death ramps*
Status:
belligerent ghouls run manchester schools
Joined: September 6, 2013
Last Seen: 9 years
user id: 371066
Gender: F
Joined: September 6, 2013
Last Seen: 9 years
user id: 371066
Gender: F
36
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170 Favorites
11 Following
34 Followers
31 Comment Points
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Flair
170 Favorites
11 Following
34 Followers
31 Comment Points
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Flair
death ramps*'s Favorite Quotes
Why is the term “friend zone” so popular when the term “unrequited love” already exists and is more accurate?
I suspect it’s because it shifts the locus of responsibility. “Unrequited love” focuses on the person who has the crush. The feelings being discussed are the crushing person’s, thus the responsibility in on them to get over their crush and move on. “Friend zone”, on the other hand, focuses on the crush object’s choices. The phrase erases the agency of the crushing person. All blame for their pain is put on the crush object. “Unrequited love” is something that can happen to both sexes, but “friend zone” is a sexist concept that implies that women are solely responsible for men’s happiness, and not men themselves.
You're finding yourself falling for a guy, but he isn't
doing things for you that you would do for him. And your mind
wants you to think that he's the one, but is he
really?
You see, basically, you probably have a crush on a trash can.
What if every time he didn't text you back, you received a slice of moldy bread?
What if every time you saw him doing the special things he did with you, with another girl, you received an old banana peel?
If you had to eat an almost empty box of stale cereal for every time he lied to you and ignored you, your teeth would break off because the cereal is rock hard.
If you had a carton of rotten milk for every time he led you on, you'd probably die from the smell of that sh;t.
If you're reading this with being able to relate to most of these situations, and you're still thinking,"Oh, well he's still so perfect", stop romanticizing a container of spoiled vegetables.
No matter how mesmerizing his voice is, no matter how hot he may look with his hair a certain way, no matter how well he dresses, in the end, it's all...just...a pile of garbage.
And if he ever does these things or anything else that makes you hurt, ask yourself: are you in love with a human, or are you in love with a pile of waste?
You deserve better than a trashcan.
You see, basically, you probably have a crush on a trash can.
What if every time he didn't text you back, you received a slice of moldy bread?
What if every time you saw him doing the special things he did with you, with another girl, you received an old banana peel?
If you had to eat an almost empty box of stale cereal for every time he lied to you and ignored you, your teeth would break off because the cereal is rock hard.
If you had a carton of rotten milk for every time he led you on, you'd probably die from the smell of that sh;t.
If you're reading this with being able to relate to most of these situations, and you're still thinking,"Oh, well he's still so perfect", stop romanticizing a container of spoiled vegetables.
No matter how mesmerizing his voice is, no matter how hot he may look with his hair a certain way, no matter how well he dresses, in the end, it's all...just...a pile of garbage.
And if he ever does these things or anything else that makes you hurt, ask yourself: are you in love with a human, or are you in love with a pile of waste?
You deserve better than a trashcan.
It's Monday. I'm going home at
6pm and a middle aged man and a teenage boy are the only people
left on the bus with me. I consider the fact that because the
driver is also a man I am he only person left on the bus with the
correct genetic makeup for boobs. I'm automatically scared,
scared because of my own anatomy. I wonder how old I was when I
realized that my own body was going to be the cause of the
constant anxiety and fear I feel in situations like this. I get
off at the last stop and the older man smiles at me while
following me up the street. His smile drips, drips, drips and my
heart is pounding, pounding, pounding. He turns off down another
road, but I run the rest of the way home.
Not all men.
I’m at home on a Tuesday, beginning to plan the travels I want to go on next year. I dream of wandering the streets and meeting strangers. I just can’t wait to escape the city I’ve lived in for 17 long years. But… my mum is hesitant. She’s forever worried about the danger that being a young girl traveling alone can bring. I’ll be alone and she’s scared. Surely I’m invincible. I feel invincible. But I know, I know this danger is real and I can’t help but think to myself, if I feel unsafe in my own city, how am i going to feel in a strange place with strange men who don’t speak the same language as me? If I was my brother planning this, I would probably just be wondering if European girls are going to be hot.
Not all men.
