There you go, all the anons who tell people to go and kill themselves. It’s pretty easy to find out your identity.
SNAP
THIS NEEDS TO BE SPREAD, SO THIS BULLSHIT FINALLY STOPS
I thought this was important to pass along to all of you even though it is not Sailor Moon related. I hope this is helpful information for you all!!!
BRILLIANT!
(Source: aguidetodeduction)
(Source: wickedstepmother)
We’ve all seen the headlines at the check-out counter. “Kristen Stewart Caught.” We’ve all thumbed the glossy pages here and there. “Kris and Rob a couple?” We all catch the snaps. “I like that dress. I hate the hair. Cute couple. Bad shoes.” There’s no guilt in acknowledging the human interest in public linens. It’s as old as the hills. Lift up beautiful young people like gods and then pull them down to earth to gaze at their seams. See, they’re just like us. But we seldom consider the childhoods we unknowingly destroy in the process.
I have been an actress since I was 3 years old, 46 years to date. I have no memories of a childhood outside the public eye. I am told people look to me as a success story. Often complete strangers approach me and ask, How have you stayed so normal, so well-adjusted, so private? I usually lie and say, “Just boring I guess.” The truth is, like some curious radioactive mutant, I have invented my own gothic survival tools. I have fashioned rules to control the glaring eyes. Maybe I’ve organized my career choices to allow myself (and the ones I truly love) maximum personal dignity. And, yes, I have neurotically adapted to the gladiator sport of celebrity culture, the cruelty of a life lived as a moving target. In my era, through discipline and force of will, you could still manage to reach for a star-powered career and have the authenticity of a private life. Sure, you’d have to lose your spontaneity in the elaborate architecture. You’d have to learn to submerge beneath the foul air and breathe through a straw. But at least you could stand up and say, I will not willfully participate in my own exploitation. Not anymore. If I were a young actor or actress starting my career today in the new era of social media and its sanctioned hunting season, would I survive? Would I drown myself in drugs, sex, and parties? Would I be lost?
I’ve said it before and I will say it again: if I were a young actor today I would quit before I started. If I had to grow up in this media culture, I don’t think I could survive it emotionally. I would only hope that someone who loved me, really loved me, would put their arm around me and lead me away to safety. Sarah Tobias would never have danced before her rapists in The Accused. Clarice would never have shared the awful screaming of the lambs to Dr. Lecter. Another actress might surely have taken my place, opened her soul to create those characters, surrendered her vulnerabilities. But would she have survived the paparazzi peering into her windows, the online harassment, the public humiliations, without overdosing in a hotel room or sticking her face with needles until she became unrecognizable even to herself?
Acting is all about communicating vulnerability, allowing the truth inside yourself to shine through regardless of whether it looks foolish or shameful. To open and give yourself completely. It is an act of freedom, love, connection. Actors long to be known in the deepest way for their subtleties of character, for their imperfections, their complexities, their instincts, their willingness to fall. The more fearless you are, the more truthful the performance. How can you do that if you know you will be personally judged, skewered, betrayed? If you’re smart, you learn to willfully disassociate, to compartmentalize. Putting your emotions into a safety box definitely comes in handy when the public throws stones. The point is to survive, intact or not, whatever the emotional cost. Actors who become celebrities are supposed to be grateful for the public interest. After all, they’re getting paid. Just to set the record straight, a salary for a given on-screen performance does not include the right to invade anyone’s privacy, to destroy someone’s sense of self.
In 2001 I spent 5 months with Kristen Stewart on the set of Panic Room mostly holed up in a space the size of a Manhattan closet. We talked and laughed for hours, sharing spontaneous mysteries and venting our boredom. I grew to love that kid. She turned 11 during our shoot and on her birthday I organized a mariachi band to serenade her at the taco bar while she blew out her candles. She begrudgingly danced around a sombrero with me but soon rushed off to a basketball game with the grip and electric departments. Her mother and I watched her jump around after the ball, hooting with every team basket. “She doesn’t want to be an actor when she grows up, does she?” I asked. Her mom sighed. “Yes … unfortunately.” We both smiled and shrugged with an ambivalence born from experience. “Can’t you talk her out of it?” I offered. “Oh, I’ve tried. She loves it. She just loves it.” More sighs. We watched her run around the court for a while, both of us silent, each thinking our own thoughts. I was pregnant at the time and found myself daydreaming of the child I might have soon. Would she be just like Kristen? All that beautiful talent and fearlessness … would she jump and dunk and make me so proud?
