I, too, overflow; my desires have invented new desires, my body knows unheard-of songs. Time and again I, too, have felt so full of luminous torrents that I could burst.

- hélène cixous, the laugh of the medusa
A cis woman suggested that [Shawna Virago, trans woman, artist, and activist] ‘didn’t get’ the film [FtF: Female to Femme], that it was ‘just a spoof’. She then added that she thought Shawna’s comments [about how it invisibilized cis privilege] were ‘divisive’. The word ‘divisive’ is a red flag for me. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I heard trans women, or allies of trans women, called ‘divisive’ when we call out people on their transphobia or transmisogyny. In contrast, I have never once heard anyone use the word ‘divisive’ to describe cis queer women who make transmisogynistic comments, or who organize or attend queer women’s spaces that exclude trans women. The fact that acts that marginalize trans women are not typically described as ‘divisive’ implies that there is a presumed and unspoken ‘one-ness’ that exists in queer women’s communities that implicitly precludes trans women.


Julia Serano, “Excluded” page 57.

(via andythenerd)

If, as C. S. Lewis claimed, the old gods die to faith but rise as allegory, then old myths die to religion but rise as fantasy.


Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

(via oleandertea)

I have sea foam in my veins, I understand the language of waves.

- Jean Cocteau, from Le Testament d’Orphée (Les Éditions Cinégraphiques, 1960)

(via chardonette)

We can be terrified of this much love together.

- roxane gay, an untamed state
Is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?

- Friedrich Nietzsche
All the literati keep at least one imaginary friend.

MICHAEL:   I do think you're pretty, Natalie. Something must be holding me back.
NATALIE:   How many girls have you kissed?
MICHAEL:   Four. Oh, you mean not counting my sisters?
   Natalie impulsively kisses him passionately on the mouth.
NATALIE:   There!
MICHAEL:   Different.
NATALIE:   Your sisters are frustrating your natural, vigorous...you know.
NATALIE:   They've made you see yourself as they see you—only as a girl's brother.
MICHAEL:   Really?
NATALIE:   It's because of their limited progress in transcending their objective reality.
MICHAEL:   (enlightened) Well, no wonder!
The people won’t forgive when the future custodian of a broken statue, a stripped wall, a desecrated grave, tells everyone who passes by, ‘Yes-yes, all this was destroyed by the revolution.’ The destroyers wear nihilism like a cockade — they think they destroy because they’re radicals. But they destroy because they’re disappointed conservatives — let down by the ancient dream of a perfect society where circles are squared and conflict is cancelled out. But there is no such place and Utopia is its name. So until we stop killing our way towards it, we won’t be grown up as human beings. Our meaning is in how we live in an imperfect world, in our time. We have no other.


 Tom Stoppard, Salvage (Coast of Utopia Trilogy)

i re-read The Coast of Utopia today and, just, Stoppard’s non-Arcadia and Rosencrantz & Guildenstern works are so underappreciated on tumblr and i would like to try and rectify that.

(i may or may not’ve been specifically looking for this quote for a reason related to something i’m writing for shakespeareandpunk but shhhhh don’t tell her)

The entire catastrophe of being a poet is that, after the fact, everything will be too eerily coincidental: the fact that the fire could not and would not light; the fact that the kindling flamed fast only to extinguish itself; the fact that the bed sheets were two sizes too small; the suggestion the doves gave of not being able to roost, of having to move on again. And later, some evening without a fire, when the poet writes it down, as she will and as she must, the other more obvious metaphors of lameness, impotence, shame, and weariness: the thunderstorm that was not as tormenting as the weatherman said it would be; that we could not, try as we might, properly row our boat to shore; the same storm’s lightning felling the old sycamore to cinders and ash; the sound of a train in the distance; the over-used view of the moon caught between branches. And so, the entire catastrophe of the poet is the conspiracy of the world, how everything can be read yet how the poem the poet writes regarding this written world will never be read by the one for whom it is intended. The bridegroom after all is not ready, will not tear through the scenery, does not have a musical mating call. And when the snow storm comes late in spring and gathers in clumps in your windows and doorframe, and you know the wisteria is suffering some other kind of forbearance, then you will know what this means: a metaphor for another kind of demystifying; another kind of premature parting; the beginning of solitude and other such things.

they called her witch because she knew how to heal herself.

- Here We Are, Reflections of A God Gone Mad (2nd edition)

(via hereticnarrative)

oh oh oh oh   god.   my heart   witches   survival   quotes   
If I cannot move Heaven, I will raise Hell.

- Virgil’s Aeneid, book VII.312 

(via hereticnarrative)

Sophie’s teeth chattered, but she said proudly: “He’s the best wizard in Ingary or anywhere else. If he’d only had time, he would have defeated that djinn. And he’s sly and selfish and vain as a peacock and cowardly, and you can’t pin him down to anything.”
“Indeed?” asked Abdullah. “Strange that you should speak so proudly such a list of vices, most loving of ladies.”
“What do you mean, vices?” Sophie asked angrily. “I was just describing Howl.”

- Castle in the Air, Diana Wynne Jones (via spacesleuth)

(via ladyofstardust)

Those who do not have power over the story that dominates their lives, the power to retell it, to rethink it, deconstruct it, joke about it, and change it as times change, truly are powerless, because they cannot think new thoughts.

- salman rushdie, as quoted by anne bogart in what’s the story: essays about art, theater, and storytelling