Emily: an undergrad stretched too thin. Takes works of fiction very seriously. Has shitty praxis. Loves ladies, aesthetics, queerness, ALL the colors, robots, aliens, and a good story. She reblogs Hindi media, comics, fashion, Homestuck, children's cartoons, and good journalism. She's a classy lady.
I do not have fantasies. Fantasy opens me up; I become fantasy. I am the dangerous daughter, thigh-stroking, soft-tongues lover, the pit, the well, and the well of horniness, laughter rolling up out of me like gravy boiling over the edge of a pan. I become the romantic, the mystic, the one without shame, rocking myself on the hip of a rock, a woman as sharp as coral. I make in my mind the muscle that endures, tame rage and hunger to spirit and blood. I become the rock. I become the knife. I am myself the mystery. the me that will be waits for me. If I cannot dream myself new, how will I find my true self?
— Muscles of the Mind, Dorothy Allison (via 2000anhour)