When you are hurting, there will always be people who find a way to make it about themselves. If you break your wrist, they’ll complain about a sprained ankle. If you are sad, they’re sadder. If you’re asking for help, they’ll demand more attention.

Here is a fact: I was in a hospital and sobbing into my palms when a woman approached me and asked why I was making so much noise and I managed to stutter that my best friend shot himself in the head and now he was 100% certified dead and she made this little grunt and had the nerve to tell me, “Well now you made me sad.”

When you get angry, there are going to be people who ask you to shut up and sit down, and they’re not going to do it nicely. Theirs are the faces that turn bright red before you have a chance to finish your sentence. They won’t ask you to explain yourself. They’ll be mad that you’re mad and that will be their whole reason alone.

Here is a fact: I was in an alleyway a few weeks ago, stroking my friend’s back as she vomited fourteen tequila shots. “I hate men,” she wheezed as her sides heaved, “I hate all of them.”

I braided her hair so it wouldn’t get caught in the mess. I didn’t correct her and reply that she does in fact love her father and her little brother too, that there are strangers she has yet to meet that will be better for her than any of her shitty ex-boyfriends, that half of our group of friends identifies as male - I could hear each of her bruises in those words and I didn’t ask her to soften the blow when she was trying to buff them out of her skin. She doesn’t hate all men. She never did.

She had the misfortune to be overheard by a drunk guy in an ill-fitting suit, a boy trying to look like a man and leering down my dress as he stormed towards us. “Fuck you, lady,” he said, “Fuck you. Not all men are evil, you know.”

“Thanks,” I told him dryly, pulling on her hand, trying to get her inside again, “See you.”

He followed us. Wouldn’t stop shouting. How dare she get mad. How dare she was hurting. “It’s hard for me too!” he yowled after us. “With fuckers like you, how’s a guy supposed to live?”

Here’s a fact: my father is Cuban and my genes repeat his. Once one of my teachers looked at my heritage and said, “Your skin doesn’t look dirty enough to be a Mexican.”

When my cheeks grew pink and my tongue dried up, someone else in the classroom stood up. “You can’t say that,” he said, “That’s fucking racist. We could report you for that.”

Our teacher turned vicious. “You wanna fail this class? Go ahead. Report me. I was joking. It’s my word against yours. I hate kids like you. You think you’ve got all the power - you don’t. I do.”

Later that kid and I became close friends and we skipped class to do anything else and the two of us were lying on our backs staring up at the sky and as we talked about that moment, he sighed, “I hate white people.” His girlfriend is white and so is his mom. I reached out until my fingers were resting in the warmth of his palm.

He spoke up each time our teacher said something shitty. He failed the class. I stayed silent. I got the A but I wish that I didn’t.

Here is a fact: I think gender is a social construct and people that want to tell others what defines it just haven’t done their homework. I personally happen to have the luck of the draw and am the same gender as my sex, which basically just means society leaves me alone about this one particular thing.

Until I met Alex, who said he hated cis people. My throat closed up. I’m not good at confrontation. I avoided him because I didn’t want to bother him.

One day I was going on a walk and I found him behind our school, bleeding out of the side of his mouth. The only thing I really know is how to patch people up. He winced when the antibacterial cream went across his new wounds. “I hate cis people,” he said weakly.

I looked at him and pushed his hair back from his head. “I understand why you do.”

Here is a fact: anger is a secondary emotion. Anger is how people stop themselves from hurting. Anger is how people stop themselves by empathizing.

It is easy for the drunken man to be mad at my friend. If he says “Hey, fuck you, lady,” he doesn’t have to worry about what’s so wrong about men.

It’s easy for my teacher to fail the kids who speak up. If we’re just smart-ass students, it’s not his fault we fuck up.

It’s easy for me to hate Alex for labeling me as dangerous when I’ve never hurt someone a day in my life. But I’m safe in my skin and his life is at risk just by going to the bathroom. I understand why he says things like that. I finally do.

There’s a difference between the spread of hatred and the frustration of people who are hurting. The thing is, when you are broken, there will always be someone who says “I’m worse, stop talking.” There will always be people who are mad you’re trying to steal the attention. There will always be people who get mad at the same time as you do - they hate being challenged. It changes the rules.

I say I hate all Mondays but my sister was born on one and she’s the greatest joy I have ever known. I say I hate brown but it’s really just the word and how it turns your mouth down - the colour is my hair and my eyes and my favorite sweater. I say I hate pineapple but I still try it again every Easter, just to see if it stings less this year. It’s okay to be sad when you hear someone generalize a group you’re in. But instead of assuming they’re evil and filled with hatred, maybe ask them why they think that way - who knows, you might just end up with a new and kind friend.

By telling the oppressed that their anger is unjustified, you allow the oppression to continue. I know it’s hard to stay calm. I know it’s scary. But you’re coming from the safe place and they aren’t. Just please … Try to be more understanding. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)


(via miriamforster)

Don’t forget the fear. Anger is easier than fear.

(via delilahsdawson)

(via lagilman)



Degenerative Cubism afflicts 12% of Spanish cattle. If the disease were ever to become airborne, it’s estimated that all beef cattle in the country would be little more than a few lines leaving the impression of cattle within one month.
A realism vaccine was developed in 1994 but has occasional surrealist side effects, turning 2% of cattle injected into two arguing mimes and a waffle.

Made me giggle.

The flavor of the waffle is said to be exquisite.



