Salome dances her dance of the seven veils,
The men all eye her like wolves on the hunt, this beautiful girl
finally undressing for them. Finally they can see her
exactly as they want to.
The first veil drops.

In 2007, Kim Kardashian’s ex-boyfriend
released their sex tape against her will.
Kim Kardashian, rather than hide in shame
Used the publicity to promote her own career.

Salome moves like a dream half-remembered.
Salome dances like a siren song. All the men ache
to see the hot sugar of her hip bones.
The second veil drops.

In 2014, Kim Kardashian walks down the aisle
As the whole world watches. If only all of us
were so successful in our revenge.
If only all of us stood in our Louboutin heels
on the backs of the men who betray us,
surveying the world we created for ourselves.

The third veil drops.

Kim Kardashian knows exactly what you think of her.
She presses the cloth tighter against her skin
Her smile is a promise she never intends to keep

We can almost see all of her.
Salome shows us her body
but never her eyes.
The fourth veil is dropping.

The four things most recently tweeted at Kim Kardashian were
@KimKardashian Suck My Dick
@Kim Kardashian Can I Meet Kanye?
@KimKardashian Please Fuck Me
@KimKardashian I Love You. I Love You.

Women are told to keep their legs shut.
Women are told to keep their mouths shut.
Some women are kept silent for so long,
They become experts in the silent theft of power.
The fifth veil has dropped.

Kim Kardashian made $12 million dollars this year
Yesterday, uncountable men in their miserable jobs,
told their miserable friends that Kim was a “dumb whore”
Kim Kardashian will never learn their names.

The sixth veil has dropped.
The seventh veil has dropped.

And Salome sat beside King Herod. And he swore unto her
“Whatsoever thou shalt ask of me, I will give to thee
unto the half of my kingdom”
And she smiled, and said
“Bring me the head of John The Baptist.
Punish the man who hurt me”

my favorite of coleman’s stick n pokes

my favorite of coleman’s stick n pokes

Anonymous asked: too shy to post w/ my blog name, but I've been following you for a while and I genuinely look forward to your posts more than anyone else on my dash. I love reading your writing, and I really admire you as a person. Also that eyeliner! I am constantly wowed. Thank you!

this was such a sweet and unexpected message

one of the former cooks explains working with Ryan

my roommate is thinks mixers are “for pussies” but today he started to make a blackberry infusion for me

look, i don’t think you understand, i don’t actually understand, but i need to reiterate that tonight my coworker got my name tattooed on his hand as a joke 

actually, though

actually, though

im literally watching a boy get my name tattooed on his hand right now


There was a time in my life when I thought, “no I won’t take your hand and marry the state” was not only incredibly romantic, but also the height of political discourse

(via lonelyapron)

i hate how often i talk about him and think about him; i don’t know why i do it, i can’t stop but i want to.

that was funny, when i said “we didn’t fuck; it was worse than that”. i said that same thing - not here, maybe in a journal, or maybe out loud - about ryan. there have been a few days or nights where he invited me over and talked to me gently and told me to lie down so he could hold me - except once i made the mistake of lying facing him, with my arms around him, and he snapped “not like that” - but those were always safe, those mornings, because he was usually still holding me when i woke up and he never seemed angry afterwards. you know? it would be easier if all of the times were drunk, almost painful sex and then that inexplicable fury after, it would be easier to hate him or - even better - to not care. instead there were all those afternoons that i woke up with his hand on my stomach and his face in my neck and it was okay and gentle and good.

Anonymous asked: All Too Well or Dear John


Dear John, no question, but —

Look, my passionate feelings about both these songs are well-documented, but it has to be Dear John, there is not a single part of me that believes it could ever not be Dear John, and there are a few reasons. For one, it’s because I think Dear John is the Taylor Swift song. It’s because even though I can appreciate why people might find the “don’t you think i was too young” refrain cloying, I think it’s true. I think it’s true and I like that it’s uncool to say so. I was nineteen and now I know it was too young. Petty nasty unlikable whining. I think there are times when you can be all of those things when making an accusation and still, ultimately, be right. It’s because Dear John is a song about realizing that you are not willing to let the black hole of hate inside somebody else’s middle consume you no matter how much you love them.

All Too Well is a better song. All Too Well is a fantastic song. All Too Well is a song that even a staunch Taylor Swift hater could appreciate, provided that their heart were not truly as withered and dead as they choose to pretend it is. It’s smartly constructed and emotionally incisive, a crowning achievement in the marrying of the acutely specific and the universally relatable that Taylor has always been about, and it’s aching is so rooted in small moments, avoiding any impulse to spiral off into pretty histrionics pulled off a pink diary page and set to electric banjos, ready-made for a fourteen year old girl’s facebook status. It just cuts the bullshit with a dagger, yknow? Except more like a scalpel, probably, therein we have the difference between Kesha and Taylor. Sterility of weapons. But I digress.

Dear John cannot contain itself, every second of it sounds like colt legs tumbling over each other racing down a hill, shocked at their own strength, and in the end it is that wild-eyed red-faced explosions in the sky ecstasy of recovery and escape that wins out or me over All Too Well’s staid, mature self-knowledge and steely examination of time and place as intangible and inescapable at the same time. They’re two songs cut from the same cloth, though, which is basically what I was trying to get at here. All Too Well talks about pain and loss divorced from victimhood in a way that is healthy and important, a way which demonstrates growth, or whatever, but there’s simply a feral, grudge-holding corner of my brain that will never find that as satisfying as screaming out a car window into the flashes of dark sky and green lawns and shitty bars about shining like fireworks over some dickhead’s sad empty town, and I’m not even kind of sorry about it.

but also just like fuck john mayer tbh

via tandess

i’ve been hanging out with the new cook - he’s from cleveland, he is roughly charming, in the way that i am charmed by boys being big and loud and unselfconsciously too much and dirty and covered in bad tattoos - and his friends, which are more of the same. they have a kiddie pool in their backyard that they dumped a bag of glitter into that we sit in or around to drink.

this weekend i got off of work and went over to their house to sit in front of the pool, coleman left early for the graveyard shift and i ended up spending the night with his friend who was supposed to check into rehab the next day. i’ve only known him for a week and change but i am fond of him, i made him dinner and then we drank a bottle of whiskey and watched the princess bride and he told me he was scared. in the morning i helped him with errands that he needed to do before going in and then he drove me home. i am so tired and worried and sad for this man i don’t even know, for all of us, i want him to be okay and i don’t think any of us are going to be.


She cherished the ungainliness of men in undressing, the little dance of slipping off boxers and then seeming to totter, top-heavy on those silly legs, before hopping back into bed, momentarily free of the weight of dignity. A kind of freedom for her, too — in that double denuding, it was suddenly possible to slip into the ultimate fantasy: that they could be harmless after all.

my roommate is getting a dog and last night i dreamt that he called me and told me that the dog was taking my room and i would have to be out by the end of the month and i woke up in a legitimate panic