#Reading Rooms

[russellmoreton]

The Library : A Meditation on the Human Condition (Giacometti, artist-philosopher) by Russell Moreton Via Flickr: Books can step up to us- into us- in many ways. Voices from Chernobyl by Svetlana Alexievich was for me that rare precipitate force which calls another book into being. Mario Petrucci, Heavy Water, a poem for Chernobyl.

[problemnyatic]

It's too late, I've already depicted you as the ugly pathetic "soy"jack (the soy is because soy has estrogen in it, this is bad because it makes you less masculine and more like the inferior female sex, because men should only be manly otherwise they're "failed" and thus lesser and deserving of ridicule) And me as the White Handsome Blue-Eyed Blond Man With Impressive Facial Hair Who's Memetic Association Is With Being Objectively Correct (This makes sense because he is the ideal Aryan specimen, all of these features obviously make him objectively superior to other people). This means I win and definitely look good here, you should really just pack it up. I'm a leftist btw

[rightnewshindi]

हिमाचल के 544 स्कूलों में बनेंगे रीडिंग रूम, हर विधानसभा से होगा 8 स्कूलों का चयन; शिक्षा विभाग ने शुरू की तैयारियां

Himachal News: हिमाचल प्रदेश के 68 विधानसभा क्षेत्रों के आठ-आठ स्कूलों में रीडिंग रूम बनाए जाएंगे। शिक्षा विभाग ने मुख्यमंत्री सुखविंदर सिंह सुक्खू की बजट घोषणा पढ़ो हिमाचल अभियान को अमलीजामा पहनाना शुरू कर दिया है। इन रीडिंग रूम का उपयोग कर स्थानीय युवा प्रतियोगी परीक्षाओं की तैयारी कर सकेंगे। बुजुर्गों व अन्य लोगों के पढ़ने के लिए यहां समाचार पत्र व अन्य पुस्तकें उपलब्ध कराई जाएंगी। अभियान को…

[ozgurkedi]

[jowbokitten]

"I don't condone hitting women, but I never said anything about strangling bitches." -Lucifer (probably)

[your-local-granny]

"We have to make sure you become recognized as a first-rate prosecutor, don't we? .......It wouldn't be very interesting otherwise."

[f-d-z]

Twisted Brick Shell Library by HCCH Studio

[letmebegaytodd]

[shisasan]

Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own [originally published 1929]

[okidraw]

i wanted to show them the stars.

[kiras-law]

light "if someone tries to read my diary i will set my drawer on fire" yagami

[russellmoreton]

The Library : A Meditation on the Human Condition (Giacometti, artist-philosopher) by Russell Moreton Via Flickr: russellmoreton.blogspot.com/ Books can step up to us- into us- in many ways. Voices from Chernobyl by Svetlana Alexievich was for me that rare precipitate force which calls another book into being. Mario Petrucci, Heavy Water, a poem for Chernobyl.

[magpiedraws]

Jon he's really trying here cut him a break

(tumblr crunched the resolution of this comic a lot rip)

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[ozgurkedi]