Degenerative Cubism afflicts 12% of Spanish cattle. If the disease were ever to become airborne, it’s estimated that all beef cattle in the country would be little more than a few lines leaving the impression of cattle within one month.

A realism vaccine was developed in 1994 but has occasional surrealist side effects, turning 2% of cattle injected into two arguing mimes and a waffle.

Made me giggle.

The flavor of the waffle is said to be exquisite.

(via matociquala)



Book Burning Memorial

'In the center of Bebelplatz, a glass window showing rows and rows of empty bookshelves. The memorial commemorates the night in 1933 when 20,000 “anti-German” books were burned here under the instigation of Goebbels. There's a plaque nearby that says something like “Where they burn books, they will also burn humans in the end.” '

Interesting but rarely mentioned: most of the content burned that night came from the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft (institute for the science of sex) headed by Magnus Hirschfeld. The institute and Hirshfeld himself were some of the first to openly campaign for the right to have sex with someone of the same gender, the right to transition if you did not identify with your birth sex and for the general acceptance of queer people. The team had already performed the first SRS operations in Germany and in addition, the institute advocated sex education, contraception, the treatment of sexually transmitted diseases, and women’s emancipation.
Photographs of the night of the book burning are plastered across history books world wide, but the queer movement that was destroyed that night often goes unmentioned.

From the Wikipedia entry on the Institut:

On 6 May 1933, while Hirschfeld was on a lecture-tour of the U.S., the Deutsche Studentenschaft made an organised attack on the Institute of Sex Research. A few days later, the Institute’s library and archives were publicly hauled out and burned in the streets of the Opernplatz. Around 20,000 books and journals, and 5,000 images, were destroyed. Also seized were the Institute’s extensive lists of names and addresses.

(Emphasis mine.)

And from a 2008 article in EDGE Boston:

Nazi Germany declared homosexuality an aberration that threatened the German race and convicted some 50,000 homosexuals as criminals. An estimated 10,000 to 15,000 homosexuals, mostly men, were deported to concentration camps, where few survived.

(via wrecklesart)

Important information about the realities of global poverty (which is decreasing all the time!) and the myths that hold back progress.


The 3 Dogs need some TLC. Please help with this Kickstarter so they’ll look as good as new and can keep hitting the road to support great goings-on around SF!

The Doggie Diner heads embody San Francisco’s unique, weird, creative spirit. They are a symbol that intersects the post-WWII Bay Area small business, the 60’s underground comic scene, and SF Cacophony-inspired creative mischief that continues to this day.

Originally a local Oakland/SF fast food chain, the Doggie DIners peaked at about a dozen restaurants around the Bay Area and then succumbed in the mid-1980’s to competition from national chains like McDonalds.

Each of these epic canine cabezas stands 10-feet-tall and weighs 300 pounds, made of fiberglass and metal in the fetching shape of a dachshund’s head wearing a chef’s hat. They were giant signs for the restaurants, akin to the better known Shoney’s Big Boy, usually mounted on a pole 10-feet off the ground.

San Francisco artist Bill Griffith often drew talking doggie diner heads into his surreal comic strip Zippy the Pinhead carrying them into daily papers around the country as well as collections published by Last Gasp Books, San Francisco’s iconic purveyor of underground art & comic books.

Zippy the Pinhead's friend and confusing museZippy the Pinhead art by Bill Griffith

And the Cacophony Society connection? Well John Law and a few other Cacophony folks worked in the commercial sign industry from the 1970’s on. Installing, maintaining and demo-ing all kinds of business signs. They watched first-hand as the number of doggies dwindled over the years.

John recounts in detail on the Kickstarter site how he acquired 3 of the monumental mutts. Here’s the short version:

Around 1990 when the last of the Doggie Diner heads were being hauled off to landfills, John Law and fellow tradesmen and artists managed to rescue a few of the last Dogs from what would have been a most certain death. Since then, these remarkable and historic icons have toured around the Bay. As a service to the community, for the last 25 years they have been dropping in free of any charge on hundreds of charity events, local music shows, parades, and important public happenings.

John’s loved to bring the doggies out for Cacophony and like-minded events, parked out front as a sign that something weird, wonderful and worthwhile was going on in the vicinity. As a key member of both the Cacophony Society and its predecessor The Suicide Club, John knew what was worth drawing attention to including St Stupid’s Day, Art Car Fests, and Laughing Squid events, amongst many many others.

As you can imagine the dogs got noticed. Everywhere they infatuated those just meeting them and brought back memories for those who grew up in the Bay Area.

Over 25+ years though the dogs have had some serious wear and tear, and that’s reason that John and friends set up this Kickstarter. They are half way to the nearly $50K needed to help the dogs look like new and be sturdy enough for the next quarter century of representing all the best things about San Francisco. With incentives that include Doggie Diner art by Ron English, Josh Ellingson, and Loid Mongoloid as well as Zippy the Pinhead himself. Also Cacophony books and your own personal adventures with John Law. , daredeveil-cyborg-raconteur-dogwrangler.

For the love of all that is San Francisco, please kick in a few bucks, and spread the word!! Follow John on Twitter for updates!

These dogs, and their people, are some of my favorite things about San Francisco.

Mr Churchill has been taken again with pneumonia… They are using M and B. If they can prolong so a life so valuable for a few years that will be something, though the Nature Cure people dislike this treatment.

M and B was a common name for sulphapyridine, “the first chemical cure for pneumonia.”

From Few Eggs and No Oranges: The Diaries of Vere Hodgson 1940-1945, which I bought from The Book Depository