We’re kind of just existing together.
Archetypes | THE TRICKSTER
See him hiding in plain sight, with charm and flair, smoking your cigarettes and drinking all the rum, promising you the moon with one face and stealing your immortal soul and your pocketwatch with the other. The trickster more often than not cannot be understood, merely guessed at, for he wears many masks and takes delight in playing the fool to make greater fools of others. He is a black hole at the centre of the story with many reflecting facets, a blind spot in the hero’s vision, sucking up all the love and light and truth and turning them into shining rupturing distractions. He is a gateway to transformation and the underworld, with chaos at his right hand and death at his left, and a terrible whimsy in between. Change is the song he sings, and chaos the ruin that he wreaks. Like a particularly toothsome shark, he will never stop moving onward.
He cannot abide any absolute or rule, will rattle at the cages of authorities until they come tumbling down. He likes to watch worlds crashing and burning and whirling like a whizzing firecracker with them. He has no care for good or evil, no need for the usual vices and virtues of humanity. Where others see fate and patterns, morality and honour, gods and righteousness, he sees only lies stretched over mayhem, and plays with them like a child playing cat’s cradle. Lies are his mother tongue, and with them he shapes and reshapes himself and the world to his liking. He may be destructive or merry, precise or bacchanalian, dealing out death or candy or all at once, but he is never, ever tame. He has no means but chaos, no plan but disorder, no motive but winning whatever fickle game he is playing against the universe, and so may be left standing alone in a burning wreckage that he never intended to create. (He will probably laugh for the flames anyway).
He charms, he whittles at wills, he holds up a mirror to your soul and will twist your mind until everything you see is so warped you will trust only him to speak the truth. And the truth he will speak; only just enough truth to fit his purpose best. He is not a guide; though he may become one by chance or boredom. Humanity is a fascination for him; an ongoing project. He may hate, or he may love, but only in strange ways unbound from traditional emotion, from right or respect or truth, but in creeping, crawling, manic ways that burn and turn the object of his love inside out; that sends them howling mad into the abyss until they destroy themselves or come out the other side burned clean, like earth scorched and made fertile to grow things not seen ever before.
What he desires above all else is to be free, free to pursue his pleasures in all their caprice and recklessness through the playground of the world. Yet often, in the end, he is bound for his crimes against nature. He will always rise again. Change is his game.
Examples: The Devil, Hannibal, Jack Sparrow, Tyler Durden, Loki (when he’s not trying to rule the world), Robin Goodfellow, Iago, Prometheus, Howl Jenkins, the Doctor, Alice Morgan, Moriarty, Anansi, Coyote, The Joker.
#Stagnation; comfort; sanity; these are is his enemies and he may bring about the fall of civilizations or the scandal of social scenes #the end of worlds or the discovery of hidden ones; the breaking of a hero or the rising of a monster; just to prove he can #when he watches the world with glittering eyes and walks with a spring in his step #it is full with the knowledge that he walks hand in hand with the underworld #that change is as much a death as any dagger to the heart #the trickster may howl and weep; will caper and scrape; will dance for the world with flair and style #and only reveal his true nature in the darkest of hours; when all hope is lost and the gauntlet run #even then; it might just be for a wolf smile and fade to black #he may be a winking eye from the text that he steps into and out of as he pleases #toying with audiences both within and without his story #Where he goes he breaks the too-perfect things #makes destructive and inventive mess out of careful order #restructures narratives like he’s cheating at cards #and plays with the loaded dice of his silver tongue
Welp, Tricksters. Key to my heart.
Why Society Still Needs Feminism
Because to men, a key is a device to open something. For women, it’s a weapon we hold between our fingers when we’re walking alone at night.
Because the biggest insult for a guy is to be called a “pussy,” a “little bitch” or a “girl.” From here on out, being called a “pussy” is an effing badge of honor.
Because last month, my politics professor asked the class if women should have equal representation in the Supreme Court, and only three out of 42 people raised their hands.
Because rape jokes are still a thing.
Because despite being equally broke college kids, guys are still expected to pay for dates, drinks and flowers.
Because as a legit student group, Campus Fellowship does not allow women to lead anything involving men. Look, I know Eve was dumb about the whole apple and snake thing, but I think we can agree having a vagina does not directly impact your ability to lead a
Because it’s assumed that if you are nice to a girl, she owes you sex — therefore, if she turns you down, she’s a bitch who’s put you in the “friend zone.” Sorry, bro, women are not machines you put kindness coins into until sex falls out.
