Right, so you’ve all read “A Question of Class” by Dorothy Allison, right?
No, we had been encouraged to destroy ourselves, made invisible because we did not fit the myths of the noble poor generated by the middle class. Even now, past forty and stubbornly proud of my family, I feel the draw of that mythology, that romanticized, edited version of the poor. I find myself looking back and wondering what was real, what was true. Within my family, so much was lied about, joked about, denied ,or told with deliberate indirection, an undercurrent of humiliation or a brief pursed grimace that belied everything that had been said. What was real? The poverty depicted in books and movies was romantic, a backdrop for the story of how it was escaped.
The poverty portrayed by left-wing intellectuals was just as romantic, a platform for assailing the upper and middle classes, and from their perspective, the working-class hero was invariably male, righteously indignant, and inhumanly noble. The reality of self-hatred and violence was either absent or caricatured. The poverty I knew was dreary, deadening, shameful, the women powerful in ways not generally seen as heroic by the world outside the family.
i’ve done like, 12 things in my life probably, and i regret 16 of them
Me when i have to reblog from the source because u couldnt control your dumb ass comments
the first thing i do when i wake up is blog and then i blog for the whole day and then the last thing i do before i go to sleep is blog because i have actually quite seriously lost control of my life
So I was on the train today and these two black guys were having a conversation not even that loud and said “nigga” like once when this white lady turns around and says “How do you think MLK Jr. would feel about you using that kind of language” and one of the guys snaps back and said “Idk maybe if your people didn’t shoot him I would know”
okay i need you to imagine
for one solitary second
in a world occupied by both starfleet and pokemon
cmo leonard mccoy