Wednesday is a beautiful sunny day but I’ve always been told that I don’t have a “nice enough body” to wear a bikini on the beach. Ever since I was 6 years old I’ve thought that having tummy fat was ugly. That skin that doesn’t have a perfectly golden glow is undesirable. I amble to a clear patch of sand in my one piece and I can feel pairs of eyes latching onto me. Hairy men in speedos who I don’t look twice at eat into my body with their stares. I’m a piece of meat. I am a piece of meat? I am here for their amusement. Please don’t let me be eaten alive.
Not all men.
Thursday night two friends and I are walking to our god damn school dance when we hear “Jesus look at you! You sl.uts heading to a pole?” These words snarl out of the mouth of a respectably dressed man and we stop in horror. Shivers roll up my back in fear. It’s dark. We are alone. What. Do. We. Do??? One of us pulls the finger back. I can never be sure how quickly a sexist man can get angry so we walk quickly away. We’re angry, so so angry. But also so… deflated. I wonder if we deserve this shame.
Not all men.
Sitting on the internet, Friday night and scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed:
"Haha, good job at the game today bro. You R.APED them!"
"Damn with t.its like that, you're asking for it :P"
Another sexist comment.
Another sexist comment.
Another sexist comment.
I’m shrinking and shrinking and shrinking and I want to CRY because these boys don’t realize how small they make me feel with just pressing a few keys. I see these boys on the streets, I talk to these boys, I laugh with these boys. Dear GOD, dear GOD i hope these boys don’t think actions speak louder than words…
Not all men.
Three rules that have been drilled into me since I was young run through my mind at one 1:30 on a Satur...Sunday morning.
-Don't ever talk to strange men
-Don't ever be alone at night in a strange place
-Don't ever get into a car with a stranger
I break all 3 of these laws as I pull open the taxi door. Making light conversation with the driver, he doesn’t see my sweaty hand clutching the small pocket knife I keep hidden on me at all times. He doesn’t even realize the fear I feel at his mere presence. He cannot comprehend it, he never will. How easy would this 15 minute car ride be if I was born a boy?
Not all men.
It comes to Sunday, another snoozy, sleepy, Sunday and someone has the AUDACITY to tell me not all men are r.apists. I say nothing.
I'm a 17 year old girl.
When I am walking alone in the dark, it's all men.
When I am in a car with a man I don't know well, it's all men.
When men drunkenly leer at me in the sreets, it's all men.
When a boy won't leave me alone a a party, it's all men.
Not all men are r.apists. But for a young girl like me? Every one of them has the potential to be.
Not.
All.
Men.
Not all men.
I’m at home on a Tuesday, beginning to plan the travels I want to go on next year. I dream of wandering the streets and meeting strangers. I just can’t wait to escape the city I’ve lived in for 17 long years. But… my mum is hesitant. She’s forever worried about the danger that being a young girl traveling alone can bring. I’ll be alone and she’s scared. Surely I’m invincible. I feel invincible. But I know, I know this danger is real and I can’t help but think to myself, if I feel unsafe in my own city, how am i going to feel in a strange place with strange men who don’t speak the same language as me? If I was my brother planning this, I would probably just be wondering if European girls are going to be hot.
Not all men.
Wednesday is a beautiful sunny day but I’ve always been told that I don’t have a “nice enough body” to wear a bikini on the beach. Ever since I was 6 years old I’ve thought that having tummy fat was ugly. That skin that doesn’t have a perfectly golden glow is undesirable. I amble to a clear patch of sand in my one piece and I can feel pairs of eyes latching onto me. Hairy men in speedos who I don’t look twice at eat into my body with their stares. I’m a piece of meat. I am a piece of meat? I am here for their amusement. Please don’t let me be eaten alive.
Not all men.
Thursday night two friends and I are walking to our god damn school dance when we hear “Jesus look at you! You sl.uts heading to a pole?” These words snarl out of the mouth of a respectably dressed man and we stop in horror. Shivers roll up my back in fear. It’s dark. We are alone. What. Do. We. Do??? One of us pulls the finger back. I can never be sure how quickly a sexist man can get angry so we walk quickly away. We’re angry, so so angry. But also so… deflated. I wonder if we deserve this shame.
Not all men.
Sitting on the internet, Friday night and scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed:
"Haha, good job at the game today bro. You R.APED them!"
"Damn with t.its like that, you're asking for it :P"
Another sexist comment.
Another sexist comment.
Another sexist comment.
