There’s Just Something About Hotel Rooms
- Natalia Vela
- Drew Wilson
vice.com Mercury retrograde is a great time to connect with what really matters, to dismiss a sense of urgency and witness how behaving like a robot keeps you from connecting with other people.
pipewrenchmag.com A pediatric emergency physician looked at me, a thirteen-year-old fat Black girl, and was so certain I was sexually active that she performed a pelvic exam while I screamed and cried and repeatedly revoked consent—if you can claim I ever gave it in the first place.
creepycatalog.com This is where Mary Harron’s comment hits: What is behind Tom Cruise’s eyes? What are behind the eyes of any of these artists whose skill is in pretending to be someone else? We think because they can pretend to be something, they understand what it means to walk in those shoes and have greater empathy, but do they? Or do they just have one superior skill — impersonation — and everything else is empty? Perhaps even nihilistically empty?
thecut.com It doesn’t matter what you say when no one is willing to hear it. I think about survivors following the trial from home: If this is the response a person can expect from airing their claims in court, why speak up at all?
collective.world This might be a particularly overwhelming month for you, Aries, and you may start to feel like you’re losing faith.
thenib.com A scary precedent.
upworthy.com A growing number of Americans no longer have gods to revere or royalty to idolize. In their absence, celebrities have taken up that mantle for many. But in this modern age of information traveling at the speed of WiFi, illusion and mystery are no longer the great shields they once were. Now, the spotlight mercilessly peers down into every crack in the veneer. And much like a real dying star, it’s as though these people are collapsing in on themselves, crushed by the massive weight of their own fabricated persona.
youtube.com You're going to be the death of me. But I don't care.
youtube.com I once gave Marilyn Manson a pill so he would stop talking so much.
collective.world If I could call grief by any other name I would call it a Trojan Horse. We think it looks a certain way, we think that we can assess it and measure it and create a human shaped space within our own bodies for it to take residence within. But just when we think we have it figured out, when it’s all organized neatly between our bones — it morphs, and unpacks itself, and we come to understand that it was never really as linear as it seemed, it was always going to take new form, to alter, to surprise us when we least expected it, to splinter off into the heart of us.