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Was talking with a friend about this yesterday

She and I are both in the midst of a reckoning. We once saw romance as a narrative tool of oppression, a construct designed by the patriarchy to make women accept subjugation. But now we’re beginning to believe that it’s real and reconciling those two truths is proving more complicated than we expected. People today approach love like online comparison shopping, scrolling through options on apps. Instead of courtship, we have the “talking stage,” something that is noncommittal by design. But romance can’t be casual; it requires conviction and presence. It demands vulnerability and a kind of giving spirit that feels almost alien in a culture that prizes detachment and transactional connection. Romance isn’t dead—it’s just antithetical to the way we’ve been conditioned to interact.

@taterhole

Feb 18, 2025

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all good sex is body horror by becca rothfield

well-written article analyzing cronenburg's films and contrasting them with today's sexual politics and lack of eroticism. passage i enjoyed: In fact, we are not impermeable packages of preformed desires, importing our likes and dislikes around with us from one encounter to the next like papers in a briefcase. An erotic craving is inextricable from the ferment that foams up when oneself is sluiced into another. Not only is it impossible for us to know whether an encounter will be deflating or transformative but we cannot know what sort of metamorphosis will ensue if the sex is as jarring as we can only hope it will be. 

@veggiedumpling

Feb 19, 2024

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DREZZDON / BOOK OF GENESIS

from an essay i wrote on drezzdon: I recall Mark Fisher using the term ‘magical voluntarism,’ the belief, under capitalism, that we can become anything we want to become. He also refers to it as ‘the belief that everything, including the material universe itself, is subject to individual will.’ All of a sudden I wanted to write. I watched a couple of drezzdon’s TikToks right after reading Mark Fisher as a kind of somatic ritual à la CAConrad. Though I am aware we lose ourselves in ‘magical voluntarism’ because this neoliberal project is such a success, that bones litter the Gaza Strip and tumours of red fucking meat cling to them, drezzdon’s TikToks made me feel more revolutionary. They gave me an active purpose. I could walk to the Conservative Club with the knowledge that the sky contains a ‘heaven,’ that ‘angels are near,’ before throwing eggs, plums, whatever modern rebellion looks like. I could write without constraint. Is our delusion not an act of resistance rather than compliance? And if it isn’t can’t we mobilise it as such?  Great acts of defiance have hardly been reported as righteous, I mean historically. Adam and Eve, for instance—their rebellion got me cum in my mouth, stomach, all over my stomach, got me the love of a man, as a man, as well as the knowledge of good and evil. It got me enough complicated moralism to make my life worth living, make it not seem too long. It gave us things to uncover, another major player in drezzdon’s work as well as Genesis. Eve, Miss Universe, like literally, rounds the corner to see Adam criss-cross applesauce, his cock concealed by a fig leaf. Around it a bold red circle. She smiles, knowing nothing of bloodshed yet, no mutilation in colour. Being the archetype of feminine wiles, she revels in his embarrassment. Her cunt is wet. She cartoonishly stretches to feel her fig leaf brush gently against its lips and then lies next to him at the base of the great tree to nap. As she dreams of, what, nothing better, Adam lifts the fig leaf from his (and the first) average cock and penetrates the red circle, the canonical first bloody hole. He wonders why it was ever concealed. He wonders if his cock means anything but pleasure, knowing nothing of procreation. But we, like Eve, enjoy the unveiling, stripping our lovers piece by piece; we love what is secret, sexy, under, and perhaps that’s what the red circles are, the snippets of language. We undress the world, like Adam and Eve did, almost biblically, discovering and creating its malleability, its shadows. We revel in divine consequence and its sadomasochistic connotations. In the middle of writing this essay I imagine ctrlcore’ing your body. You’re in the nude. I click and stretch red circles around each nut, ‘angels were here,’ meaning of course a traditional mode of reproduction, the feminine silhouette eager for your sperm—but what’s here now? ‘god,’ ‘god,’ in red arial font.

@greeneyedlocoman

Apr 29, 2025

Top Recs from @taterhole

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ENDING SENTENCES WITH ELLIPSES LIKE A BOOMER

It lends a reflective and wistful tone to written communications imo…

@taterhole

4d ago

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Never changing

My dad teases me about how when I was a little kid, my favorite thing to do when I was on the landline phone with somebody—be it a relative or one of my best friends—was to breathlessly describe the things that were in my bedroom so that they could have a mental picture of everything I loved and chose to surround myself with, and where I sat at that moment in time. Perfectly Imperfect reminds me of that so thanks for always listening and for sharing with me too 💌

@taterhole

Feb 23, 2025

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SURFING THE TIDES OF THE EVERYONE TAB

I am a woman of the people

@taterhole

May 28, 2025