youngcontemplations

Latest Posts by youngcontemplations

— Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anais Nin, Vol. 4: 1944-1947

Strong Man. Dark man. Dumb man. My man. Like dry skin flakes, like wet saliva and mucus satiates hunger, like the nape of your neck has the rawest curls of hair. Like eyes that flash maliciously, like lips that curl with intrigue, like eyebrows raised in disgust. Like my beating heart pounds at my temples, like my aching shoulders grab my neck, like my fingers pulse with lust. Like this electric meat machine.

No present, no past, no future. Desperate rabid ravenous numb twisted visceral desire to transcend my body. To become something more perfect; a transformer, omnipresent all-knowing, crucified and gracefully-bearing creature of Mother Nature. Beyond darkness, deeper than human consciousness, stronger than love and more dangerous than survival.

I am...

I am strong like a Soviet woman

Smart like an Asian woman

Untouchable like an Arab woman

Kind as an African woman

Classy like a European woman

and Independent like an American woman

inst: cultur.space / culturfits

gab bois

Introverts want to be opressed so bad but there is actual extrovert oppression going on in the west. The war on drugs. High af taxes on alcohol and cigarettes. Noise regulations. Regulations on how long bars and clubs can stay open. Regulations on how late music festivals can last??? (remember when they unplugged Lana Del Reys mic at midnight bcs the festival was "over"... At midnight???). People partying always being portrayed as drunken retards while introverts always being portrayed as "smart bookworms" when we all know they read exactly 7 children's books and we know exactly which ones those were.....give me a break

internet isnt even fun i just be on here

Jessie Arms Botke (American, 1883–1971) - White Peacock

nothing bottom jeans and boots with the nothing

*seeing a 6 year old in the wild* and skibidi greetings to you my young mr beast

Milton Glaser, Therapy With A Tomato, 1978

Morgan Harper Nichols’ ‘Let July be July’

The phantom pain of someone I never knew haunts me

-1306

Pygmalion and Galatea (1763) by Étienne Maurice Falconet Paul and Virginia (1844) by Alessandro Puttinati Worship of the Female Form (early 20th century) by Alméry Lobel-Riche Kneeling man embracing a standing woman (1908) by Gustav Vigeland In Paradise (1918) by Max Svabinsky Thief of the Moon (1924) by Norman Lindsay

Listening to classical music while trying to get through a classic is a life hack btw.

Robot vs Woman

Sometimes I feel like a robot. All I do is work, study, run errands, watch TV. I hang out with my girlfriends, that’s fun! But I don’t feel like a woman often. It feels nice to be looked at by men, to be admired, complimented. I like to feel precious, treasured, special, like a woman.

That’s stupid, right? That’s a stereotype. Maybe I fall into it. I love it when a cute guy hesitates to talk to me. I love it when he mutters “Hey” and I feel like I didn’t hear it and he doesn’t try again because he’s too scared to make a fool of himself. I like it when guys smile back when I direct them to check-in. I like it when they tilt their head forward like men back in the day used to do with their hats. I love feeling like a woman.

I love it when a guy I met in high school 4 years ago likes my story for no reason, maybe bcz he remembered that conversation we had a long time ago about movies and life. I love it when guys move out of the way for me to pass, or when they hold the door. I love it when the construction guys catch a glimpse of me through my apartment window, or when I’m walking down the street and they take a look.

How dirty. I’m so dirty. I’m saying things I shouldn’t even be thinking. Anyways, who do I think I am? I have no reason to believe I’m so beautiful, effervescent, irresistible. I love myself a lot, that will never change. But who’s to say society does? Yeah I’ve been complimented once or twice. Maybe once by a man, indirectly (remember that day?). But man, I’ve never been asked out. Never been complimented directly by a man. Never had anyone slide into my dms (except for Bhuvaneshwar haha). But maybe I don’t deserve it. I sit up in my little ivory tower of sacred femininity and robust robotic efficiency. I keep all men at arms length like a good girl, both in the eyes of tradition and professionalism. I don’t go to places where I would be exposed to situations like that. Wouldn’t any man be AFRAID of me? Scrawny male legs shaking and all…

WHO CARES!!!

I like it when I join the Zoom meeting and a guy I admire for his intelligence tells me he likes what I wrote down for my part of the group project, and asks me how my semester is going. I like it whennnn…I just like it a lot.

I’m so dirty. But iiii … just like it. Can’t a girl want to feel like a woman sometimes? Can’t she take pleasure in her innate desires when this cold world marches on ruthlessly everyday? I am both a robot and a woman, one by necessity and one through fantasy. Whatever.