Because only 29 percent of American women identify as feminist, and in the words of author Caitlin Moran, “What part of ‘liberation for women’ is not for you? Is it freedom to vote? The right not to be owned by the man you marry? The campaign for equal pay? Did all that good shit get on your nerves? Or were you just drunk at the time
of the survey?”
Because when people hear the term feminist, they honestly think of women burning bras. Dude, have you ever bought a bra? No one would burn them because they’re freaking
Because Rush Limbaugh.
Because we now have a record number of women in the Senate … which is a measly 20 out of 100. Congrats, USA, we’ve gone up to 78th place for women’s political representation, still below China, Rwanda and Iraq.
Because recently I had a discussion with a couple of well-meaning Drake University guys, and they literally could not fathom how catcalling a woman walking down University Avenue is creepy and sexist.
Could. Not. Fathom.
Because on average, the tenured male professors at Drake make more than the tenured female professors.
Because more people on campus complain about chalked statistics regarding sexual assault than complain about the existence of sexual assault. Priorities? Have them.
Because 138 House Republicans voted against the Violence Against Women Act. All 138 felt it shouldn’t provide support for Native women, LGBT people or immigrant women. I’m kind of confused by this, because I thought LGBT people and women of color were also human beings.
Because a girl was roofied last semester at a local campus bar, and I heard someone say they think she should have been more careful. Being drugged is her fault, not the fault of the person who put drugs in her drink?
Because Chris Brown beat Rihanna so badly she was hospitalized, yet he still has fans and bestselling songs and a tattoo of an abused woman on his neck.
Because out of 7 billion people on the planet, more than 1 billion women will be raped or beaten in their lifetimes. Women and girls have their clitorises cut out, acid thrown on them and broken bottles shoved up them as an act of war. Every second of every day. Every corner of the Earth.
Because the other day, another friend of mine told me she was raped, and I can no longer count on both my hands the number of friends who have told me they’ve been sexually assaulted. Words can’t express how scared I am that I’m getting used to this.
Because a brief survey of reality will tell you that we do not live in a world that values all people equally and that sucks in real, very scary ways. Because you know we live in a sexist world when an awesome thing with the name “feminism” has a weird connotation. Because if I have kids someday, I want my son to be able to have emotions and play dress up, and I want my daughter to climb trees and care more about what’s in her head than what’s on it. Because I don’t want her to carry keys between her fingers at night to
Because feminism is for everybody, and this is your official invitation.
Caitlin O’Donnell, Drake University. (via on-another-note)
I don’t understand how so many people want equality, then run away at the thought of being a feminist. I don’t understand how so many women, who have been put in situations only a woman ever could be in, are against feminism. How fathers worry so much about their daughters, yet are against our equal rights and safety from percussion, sexism, men, and everybody else. Too many people honestly do believe Feminism is just about burning bras and rebelling against an equal/perfect society. Bullshit. Absolute bullshit.
So. 2 years ago, I was at a mall trying on new clothes in the dressing room…when in a matter of .02 seconds, it dawned on me, “Hey, I REALLY need to go potty!” Within .01 seconds, I was peeing my pants. Mind you, I haven’t peed my pants since I was three and I was sixteen at the time. And this pee is probably the absolute LONGEST I’ve ever had (at least a minute). The puddle? It probably had a 3 foot circumference.
I had my dad with me, so I called him up to explain the situation — “Dad, dad. I peed my pants, can you bring me my jacket?” Unfortunately, it was a very popular Wet Seal with blasting music and my dad couldn’t hear me on the phone. So I had to raise my voice more…and more…and more until the music stopped and it was dead silent and I was practically screaming by this time. And my dad is quiet at first, in shock. All he says is, “…oh.”
I was still in my own pants, so I had to buy new ones…buy standing in line in pee soaked pants for 45 minutes. Yeah, it smelled to say the least.
When I left the place, I didn’t tell anyone of what I did. I left the puddle for the prissy female workers to find.
Hey, I felt amazing after that pee, though. #satisfaction
I LOVE writing, but hardly ever anything I write comes out properly.
All these great stories and wonderful lives stuck in my head that won’t get to live like the others. I’m sorry ;o;
“Read More” box finished! The lines are a little messy and I accidentally sealed it shut, but I still love it. And it’s going to be in the art show along with my Spacey name project. <3
My ceramic name project! Based off of space, the planets, and stars.
In other news, my dream was p. cool. Cats…everywhere.
My eye hurts so bad, I can barely open it. Ugggh. Sucks. I just want to sleep.