’, and go on high alert when there is a deviation in movement, tone, sound.  This reaction is particularly prevalent among women, I believe.  We are more used to being on the look out for random violence, random aggression.

So I understand their discomfort even as I ponder it.  The hand movements he makes, the way he scrubs the side of his head awkwardly…I’m sure specialists have names for these kinds of movements.  I’ve seen it many times with the autistic son of our neighbour, one of my daughters’ best friends.  I think of that little boy as I look at this young man. 

My own moment of unease passes.  I look at this young man and try to see him through the eyes of the person or people who love him.  Who have taken care of him and who have helped prepare him for adulthood.  He shines.  I don’t understand what it takes for him to get up and get ready for school, or work.  I don’t know if he notices how people react to him and whether that hurts him.  I imagine that those who love him see it, and are hurt.  I imagine that they’ve found ways to ignore it.  I imagine that sometimes he is very overwhelmed…the loud screeching of the metro causes him to cram his fists into his eyes briefly. 

I imagine this young man returning home.  Perhaps a mother greets him, hugs him, welcomes him back.  Someone loves this boy, you can see it.  And for a brief moment, before he rises and clutches his backpack awkwardly, I love him too.