-Harry Potter and My Hogwarts Uniform.
-Harry Potter and I defeated the Basilisk with my Hogwarts Uniform
-Harry Potter and I met my godfather with a blue shirt
-Harry Potter and The red shirt I wear all the movie
-Harry Potter and I wear that blue shirt again
-Harry Potter and I wear that blue shirt again
-Harry Potter and I changed the blue shirt for the red one
-Harry potter and I will confront my fate with my old blue shirt.
are u fucking kidding me
octopi are just as ridiculous as cats ok
" MY BOWL"
I’m going on an a d v e n t u r e.
The racist immigrants carry disease rhetoric is nothing new.
Perhaps we need a U.S. history lesson:
Under President Franklin D. Roosevelt, the U.S. forged a program, through a series of agreements with Mexico’s PRI-dominated government, called the Bracero program. This program was used to fill in the gaps in manual labor the U.S. had after the war.
It sounds like a liberal dream: immigrants being given an opportunity to work in the “land of opportunity,” yet it was hardly that. The laborers were forced into horrible working conditions. Many died from exhaustion (often from working in the sun too long) from working in the fields picking food for the U.S. Many also suffered from disease.
The U.S. decided what was best for the issue of disease: a widespread use of a highly toxic livestock pesticide that braceros were often doused in as part of processing into the U.S.
Inspiration porn is an image of a person with a disability, often a kid, doing something completely ordinary - like playing, or talking, or running, or drawing a picture, or hitting a tennis ball - carrying a caption like “your excuse is invalid” or “before you quit, try”.
Let me be clear about the intent of this inspiration porn; it’s there so that non-disabled people can put their worries into perspective. So they can go, “Oh well if that kid who doesn’t have any legs can smile while he’s having an awesome time, I should never, EVER feel bad about my life”. It’s there so that non-disabled people can look at us and think “well, it could be worse… I could be that person”.
In this way, these modified images exceptionalise and objectify those of us they claim to represent. It’s no coincidence that these genuinely adorable disabled kids in these images are never named: it doesn’t matter what their names are, they’re just there as objects of inspiration.
But using these images as feel-good tools, as “inspiration”, is based on an assumption that the people in them have terrible lives, and that it takes some extra kind of pluck or courage to live them. For many of us, that is just not true.
If we even begin to question the way we’re labelled, we slide immediately to the other end of the scale and become “bitter” and “ungrateful”. We fail to be what people expect.
I hate this shit so fucking much. This is a tool for isolation in the guise of hope. This is yet another way to say, “You stay over there on that side of the line so we don’t have to think about you.” It’s a way to use people.
When I was very young, my dad (who was a paraplegic person) was my hero and my whole world. I thought of him as fun, smart, strong, capable. But as I grew, my perceptions of him began to change. He was the same person, but suddenly I wondered if he was less intelligent than other people, if he was sad, if his life was all pain and no pleasure, if my mother and I were worth living for. I questioned his strength. I wondered if I was his nurse rather than his daughter. I mourned his life while he was still living it. Even though I knew him, even though he told me that he loved me and loved being with me.
I can’t tell you how much it hurts me that he died just as I was shaking off those perceptions of him. My first year of legal adulthood and I was beginning to really see him and realize I could contribute to his happiness. And then he was gone.
I didn’t know, how could I not know, that his wheelchair wasn’t the noose around his neck the world told me it should be. Sometimes, I couldn’t even be around him because I didn’t want to see it.
But those ideas didn’t come from him and they didn’t come from me. Without the ableism of the world around us, he would have always been my hero.
I was right the first time—dad was intelligent, he was capable of joy, his life was valuable and worth living. But society told me that no, it was amazing that he could ever be happy, it defied the odds. Told me that he was a figure of tragedy and weakness. All those depressing stories about people in wheelchairs on TV, all our neighbors praising my mother for being able to “handle” dad’s disability, people at gatherings talking to my father like he was dog doing a particularly impressive trick—this is how the world stripped his humanity from him before my eyes.
And those people, the ones who were “inspired” by dad? They never stuck around. Maybe they found it too hard to look at a disabled person, thinking it could be them living that awful, tragic life. They could never do that, they’d exclaim! How amazing that Eric didn’t kill himself! How beautiful!
My dad never complained about it. I’m not sure why. People remember him as being incredibly even-tempered, but sometimes I wonder if it’s because he had so little agency in a world controlled by able-bodied people. He loved company, thrived on conversation, and he knew people were scared of his body, so he put up with their ignorant shit with a smile. He also knew that if someone praised him for his positive attitude, being angry or upset would get the opposite effect.
He deserved so much more than that. He deserved to be a real person to everyone he met and to his own fucking child.
So I hate those posters. I hate those ‘let’s admire disabled people’ TV shows, I hate those movies in which a person’s whole existence is about which parts of their body they can feel or use. I hate that the world tricked me into believing my family was a sad story, my dad a character in a tragic play.
When you hear the same lie over and over again, it starts to feel true.
That’s why it’s so damned important to make disabled people a real presence in media with agency and complexity. Why characters like Oracle, trashed without thought, are crucial. If our dehumanizing culture convinced me that my father was not the man I knew him to be, how can we expect people who don’t know anyone disabled to see and understand? How can we expect disabled children to know that their feelings are not a commodity to be used by the able-bodied for self-validation? That they are a valued and crucial part of our world because of who they are not what they represent?
We fucking can’t.
A kingdom of isolation
And it looks like I’m the queen
Is this from frozen?
All twelve Emmys nominations for Sherlock: His Last Vow:
Outstanding Television Movie - (tba)
Outstanding Costumes for a Miniseries, Movie or a Special - American Horror Story: Coven
SEVEN WINS. WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE.
why is this real
[5/5] favorite actors → sam claflin
I don’t go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me.
starting today all blogs without the following image will be deleted within 24 hours
i’m not even afraid of deletion. i just want this image on my blog
this is my favorite so far
OH MY GOD
I LOVE THIS ONE ALREADY
IT BECAME MISHA :D
I’m calling him Melsa.
you wanna know what kind of questions stage managers get asked?
Questions like this
goddammit Alex I’m not even your stage manager!
SHE DOESN’T EVEN GO HERE!
Chris Pratt and Dave Bautista using their phones on the set of Guardians of the Galaxy