here for now

Hi I'm Noah, this is my home on tumblr

need i say more

It’s  not just the figures though, it’s the games they play with them.

When a boy’s playing with dolls (sorry, action figures), what are acceptable things for them to be doing? Fighting. You can play with Barbie if the UFC fighter’s saving her from a dragon.

But you can’t play house.


need i say more

It’s not just the figures though, it’s the games they play with them.

When a boy’s playing with dolls (sorry, action figures), what are acceptable things for them to be doing? Fighting. You can play with Barbie if the UFC fighter’s saving her from a dragon.

But you can’t play house.

(via madmaudlingoes)

Luke Cage was created in 1972.

Four years earlier, in 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot and killed.

Five years before that, in 1963, Medgar Evers was shot and killed.

Eight years before that, in 1955, a young Black man named Emmett Till was tortured, then shot and killed.

These events, and numerous others with frightening similarity, happened in a line, and in the early years of the first decade to reap the social benefits of the Civil Rights Movement, Marvel Comics gives the fans (and the world) a Black male superhero whose primary superhuman aspect… is that he’s bulletproof.

Not flight, or super speed, or a power ring.

The superhuman ability of being impervious to bullets.

Superheroes. Action heroes. Fantasy heroes.

Power fantasies.

Is there any doubt the power fantasy of the Black man in the years following multiple assassinations of his leaders and children by way of the gun would be superhuman resistance to bullets?

In American society, the Black man has come a long way from the terrors of the past handful of centuries, only to crash right into the terrors of the 21st century. Some of those terrors being the same exact ones their grandparents had to face and survive — or not.

There are Black men who are wealthy, powerful, formidable and/or dangerous. They can affect change undreamt of by their parents, and their parents’ parents. Their children will be able to change the world in ways we can intuit and others we can barely begin to try and predict.

But a bullet can rip through their flesh and their future with no effort whatsoever.

And so we look at Luke Cage, a man who gets shot on a regular basis, whose body language is such that he is expecting to be shot at, prepared for the impact — because he knows he can take it.

And maybe, in the subconscious of the uni-mind of Marvel Comics, is the understanding that Luke Cage may unfortunately always be a relevant fantasy idea for the Black man.

2012 – Trayvon Martin is shot and killed.

2013 – Jonathan Ferrell is shot and killed.

2014 – Michael Brown is shot and killed.

2015/2016 – Luke Cage premieres on Netflix.

I look forward to seeing if the Luke Cage of that show will have a true understanding of his power and what he symbolizes.

Real Life Proves Why Luke Cage Endures (via comicberks)

Reading that was like getting kicked in the gut. And yet it feels like that’s not enough.

(via optimysticals)

(Source: fyeahlilbit3point0, via deantrippe)

I have known a few people in life who were, for whatever reasons, desperately unhappy much of the time, and the one common factor I can find, looking back on encounters spanning decades, is that all of them took everything personally. There were no random acts in their world. Everything was malice. Everything was done with personal intent. Every refrain was “Why does this always happen to ME?”** When they had an unpleasant encounter, they ascribed all kinds of motivations to why the other person didn’t like them, or thought they could walk all over them.

I don’t think it was really paranoia, per se, so much as a belief that the world knew they existed, and didn’t much like them. It was a peculiar mating of insecurity with ego—too much ego to believe that no one was actually thinking about them, and too much insecurity to believe that these hypothetical people could be thinking well of them.

My happiness, it could be argued, is largely tied to the fact that I assume the world has no idea I exist.

Centipedes don’t bite me because God hates me, or because I’m unlucky. They bite because they’re predators, and I didn’t have gloves on. I ascribe malice to the centipede because I am creeped out by centipedes, but if I was stung by a bee, I wouldn’t. I’d think “Damn, neither the bee or I came out of that encounter very well…” The car tire doesn’t go flat because my life is shit, it goes flat because tires do that. My wait at the doctor is not long because I don’t rate, it’s long because they got slammed with fifty guys who’s kidneys just exploded, and my piddly little pelvic floor muscle isn’t gonna kill me in the next ten minutes. Things happen.

Yesterday, a teacher at my daughter’s preschool told me that she saw two boys and a girl spinning the knobs of a play oven. Boy #1 says: “I’m a pilot! I’m flying a plane.’ Boy #2 says: “Me too!” The girl is quiet, so the teacher says to her: “What about you, are you a pilot?” The 3 year old girl replies: “I can’t be a pilot. I’m a pilot’s wife.”

So what do you think has happened in this little girl’s short life to make her believe it’s more likely that she would be a pilot’s wife than a pilot?

And what are my weapons? she thought. And the answer came to her instantly: pride. Oh, you hear them say it’s a sin; you hear them say it goes before a fall. And that can’t be true. The blacksmith prides himself on a good weld; the carter is proud that his horses are well turned out, gleaming like fresh chestnuts in the sunshine; the shepherd prides himself on keeping the wolf from the flock; the cook prides herself on her cakes. We pride ourselves on making a good history of our lives, a good story to be told.

And I also have fear – the fear that I will let others down – and because I fear, I will overcome that fear. I will not disgrace those who have trained me.

And I have trust, even though I am not sure what it is I am trusting

“You’re thinking ‘devisable,’ sir. Anyway, yes, I’ve survived a year. Only, I’ve started thinking.”

“A dangerous habit, that.”

“It’s chronic, I’m afraid.[…]”

I Hate Dragons

by Brandon Sanderson

it’s so funny, go read it! (it’s a really short story)

(Source: eibon-and-kishin)