Posts tagged ‘girl gang’

May 10th, 2013

Get ready.



Get ready.

October 14th, 2012

cocoku: aliealiealieee: The Women of Asgarda | In the Ukraine,…















cocoku:

aliealiealieee:

The Women of Asgarda | In the Ukraine, a country where females are victims of sexual trafficking and gender oppression, a new tribe of empowered women is emerging. Calling themselves the “Asgarda”, the women seek complete autonomy from men. Residing in the Carpathian Mountains, the tribe is comprised of 150 women of varying ages, primarily students, led by 30 year-old Katerina Tarnouska. Reviving the tribal traditions of the Scythian Amazons of ancient Greek mythology, the Asgarda train in martial arts, taught by former Soviet karate master, Volodymyr Stepanovytch, and learn life skills and sciences in order to become ideal women. 

Always reblog.

September 4th, 2012

Girl "Gangs"

sluteverbabe:

So a lot of people have been asking me why I have this huge beef with the concept of girl “gangs” being appropriated by this riot grrl subculture and here’s why:

so i feel like the concept has been appropriated a lot from this kinda hood mentality, equating a group of girlfriends who fight off misandry and are into the whole DIY culture with this riot grrl/feminist statement ( and theres nothing wrong with that), with what real gangs are (cycles of violence, poverty, as a result of racism and classism) and young teen girls roles in those gangs. 

It turns something serious and dangerous, and used as a means of survival, into this cutesy afterschool special and thats not okay. Considering how young women are initiated into gangs (you know, being raped or “jumped” in) , the deadly real life consequences these gangs have, appropriating that very real struggle…it just doesnt sit well with me. 

Also, more often than not I see white girls appropriating the concept of “gangs” which is ironic because girls of color are most at risk to the harsh reality of being initiated into this dangerous gang lifestyle. If anyone is in the right to call their girl groups a “gang”, it’s girls of color. Girls of color can reclaim girl “gangs” as something positive in our lives; our tightknit group that lurks the night defending other girls, punching sexist assholes, being rude bitches, DIY culture with a riot grrl and feminist statement… we are rejecting what the threat of what ”gangs” has meant our entire lives and creating a safe space for us to fight back against sexualized violence, poverty,racism, and classism. 

There are also alternatives to calling your tightknit riot grrl group a “gang”, it also doesn’t mean these girl groups aren’t in your face and strong and powerful and collectively fight the system, there’s just a huge difference between that  and romaniticizing gang life.

It’s like…

you ain’t about that life, sit down

relevant, and guilty (I’m not riot grrrl in any way, but yep)

August 30th, 2012

things i learned while driving to and from trader joe’s in forest hills + checking my ego + ice cream

heidicomestolife:

1) honking at people who casually walk into the middle of the road (city life) does not have the same effect as honking at deer who casually walk into the middle of the road (country life) because they don’t run away and instead get mad and gesture at me and OK DUDE BUT YOU’RE STILL IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GODDAMN STREET

2) pumps (strip club) is fascinatingly close to my apartment

3) television’s marquee moon is an excellent driving record

and on a related note, because i do some of my best thinking while driving aimlessly or while i’m supposed to be working, as stressful and terrifying and upsetting as these past couple of weeks have been, i’m finding grace in all of it. i’m letting go and acknowledging that no, it’s not all about me, and yes, there are some things i will never understand because i am a white woman who grew up in an upper middle-class home. the process of actually confronting and accepting my privilege has been a giant ego check. one thing about getting sober is you tend to get a little too confident in your natural tendency to be a good person because hey, you’re not doing awful shit in blackouts anymore. doesn’t mean there isn’t room for growth. and though i’m not sure everyone will understand each other in the end, goddammit, i’m going to try. my friends and my feminism and my community mean the world to me. at the same time, gotta keep my side of the street clean. i actually thought about googling “AA for activists” to see if that’s A Thing. tonight a girl shared and she was so fucking honest i started crying listening to her. that’s been happening a lot lately. you can just feel the warmth and gratitude in the room. i offered to become the new chair of this meeting because it is all female, right by my apartment, and life-changing every time i go. so now i have to go. so there, heidi. 

anyway. one day at a time. oh, and ice cream.

