“Fifteen to eighteen percent of girls under twelve now wear mascara, eyeliner and lipstick regularly; eating disorders are up and self-esteem is down; and twenty-five percent of young American women would rather win America’s Next Top Model than the Nobel Peace Prize. Even bright, successful college women say they’d rather be hot than smart. A Miami mom just died from cosmetic surgery, leaving behind two teenagers. This keeps happening, and it breaks my heart.
Teaching girls that their appearance is the first thing you notice tells them that looks are more important than anything. It sets them up for dieting at age 5 and foundation at age 11 and boob jobs at 17 and Botox at 23. As our cultural imperative for girls to be hot 24/7 has become the new normal, American women have become increasingly unhappy. What’s missing? A life of meaning, a life of ideas and reading books and being valued for our thoughts and accomplishments.”—“How To Talk To Little Girls” by Lisa Bloom (via crookedindifference)
If I choose to make porn (which I am choosing to do, incidentally), or if I choose to be an escort (which I did, once upon a time), I am not ‘selling myself’. I am not for sale. My body, my mind, my personality… these things are not for sale. What is for sale, is the…
“So therefore I dedicate myself, to my art, my sleep, my dreams, my labors, my suffrances, my loneliness, my unique madness, my endless absorption and hunger because I cannot dedicate myself to any fellow being.”—Jack Kerouac (via 1000scientists)
In my next life I want to live my life backwards. You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people’s home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement. You party, drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous, then you are ready for high school. You then go to primary school, you become a kid, you play. You have no responsibilities, you become a baby until you are born. And then you spend your last 9 months floating in luxurious spa-like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then Voila! You finish off as an orgasm.
I’ve been working on a little project as a gift for some good friends of mine and this one turned out so well, I wanted to share it with everyone. Take a listen and let me know what you think! xoxo -Travis
At times I feel on top of the world. When things seem to be going wonderfully, I get knocked back by a startling thought. I am pure entertainment. I recognize that some people do not ever have recognition. They have no one in their lives. They have nothing to grab hold of. I, on the other hand, have people who adore me, love me even, but it seems only when I’m putting on a show. Without it, when things are getting real, the crowd leaves me alone with only myself to figure out what’s happening. I hate when it gets to a crashing halt like right now.
I’m so embarrassed. And humiliated. Why can’t I just be loved enough to be wanted?
More importantly, when is my clock going to just stop ticking? I’m sick of this world.