There’s this image I have of a perfect moment. It comes to me as a square format 8mm home movie with ’70s oversaturated reds and blues, no sound, just a scratchy loop … there’s a little white-haired girl twirling in the surf. She’s singing at the top of her lungs, jumping and spinning around in the cold water, all salty, sandy, full of joy and confidence. She’s unconscious of the camera, of course, in her own world. The camera shakes a little. Perhaps her mom’s laughing behind the lens. Could a child be more loved than in this moment? She’s perfect. She is absolutely perfect.
Cut to: Today … A beautiful young woman strides down the sidewalk alone, head down, hands drawn into fists. She’s walking fast, darting around huge men with black cameras thrusting at her mouth and chest. “Kristen, how do you feel?” “Smile Kris!” “Hey, hey, did you get her?” “I got her. I got her!” The young woman doesn’t cry. Fuck no. She doesn’t look up. She’s learned. She keeps her head down, her shades on, fists in her pockets. Don’t speak. Don’t look. Don’t cry.
My mother had a saying that she doled out after every small injustice, every heartbreak, every moment of abject suffering. “This too shall pass.” God, I hated that phrase. It always seemed so banal and out of touch, like she was telling me my pain was irrelevant. Now it just seems quaint, but oddly true … Eventually this all passes. The public horrors of today eventually blow away. And, yes, you are changed by the awful wake of reckoning they leave behind. You trust less. You calculate your steps. You survive. Hopefully in the process you don’t lose your ability to throw your arms in the air again and spin in wild abandon. That is the ultimate F.U. and—finally—the most beautiful survival tool of all. Don’t let them take that away from you.
- Jodie Foster
a friendly tip: if you feel the urge to self harm get an ice cube and hold it in your hand for a while. it relieves the compulsion in a less destructive way. therapists have used this with their patients and i have tried it myself it works pretty well
Okay wow this is now my favourite post on Tumblr. Signal boost into infinity.
OH MY GOD IT WORKS. IT WORKS. IT FUCKING WORKS. Thank you, fucking god, thank you I’m in fucking tears YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU JUST DID FOR ME.
twewy fandom is now slamigos.
No arguing.
SLAMIGOS
IT IS LAW
(Source: shossexyface)
This woman is apologizing for using an offensive word in her youth. IS THIS FEMINIST?
Absolutely not. Real feminists come out of the womb quoting bell hooks, and come complete with a force field that keeps them from absorbing negative cultural ideas. Indeed, feminist theory and analysis are irrelevant to personal growth because real feminists are born perfectly politically correct and never need to learn and grow. We just write those analyses for fun; they certainly aren’t there to educate. Everyone should always be treated like who they were at their worst moment. PROBLEMATIC.
Extrovert vs. Introvert
There is this common misconception about the natural behaviour of extroverts and introverts; extroverts are often times characterized as being lively and talkative, while introverts are naturally quiet and withdrawn.
This isn’t true. It’s correct that when you meet someone shy and quiet they will more likely be and introvert than an extrovert; however, this doesn’t mean that introverts are naturally shy, or that shy people always have to be introverts. On the contrary, introverts can be very talkative and discuss topics that intrest them for hours on end.The actual definition of an Introvert is someone who draws energy from being alone with their thoughts, while Extroverts draw their energy from being with others.
Introverts are people can who draw energy from being alone with their thoughts. They enjoy, and sometimes even need, a deep conversation with people they trust; they often don’t like small talk, or rather often don’t see the point in it. But after a while they will feel the need to be alone again, to recharge and sort out things on their own.
Extroverts on the other hand, are people who draw their energy from being with others. They can enjoy being alone with their ideas and dreams just as an introverts can enjoy being around people, yet after a while they will feel the need to interact with others to fill up their energy.I love this and will always reblog it.
Thank you. I’ve read too many post like this where extroverts are portrayed as loud douchewaffles and introverts as special loner snowflake babies.
I remember this one time, a girl on here made a post about how she didn’t believe in gay marriage because civil unions were good enough, or something like that.
I saw the post because people I followed were reblogging it and calling her really horrible names, like homophobic cunt or…
(Source: mickeymouskovich)
jellyfish are 97% water and 3% asshole
I will always reblog things like this, it won’t ruin your blog or the look of it, and this could potentially save a life.
(Source: bliss07)