 Have I mentioned I love Heidi? I call her HDVDL in my head.

July 29th, 2012

judyxberman: The New Pornographers — “The Fake Headlines” One…



judyxberman:

The New Pornographers — “The Fake Headlines”

One of the few cliches that I wholeheartedly believe is that great art tell us, as Rilke put it, “You must change your life.” I think this can be true in both figurative and literal ways, and in a whole range of magnitudes, although the extent to which a work of art materially changes our lives doesn’t necessarily correlate to the extent of its greatness. All of which is to say, there have been very few individual songs that have had as clear an impact on my life as “The Fake Headlines” by The New Pornographers.

Right after I graduated from college, in Baltimore, I moved to Astoria with my boyfriend and some friends. This was in 2005, before most new humanities graduates spent months or years unemployed, and I got a job in publishing fairly quickly. At first, I felt so grateful to have found something in the field that seemed to be my only hope at a real career. I had not done relevant internships; I just had a degree in creative writing and one good reference and clicked with my employer-to-be in the interview. Within six months I was editing manuscripts, but the work was still almost all administrative — sending emails to authors, scheduling meetings for my boss, keeping track of contracts and deadlines.

By the end of my first year, although there was not much I could fairly be upset about, I felt trapped and frantic. I had not been a particularly anxious person in the past, but now I was starting to have panic attacks thinking about the future. I did not know what I wanted, but I knew that a life of sending emails and having meetings and editing other people’s books — especially in a subject area I didn’t feel strongly connected to — was not it. There are wonderful, brilliant people in publishing who are doing hugely important work, and some of them were my colleagues. It was just not the career for me. Also, I was terrible at being an assistant. I sent well-written emails and was good at the actual editorial work, but every little request made me feel undervalued and subservient. I say this not to convince you that I was too good to be an assistant or that being an assistant is intrinsically degrading work; I mean it as an acknowledgment of my own control issues. (Weirdly, I tend to be gracious about taking editing/criticism despite having an unattractively adolescent aversion to “being told what to do” in general.)

Anyway, I eventually began to plan an escape strategy. Considering other jobs in publishing gave way to daydreaming about working for five years and saving enough money to quit and spend a year on a novel. I had studied creative writing in college but hadn’t finished a story since graduating. Then, on a whim, I pitched something to Bitch and got hooked on critical writing. I forget whether I began doing music news for Tiny Mix Tapes before or after I started considering journalism school.

What I do remember is the song that convinced me, in a way that no facts or calculations ever could, that I wanted to and could write for a living. The New Pornographers’ Mass Romantic was an album I revisited every few months, falling in love with a new song every time. I had been through the obvious ones already: the title track, “Letter from an Occupant” (which, incidentally, Greil Marcus remembers as “the only song that from 12 September 2001 through at least the next two weeks I could bear to listen to”), “The Slow Descent Into Alcoholism.” But this time, it was “The Fake Headlines.”

The beautiful mystery of Carl Newman’s songwriting is that he so often manipulates lyrics that don’t add up to a narrative or descriptive whole so that they nonetheless create a distinct mood. New Pornographers songs have very specific emotional resonances, even when the words are as nonsensical as, “This boy’s life among the electrical lights.” The best way to describe these lyrics, I guess, is impressionistic.

“The Fake Headlines” is a bit more cohesive than most of Newman’s New Pornographers songs. “I wrote the news today / In a tent outside the midway rides,” it begins. The narrator alludes to a dark past (“And when you see the bruises on my legs from kicking pills / Then you’ll see how recklessly the pages are filled”) and conflates journalism with songwriting (“I filled the whole front page / With the catchiest words I could find”). There are vaguely absurd expressions of ambition (“I want to think out so loud / That the fashion police break me”). Maybe it is troubling that the song that inspired me to change my life was one about a seasoned hack writing beautiful bullshit on deadline, but it’s what spoke to me. (It may also elucidate why I have always been a better critic than reporter.) There was a wearily heroic romanticism there, and every time I wavered in my decision to go into lots of debt, I listened to the song again and hopeful restlessness took over.

