“The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.”—Alan Watts (via feellng)
“You just have colorful bears running around. It was completely morphed and weird and psychedelic and really druggy. I would have just liked to have had more nudity in it. That’s the only thing. I just want to do crazy, colorful shit like that that has more nudity.”—Kanye West interview in GQ (via adult-mag)
“Clearly then desire is political. But what is the meta-principle brought to bear on desire? For Hocquenghem the answer is love. We should not surrender love to the conservatives’ domestication of desire around the family hearth. For the revolutionary queer project to be rescued from its moribund disarticulation of desire and politics, ‘…love would have to mean nothing else but an effervescent desire to desire, that is, the opposite of falling in love.’ This is not the pseudo-Buddhist idea of love as a generalized, objectless compassion, which is more like a desire not to desire. This is love that negates the egotistical false opposition of narcissism and self-annihilation.”—Luke Pagarani in TNI (via fifidunks)
Q: What’s the worst relationship advice you’ve received? A: "That love doesn’t come easily and that relationships are supposed to be a struggle. Everything else is so hard; hopefully love is the one thing that is actually fun."
Can I read you something? The New York Post’s Page Six has an account of your wedding that reads, in part: “Kanye returned one hour before the wedding and didn’t like the all-white bar that was in front of the Gold Toilet Tower. He took a saw and started sawing it in half himself.Two men held the bar stable as he sawed, and sawed, into the bar, defacing the entire front, screaming at everyone around him. He said it looked like a bar from Texas. Then he ordered two pieces of raw wood to be nailed onto the front of the bar. Once the wood was in place, ‘Now,’ he said, ‘it’s art.’ The Italian construction teams looked at this guy and couldn’t believe what they were seeing.”
For the person that wrote that, were they involved with anything last year that was as culturally significant as the Yeezus tour or that album? They didn’t even talk there about the photographs, or the dress, or Andrea Bocelli singing, or the marble tables. They’re like: “It’s a gold toilet.” No. The bathrooms—that usually would be a porta-potty—were wrapped in a fabric that was neutral to match the fort. The bar was terrible, and the wedding planner didn’t approve it with me. I was having issues with this wedding planner the entire time on approvals, and I get there and they threw some weird plastic bar there. So the same materials that were used to cover the bathroom, we said, “Let’s just use that, because this is all we have to make the bar look better.” Which it did, in the end. And anyone knows that you cannot pick up tools yourself, because of—what are those rules about the workers?
"I texted my lover today. “I miss your cock,” I wrote. “I want to suck it.” Then I texted a series of illustrations: an eggplant, an ear of corn, a cactus. With all debt owing to Sonnet 130, my lover’s cock is nothing like the corn, but William Shakespeare never had to express himself in emoji. (Shakespeare used “cock” as a pun, eliding penis into pistol trigger in Henry V, but in Shakespeare’s day “cock” wasn’t a dirty word——it was just a word. Aside: while it’s probable that Shakespeare enjoyed cock, whether or not he sucked them remains a larger historical debate.) I’ve taken to few things with the vigor and naturalness with which I’ve taken to fellatio. Reading. Lifting weights. Even writing came less naturally than sucking cock, which may or may not give you an inkling of my affinity for it. I remember my first blowjob like it was yesterday, and it wasn’t. It was 36 years ago; I was fifteen. My boyfriend was pushing me to have sex with him, but I wasn’t ready, so I blew him. Taking his penis into my mouth was weird and electric and slick and mushroomy, but when his cock hit the back of my throat, I felt like I’d hit a phantasm of home. Other acts wax and wane. I can take or leave most cunnilingus these days, and while it might be that none of the men populating my bed in the last half decade have the magic mouth, it might also be that my body has changed. These days, I find receiving head to be annoying. On the other hand, somewhat literally, I never liked having my clit rubbed when I was younger, and now I’m quite fond of manual stimulation. I’ve cycled through dominance, submission, and that blanc mange flavor of sex that is neither; I’ve liked long, slow fucks that lasted for days and I’ve found that languor tedious as fuck; positions have risen and fallen on my hierarchy of wants, ditto styles of sex. One thing that has never, ever wavered is my adoration of the blowjob."
So I read Secret Avengers today and my response was mostly: WTF??
I mean they could take this many directions (INCLUDING THE DIRECTION OF PHIL PINING AT NICK’S BEDSIDE AFTER HE WAS HURT IN A TRAP MEANT FOR PHIL AND THEN CONFESSIONS AND KISSING AND ASSKICKING FOREVER ARE YOU LISTENING ALES KOT…
"Imparting advice is tricky — while I am always excited to and interested in speaking with women of color about how identity intersects with their own writing, I’m still very much in an incubation period. I am a slow writer, (it’s looking more and more like I read more than I write), I don’t take…