Soo Cute Btw Love This Lookout

Just wanted to tell y'all how grateful I am that radblr exists. Bright spot of my day to be able to interact with women of similar outlooks and theoretical backgrounds in this cesspool of a culture

The greatest trick of the patriarchy was to teach countless generations of women to be kind.

We can talk about statistics all day long, but the weaponisation of our compassion is what keeps us on our knees.

When we see studies about violence, the immediate reaction is but men can be victims, too, and examples like that are why the false ideas of the patriarchy hurts men, too and feminism is for everybody are so prevalent. Women have been so broken down by generations upon generations of manipulation through be kind that is feels wrong, that it feels psychologically painful to centre ourselves.

Instead of women being able to come together and fight for our rights as one, this malicious forced compassion makes us sideline and silence ourselves, with the reward being tricked into feeling like I'm a good and selfless person. When women dare to centre ourselves and put ourselves first reasonably, then we're gaslit into believing that we're being selfish, cruel and even violent, and when other women snap and snarl, tired of our treatment, then they're entirely dismissed as being any modern version of hysteric.

Men like to hide behind the idea that we're the manipulative ones that psychologically damage, but without a thousand generations of men reinforcing that we should think again and actually have kindness and compassion for others, women as a whole would be able to see through the blinders of oppression.

After all, to be anti-prostitution has been reframed as hating sex workers.

Fighting against systemic violence and rape against women is ignoring male victims and supporting female perpetrators.

Protecting female-only spaces is excluding a vulnerable minority's right to exist.

Few ordinary women want to be made to feel like they're hateful or cruel. As soon as we talk about women's issues, examples of individual men are brought up, and women are tricked into talking about them by either proving how kind we are ("of course I don't want anyone to be raped, male victims deserve help!") to distract us from our issues and re-centre men again, or women dismiss that obviously malicious call for compassion ("feminism isn't about men, sort your own issues out!") and then men use it as a reason as to why feminism is evil, because anything without kindness and compassion is wrong.

Women need to be taught that it's not unkind to put ourselves first, and that men use our compassion against us.

In feminism, our kindness and compassion must be reserved for our fellow women.

Women can be kind and compassionate to men in their private lives if they want, but that isn't part of feminism - and they need to be reminded that they won't get that kindness and compassion returned.

the first time i read this i peaked

Women are told our whole lives that men are cold and mean to us because they don't know how to show emotions, but that lie is shattered the moment you watch a sports match. The way male athletes cry, hug and comfort one another, etc. when their teams either lose or win indicates that they are capable of feeling and displaying emotions that are neither anger or lust. They choose to not be affectionate to us, they choose to not love and support us. It's a choice.

2 April, 1937 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov

It's so draining xo

i’m sitting next to you as you drive forty down that dimly lit street, gravel making the car rumble in the soft way that replaces the radio.

I’m watching my hands now, wringing them and watching them shake, little big movements that are more present than not. I don’t know what it’s like to have still hands, anymore.

You don’t know, i think, you don’t know about them. The pills. the way i look out the window briefly, like it hurts to look. like how it feels when you graze a cavity with ur tongue. it hurts in that good way.

I’m scared to look at you and i’m scared to look out the window and catch the moonlight on my skin for the same reason

I’m scared they’ll make me want to stay. I’m scared to come to terms with leaving you, leaving the moon, the dusty road, the gravel, the stars, the stop signs covered in scratches and graffiti covered overpass.

I can’t miss you too much. it has to be quick. I want it to be easy, and god that’s what i’m trying to do. Make it easy.

So i don’t look left across the console to meet ur deep brown eyes, almost black under the moonlight, and i don’t look right to see the little animals scurrying off into the trees at the sight of ur headlights and the sound of your engine.

I look down at my sweaty small hands instead, and i think about how many i should take. Ten, twelve, five, 8.

It’s a guessing game. It’s five minutes until we reach my home.

and then you speak.

“ won’t you say something?” you grumble. “why do you get like this?”

I’m nervous, but i stay static.

“would you even look at me? Look at me, damn it.”

And at that order, the twinge of anger you fail to hide, I move, looking right towards the window of the very important passenger seat . and i glance up. It’s a beautiful night. i want to say. the moon is so pale, it almost looks blue.

we barely move , only breathy laughs between us as we lay together

(we’re trying not to wake Desire)

(Desire, the monster that makes us serious)

you’re not a real feminist if you don’t piss off both the left and the right