I am not interested in discussing whether journalism school was a good or bad decision for me — just the power of art to send us down different paths in both our thinking and our behavior. Before this weekend, it had been a while since I had listened to “The Fake Headlines.” Hearing it again, even now that it bears more resemblance to my life than it once did (although, please, I do not fabricate), the song still gives me a jolt. It recharges my idealism and makes me want to be audacious rather than just adequate.

July 15th, 2012

pussy-strut: rgr-pop: katydidnot: why though marie??? “why…



pussy-strut:

rgr-pop:

katydidnot:

why though marie???

“why is no one talking about this??”
“i don’t know but you should reblog it from me.”

have we considered asking her?

I emailed last night—she didn’t know about brennan being evil, she just came across it and  liked the story (so did I), Ms. Marie Calloway is not ok with transphobia, and now knows brennan’s true nature.

June 27th, 2012

Me and my friends Mary, Jess and Kathy Live together Sit around…



Me and my friends
Mary, Jess and Kathy
Live together
Sit around and talk to each other about life
How we feel and what we
Have in common with each other
We’re out of our mescaline minds
And talkin’ ‘bout we met travelin’ behind
And diggin’ that we seem to be three of a kind
And havin’ such a good time
Me and my friends
Mary, Jess and Kathy
Hike our way down
To the canyon store
Buy a bottle of wine an’
Then we puff and sweat our
way right back up the hill again
We’re out of our mescaline minds
And talkin’ ‘bout we met travelin’ behind
And diggin’ that we seem to be three of a kind
And havin’ such a good time
Me and my friends
Mary, Jess and Kathy
Drive the car out
To Manhattan Beach
Munchin’ sand and sandwich
Laughing at the ocean
Knowing life’s
Laughing right back
We’re out of our mescaline minds
And talkin’ ‘bout we met travelin’ behind
And diggin’ that we seem to be three of a kind
And havin’ such a good time
And havin’ such a good

and just noting no one connected “Summer” to this

June 27th, 2012

Me and my friends Mary, Jess and Kathy Live together Sit around…



Me and my friends
Mary, Jess and Kathy
Live together
Sit around and talk to each other about life
How we feel and what we
Have in common with each other
We’re out of our mescaline minds
And talkin’ ‘bout we met travelin’ behind
And diggin’ that we seem to be three of a kind
And havin’ such a good time
Me and my friends
Mary, Jess and Kathy
Hike our way down
To the canyon store
Buy a bottle of wine an’
Then we puff and sweat our
way right back up the hill again
We’re out of our mescaline minds
And talkin’ ‘bout we met travelin’ behind
And diggin’ that we seem to be three of a kind
And havin’ such a good time
Me and my friends
Mary, Jess and Kathy
Drive the car out
To Manhattan Beach
Munchin’ sand and sandwich
Laughing at the ocean
Knowing life’s
Laughing right back
We’re out of our mescaline minds
And talkin’ ‘bout we met travelin’ behind
And diggin’ that we seem to be three of a kind
And havin’ such a good time
And havin’ such a good

and just noting no one connected “Summer” to this

June 14th, 2012

suzy-x: jamiesinverguenza: cestuncoupdetat: girlsgetbusyzine: …



suzy-x:

jamiesinverguenza:

cestuncoupdetat:

girlsgetbusyzine:

domestic-theatre:

a pretty callout from 2010 from dream date for a zine about POC’s experiences in punk.  does the zine exist?  i wanna read it.

someone who was living at 538 (johnson) in 2010… maybe kate wadkins, lauren measure, rachel hoax zine or marta l. would know?


SIGNAL BOOST NYC PUNX

As far as I know, this zine was not completed. I got in touch with the editor, who said that they were disappointed by the lack of submissions and kind of gave up on the whole idea. I’m kind of tempted to find e-mail them again though and see if maybe they’ve reconsidered/started to work on it again?

If they aren’t working on it, maybe it’s time for someone else to pick up this project and make it happen.

Jamie, why don’t we do it? Anybody else in?

(Even if you all don’t respond I WILL come and find you)

I love you all so much. I don’t feel right contributing but I’m happy to help proofread or edit or staple or whatever. (Fancy copiers at my office too!)

June 10th, 2012

75studios: Photo by Joseph Sterling



75studios:

Photo by Joseph Sterling