Shit I reblog includes the likes of:
rad arse music
random stuff I find funny
I dunno... Just stuff
Guitars and skateboards?
Nudie ladies and dudes.
Fuck a duck and eat it too
carrification, leaving 'em blind
a crumpled heap, a bloody mess
then walks away. out of sight, out of mind
this week, on Almost Human…
Seth Rogan & Joseph Gordon-Levitt - It’s Tricky [x]
Take everything you know and imagine about Freddie Mercury: the iconic British rock star, the philandering partier, the serial maker of testosteroned-anthems, and flip it around to something less familiar: Farrokh Bulsara, a demure, bucktoothed Indian boy in a Bombay boarding school, listening to Lata Mangeshkar, playing cricket.
Curiously enough, the one thing Freddie Mercury was never asked, nor spoke openly about, was his Indianness. […] There were no Indian rock stars in England, sure. But there were also no Indian rock stars in India. Or Tanzania. Let alone gay, Indian, Parsi, third-culture-kid rock stars in either India, England, or Tanzania.
Freddie could not refer to any identity or trajectory other than his own. It is clear from interviews with his family and friends that he was not self-hating, not the type to try hard to be “white-washed.” His silence or dismissal about his cultural background—and one so formative and dramatically different than British life at that—can be interpreted as a political and social symptom of his time:
Freddie lived in the same Britain that has given the world its Victorian feelings about desire, sex and gender. Perhaps he rejected British Victorian taste at the same time he rejected his Indian Africaness. Even American liberal Lester Bangs was made uncomfortable by Mercury’s bare chest. What we call ‘queer’ now with feelings of empowerment, then, was still scary and threatening even on the music scene. Did he consider himself British? Or like Bowie who came after, an alien altogether?
[…] But this is the Freddie we all know: Take, for example, September 1978—his prime. He was handsome, with an angular though slightly bovine jaw, and vaguely ethnic features. Even as someone unfortunate enough to have never witnessed his performative tenacity in real life, the visual archives of Freddie Mercury make certain things apparent: he was magical, soft-spoken, and—to complicate and contribute to his paradoxical bustle—clear that he was the toughest, coolest queen the world had ever seen, whose work, as effeminate and genderbending as it was, is still considered pretty manly today. V.S. Naipaul once said: “write every book as though it is your last.” Freddie, with vatic intuition, took a page out of that book, and sang every song with the same sentiment. It is universally agreed upon—I think—that it is seldom one finds artists who exalt both abandon and irony as debonairly as he.
Despite the fact that he seemed to dismiss categories, reject a slew of social norms, he was ironically, a creature of caricature, of extremity, and high-Victorian causticity: “There’s no half measures with me,” Freddie said in one of his last interviews, unintentionally referencing an apt musical notation. From the dramatic flippancy of his costumes, to his 8-octave baritone perusing vocal extremes with relative abandon, to the fact that he—without doubt, and to the agreement of nearly everyone who lived in his era—defined what it meant to “party like a rock star, “ Freddie was not one for subtlety when it came to his artistic tastes.
And it is also possible that Freddie was not “stuck” in multiple worlds—though he was rejected from most— but liberated. And maybe he had the right idea about culture—that he was not Indian, Zoroastrian, British, or Zanzibarian—but quite simply, he was all that became of his passion: just rock ‘n’ roll.
From “Freddie Mercury: Out on Stage, Brown in the Closet,” by Janaki Challa at Brown Town Magazine
Rest in Power, azizam
Well played, puberty, well played.
Looks like he attended the Matthew Lewis School of Successfully Navigating Puberty too.
I’m gonna reblog this forever because of reasons
the matthew lewis school of successfully navigating puberty
everything about this.
Deputy Headmaster Andrew Garfield
R.I.P. MSN, the only messenger that allowed me to send a giant unavoidable popup of a pig shaking his ass to funky techno music to my conversational partner if they were ignoring me
You have no idea how much this statement means to me.
God bless drag queens.
I will always reblog this
Whenever drag queens are present, you best believe they will save the fuckin day.
Oh fuck yes.
If this isn’t on your blog I’m judging you.
Every time a bell rings, a drag queen gets his wings.
HEY TUMBLR, LET’S PLAY A GAME
To play this game, go to MapCrunch, select “hide location”, make sure you have all countries unselected, and click go. What this will do is drop you in a random part of the world. It’s as if you woke up on the side of a road in an unfamiliar country. The goal of the game is to find your way to an airport so you can return home.
Bonus Hard Mode: No using outside sources, and that includes using google maps to figure out your location from signs or landmarks
…I had plans today but now.
THE AIRPORT GAME IS BACK.
FUCK THIS GAME
LAST TIME I PLAYED IT DUMPED ME IN THE MOUNTAINS OF NORWAY
I PLAYED FOR LIKE 8 HOURS BEFORE BREAKING DOWN CRYING
OMG NO STOP THIS GAME IS MY LIFE!!!
WHY IS THIS BACK
I HAVEN’T USED THIS GIF SINCE FEBRUARY
FIRST IT DROPPED ME IN THE BACK ROADS OF ROMANIA AND THEN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKIN YUCATAN AND THEN INSIDE A GODDAMN BUILDING IN SINGAPORE
THIS IS SO FRUSTRATING BUT I’VE NEVER HAD THIS MUCH FUN AT THE SAME TIME GOD HELP ME