PROSPERO My brave spirit! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil would not infect his reason? ARIELNot a soul But felt a fever of the mad and played Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, Then all afire with me. The king’s son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring—then, like reeds, not hair— Was the first man that leaped, cried, “Hell is…
I like questions. Ask me some.
My big sister was born on a Wednesday; the kind of Wednesday that meant she’d be full of woe the rest of her life.
Will You Still Love Me When I’m No Longer Young And Dumb?
Yes, Miley’s VMA performance was weird. Strange, even. Unsettling. For some, downright wadafaaaa?…
CALLING ALL EDITORS
I have a short story I’m about to send in to a competition – 1000 words max.
Would anyone be…
We all know The Bachelorette is awful. It truly is. Anything which manufactures situations in which people actually have no choice but to fall in love and get engaged within 8 weeks of meeting one another has to be awful. Right?
But is it though? I mean, compared to poverty and famine and Mugabe, is it really that bad? Does it have any redeeming qualities? Is it actually, for instance, a searing satire of the harsh realities of dating life, seen through a microscope? Maybe not, but what it might be is the most feminist show on television. Or at least a feminist show on television. If you squint.
Hear me out, quickly, before I think too hard about this because I’m pretty sure this theory is already wilting in my mind-grapes.
One independent girl going out to get what she wants, dating 20 guys at the same time, stating openly and honestly what she is looking for without fear of retribution. In a society where asymmetrical sexual moral standards between men and women are the norm, one could argue that The Bachelorette is, albeit accidentally, leveling the playing field. The casting of a woman in the traditional gender role of the male (complete with his inherit right to sexual liberalization – pah!) seeking out a mate; testing all available options, picking some and throwing away others while female viewers cheer her on shows we’ve come a long way from the kitchen sex bunnies of the past….but only if you overlook the fact that the main goal of the Bachelorette is to find a man to propose to her, marry her, complete her, give her life meaning, etc, etc.
See? I told you you had to squint.
Help me out here guys, I need for this show to be forgivable. I need for it to deserve to exist. Why?
Because I have accidentally been watching it every week for the past 4 seasons.
I don’t just watch it though. You can’t ‘just watch it’ in Australia. I actively seek it out. I do more thank seek it out, I download an app onto my computer which hides my IP address, which means I can go to US-only sites like abc.com and stream it online every week and –
Come to think of it, maybe The Bachelorette is really really Marxist. And, um, postmodern. Socialist? No? You know what? Screw it. It’s actually kind of brave, going on television and telling the world that what you want is to find someone to spend your life with when most people can’t even say that face-to-face to someone they’ve known since they were 2. I have a certain respect for people with that kind of courage, and if that sort of courage means they occasionally do silly things like sign up to be the next Bachelorette then so be it.
Pass the remote, Germaine.
Death isn’t something often spoken about in society, except on tumblr by teenagers who just want to like, die, or whatever.
Which is strange, because it is the only thing in the world that everyone has in common - the fact that one day, you and everyone you love will die. But it’s still a taboo, and today that’s not okay with me.
Four years ago my friend died. It’s still not real.
I’m not in shock, or denial, but the reality, the finality, the unfairness of it all has hit me only a very few times, in moments like short bursts of light, flaring and breathtaking and all consuming. Those moments have taken my breath away. The enormity of that word - death - and all it encompasses are things that can only be felt, not spoken about, but it’s a very human thing to try to explain the inexplicable; this compulsive need to plumb the depths of life’s great mysteries.
She was here. She was a living, breathing part of this world. She was funny and pretty and smart and had so much hope. She was positive and sarcastic and biting and loyal. She didn’t take anyone’s bullshit. She was twenty. She was all those things.
She was here, she was alive. And then she wasn’t.
And then? The weirdest thing happened.
I got used to it.
I pushed all that enormous enormity aside and moved on. But - I’ve never forgotten. You never do forget the first thing which makes you realises that you have a soul and that it can hurt.
Annie will always be a part of me; she changed my life. How sad that it was only after she died that I could say that.
Annie I remember you. Your warmth, your light, your strength. Thank you for being my friend. What a privilege it was to have known you.
And so today I lay aside all other things. Tiny distractions, life goals, money troubles, DIY projects. Today is for you. Today is for you and all those who loved you. All those you loved.
But please don’t mistake me when I talk about today. Anniversaries are just our way of marking time, a way of coming together, an excuse for those who have trouble expressing themselves otherwise that you meant something to them. It doesn’t mean that I don’t think about you the other 364 days of the year. Not by a long shot.
Today is just the day where we get to say it out loud.
Text from Pariah, by Maegunn Batt
Barefoot. In the dark.