Malcolm Tucker + tumblr text posts

(Source: pethics)

narcissablacks said: I hate to be this person but I mean if you ever want to give away your url hey

Then maybe – and this is just a suggestion, you understand – don’t be that fucking person. 

argusfilch said: hey dear is this blog inactive? xx

no sweetheart, get fucked. xx

(Source: misswelch, via sashayed)

mutanttwins said: I always feel bad for asking this, but I have seen the last post on this blog was from five months ago, the second to last 10 months ago, and the third 11 months ago. Would you be willing to give up this url as it is an unused blog? If you want to switch, I have other urls I'd be more than happy to offer you. Thank you for your time.

Now it’s zero months. Make sure to plot that in your fucking line chart. 

(Source: greg-leon, via sashayed)

Past Anger


Regarding the recent racist murderer trial. Thank you yet again roxanegay:

Some kids were listening to music in a car when a white man took issue with, well, their existence. And he was armed, and he was in Florida though let us not confuse Michael Dunn’s murder of Jordan Davis for a Florida anomaly. 

I listen to music loudly in my car all the time. I used to worry about doing this. Like, I thought, will people think I am “stereotypical” for doing this? And then I thought, “Why would I be ashamed of being “stereotypical”?” And “what the fuck is stereotypical?” And this sort of interrogation is one I regularly put myself through. What will “white people” think if I do X, Y, or Z? I don’t even realize I’m doing it, half the time and then I get mad at the world and start punching air. Fuck you. I’m black. Deal with it. This is what living in this country can do to you. It can make you doubt everything. It can make you buy into the utter bullshit of respectability politics when you know better.  

I listen to music loudly in my car. It has nothing to do with race, and everything to do with having an awesome stereo system and a love of music. But, the rules are always different for black people. You don’t get to enjoy simple pleasures without consequences.

Some kids are listening to music in a car when a white man opens fire in them after a verbal altercation. It sickens me to type these words, to think them, to know them to be true. They were being teenagers.

When I was a kid, the teenagers in West Omaha would cruise Center Street because it was Nebraska. There was nothing else to do. They blasted their music. They left their empties in grocery store parking lots. And for a long time, no one fretted over it because they were all white.

If it were kids from North Omaha, where most of the black people live, it would have been an entirely different story. I didn’t know much about North Omaha growing up, but on Saturdays, my mom took me there to get my hair done because she didn’t know how to do it. That’s when I first saw black people other than my family, or Haitians. And I saw how different that neighborhood was from mine—run down, abandoned but not. I was too young to understand that I was seeing American poverty and segregation. As I got older, the stories began about North Omaha, as this dangerous, gang infested place. It was strange to hear these stories, because I never saw that North Omaha. I saw the kind women who had beautiful hairdos and smelled like cocoa butter and did my hair and told me stories, and hushed me when the relaxer started burning, and who laughed with my mother as they talked about things I was too young to understand.  I was also too young to understand how lucky I was to live in a manicured suburb where my biggest struggle was white kids wanting to “touch my hair.” Privilege is a motherfucker and only now, as an adult, do I truly understand. 

I want to say I am angry but what I feel is past anger. It’s a lonelier place than that, tinged with exhaustion, or weariness but what a shameful luxury it is to be in this place, to have the time to ponder injustice instead of living with it in the brutal ways so many people around the world do.

The jurors from the Michael Dunn trial are now talking. Most of them wanted to convict Dunn of murder but there were two doubters, two people who thought a grown man with a gun was acting in self-defense because he felt threatened by some unarmed kids listening to loud music in a car.

The press keeps calling Dunn’s trial the “loud music trial,” which is fucking infuriating. Loud music didn’t incite murder. Racism did. Michael Dunn is a racist murderer. Let’s not dance around the truth. He has shown himself plainly and it is embarrassing to see people trying to look away from Dunn, from this country, from themselves. Dunn’s trial was the racist murderer trial. It’s not that hard to say.

I want to say something about the value of black lives and black bodies, but honestly, what more is there to say that hasn’t already been said, each time something like this happens? I am out of words. I am out of… almost everything but again, that is a shameful luxury and so I need to try a way to fight this exhaustion, this weariness because somewhere out there, a young black man or woman is living on borrowed time. I am mourning them already but I want to do something more.

"Upstairs my neighbors have their own long night going and they’re laying out all their cards about one another. Big cruel loud cards.
Listen to that romance, she says.
It’s all sweet talk, I say. They’re yelling because they’re in love."

Drown, Junot Díaz

Queen of Attolia by Megan Whalen Turner

(Source: keladry)

A Record-High Number of Young People Are Still Living With Their Parents: Why






ugh i am so fucking done with this kind of journalism.  anyone who can’t explain this in two minutes shouldn’t be allowed to open their mouth about “millenials”; should not get columns devoted to their opinions or ideas or fauxstalgic soap-boxing.    i am so fucking done with the upper class shaming recent college grads for doing whatever they can to save whatever they can, like it’s a horrific embarrassment to cohabit with relatives.  

happy labor day.

oh no COHABITING WITH RELATIVES, the horror!!!


in my case, my dad lost his fucking job. that reality applies to many of us - I’m living at home because my income helps my goddamned family stay afloat since the recession fucked up our lives, but hey, that doesn’t fit into this predetermined lazy-ass narrative about millenials so let’s not talk about that!

(and when my dad is employed again, I’m going to continue living at home for a while so we can recover financially, because economic stability is a wee bit more important to me than establishing my own household for literally no pressing reason other than “a lot of clueless people think it’s weird that I live at home.”)


dare i also say this is totally a white people thing?  and an upper middle class thing?  and a born-in-the-US thing?

all the immigrants i know (from various countries and cultures) think the US attitude towards financial independence at 18 is stupid and bizarre.  family is family.  your parents raise you, you give back.  you’re never really on your own.   there’s no EXPECTATION of abandonment, you still have responsibilities towards your elders.   same goes for lots of religious and native minority communities i’ve encountered

you live at home for child care, you live at home to save for a down payment, you live at home to share vehicles, you live at home to help elderly relatives, you live at home for your siblings or your pets or the location, or you live at home BECAUSE YOU LIKE IT

this fucking bullshit.