I’m shrinking and shrinking and shrinking and I want to CRY because these boys don’t realize how small they make me feel with just pressing a few keys. I see these boys on the streets, I talk to these boys, I laugh with these boys. Dear GOD, dear GOD i hope these boys don’t think actions speak louder than words…
Not all men.
Three rules that have been drilled into me since I was young run through my mind at one 1:30 on a Satur...Sunday morning.
-Don't ever talk to strange men
-Don't ever be alone at night in a strange place
-Don't ever get into a car with a stranger
I break all 3 of these laws as I pull open the taxi door. Making light conversation with the driver, he doesn’t see my sweaty hand clutching the small pocket knife I keep hidden on me at all times. He doesn’t even realize the fear I feel at his mere presence. He cannot comprehend it, he never will. How easy would this 15 minute car ride be if I was born a boy?
Not all men.
It comes to Sunday, another snoozy, sleepy, Sunday and someone has the AUDACITY to tell me not all men are r.apists. I say nothing.
I'm a 17 year old girl.
When I am walking alone in the dark, it's all men.
When I am in a car with a man I don't know well, it's all men.
When men drunkenly leer at me in the sreets, it's all men.
When a boy won't leave me alone a a party, it's all men.
Not all men are r.apists. But for a young girl like me? Every one of them has the potential to be.
Not.
All.
Men.
White people get so angry at the phrase, “You
cannot be rac.ist towards white
people.”
I will never understand why.
Why are you so angry that you are being treated as actual human beings? You are not reduced to caricatures, but portrayed as characters. You are treated fairly, judged not by your skin tone, but by the ways that you carry yourselves, by your actions.
Why do you want to experience rac.ism so badly? It is not fun to be mocked, dehumanized, attacked, killed, incarcerated simply for daring to exist. It is not fun to know nothing of your history or family because it was torn apart, whether through distance or death. It is not fun to hear, at every turn, comments reminding you of your lesser status as humans.
Do you really want to turn on the tv, open a magazine, watch a movie, play a video game, and not see yourself? Or, even better, to only see yourself as a criminal, as a drunk, a mocking stereotype, or as someone to be killed off? Or would you rather see fleshed out, well-written characters with lives and personalities and feelings? I know which I’d rather pick.
If I were a white person, the phrase, “You cannot be rac.ist towards white people,” would be the best thing I could ever hear.
I will never understand why.
Why are you so angry that you are being treated as actual human beings? You are not reduced to caricatures, but portrayed as characters. You are treated fairly, judged not by your skin tone, but by the ways that you carry yourselves, by your actions.
Why do you want to experience rac.ism so badly? It is not fun to be mocked, dehumanized, attacked, killed, incarcerated simply for daring to exist. It is not fun to know nothing of your history or family because it was torn apart, whether through distance or death. It is not fun to hear, at every turn, comments reminding you of your lesser status as humans.
Do you really want to turn on the tv, open a magazine, watch a movie, play a video game, and not see yourself? Or, even better, to only see yourself as a criminal, as a drunk, a mocking stereotype, or as someone to be killed off? Or would you rather see fleshed out, well-written characters with lives and personalities and feelings? I know which I’d rather pick.
If I were a white person, the phrase, “You cannot be rac.ist towards white people,” would be the best thing I could ever hear.
you tell me to "get over him"
and "move on" but you need
to understand that he was all
that i had
you need to understand that
i need too much attention
and he was the only guy
there who gave it to me
even though i was so
afraid to open up
and even though all of the
attention still wasn't enough
to make me satisfied it was
still enough to make me fall
in love with him
and it's going to be much harder
to find a guy who i'll be able to
love the same and will
treat me even better
and "move on" but you need
to understand that he was all
that i had
you need to understand that
i need too much attention
and he was the only guy
there who gave it to me
even though i was so
afraid to open up
and even though all of the
attention still wasn't enough
to make me satisfied it was
still enough to make me fall
in love with him
and it's going to be much harder
to find a guy who i'll be able to
love the same and will
treat me even better
-g.j.
Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever
heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I
cut you out because I couldn’t stand being a passing
fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind,
my dreams. And you weren’t having any of those.
——
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
Whatever
you give a woman, she will make greater. Give her spërm, she
will give you a baby; give her a house, she will give you a
home; give her groceries, she will give you a meal; give her a
smile, she will give you her heart. She multiplies and enlarges
what is given. So, if you give her any crap, be ready to
receive a ton of shït.
