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Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it’s all a male fantasy: that you’re strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.

Margaret Atwood, The Robber Bride (via sealedtome)

i can’t uncouple these in my mind

(via sobriquetinbedgrowyrhair)

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How to give grandma a heart attack. (by Steec)

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new aesthetic: man covered in cacti, surrounded by confused police

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Debbie Harry, Blondie, New York City 1977, by Waring Abbott

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