ONLY SEX PRODUCES MONEY?

I don't want to advertise a site that allows women, and a few men, to sell nude photos or parts of themselves that are paid a lot of money by followers.
I learned about this online prostitution a short time ago and I learned of really huge amounts that are obtained from this commodification of the human body. I was shocked because once again it is sex that makes money. Sex is required by many men. It is the men who buy those photos, it is they who demand to see more and more. to see certain poses, certain parts of the body. So there are many girls, even very young ones, who sell photos of this type. So what is the use of female independence if the female body is still sold to earn money? Sure, these girls aren't on the streets, they're not in danger, but they're on a screen, and men continue to use them for their pleasure. Girls who should have understood that life is not only made of beautiful clothes and jewelry but who demonstrate that they have a brain deviated from this society that does its utmost to make you think that earning money with sex is now a normal thing and who does not do it is considered stupid. You who speak of God here, maybe your daughters are selling themselves and you don't know it. There are a lot of schoolgirls selling photos, even mothers, young boys. It is something that I think is really harmful to the image of the woman and yet men continue to be and always want the same things from a woman, that is, her body and that's it.

HEY GIRL

Hey girl, So come on you feel. Are you sad right? You are on the verge of crying every moment and sometimes you do it even, when no one sees you, locked in your room. You often don’t like yourself and don’t understand your behaviors. You are afraid, afraid of losing people, afraid of not being enough, afraid of the future, of loving, of appearing fragile, of being hurt, of trusting, of truly caring for a person. But the truth is you’re tired, right? Are you tired of saying that everything is okay, of crying when no one sees you, of smiling in front of everyone when inside you are collapsing, you are tired of losing people you cared about, tired of believing that you are always in love with the wrong person, tired of always listening the usual songs and always having the same memories, always having bad grades at school, tired of getting up in the morning and facing another day that you know will destroy you, tired of feeling disappointed, tired of waiting for something that won’t happen, tired of being disappointed, hurt, tired of never being the right one. Tired, just tired of life. So why are you smiling? Why do you go on with your head held high despite everything? Why do you still believe in a world where there is room for you? Why do you keep dreaming? To fall in love? To think that people are better? You are strong girl don’t forget it, in the end you will be happy too. Never stop smiling, okay?

THE SLAVERY OF COVID

Warlords do not make war but divide human beings into good and bad. A medical excuse is more than enough to discourage any living thing from its fate. In the meantime, too many hands cross each other in the important rooms to decide on insane actions. Poor citizens bugged as defective video games, which will be classified as infected or sick. There is no choice in the gastronomic oligarchy of the power giants and each menu belongs only to these gentlemen. We live among the daisies until they burn our mental petals to grant us some restless freedom. Meanwhile, large chains advance for those who raise their heads and say no. Sparse guerrillas have raised their voices but the flock follows only its usual shepherd bleating and drooling as always.
The economic recession due to the pandemic and the health crisis have certainly had a negative impact on family poverty, outlining a risk factor for boys, girls and adolescents. The forced closure of schools and the consequent effect of social isolation due to the spread of Covid-19 – especially in the first phase – have greatly increased the risk for under 18s of becoming victims of trafficking and sexual or labor exploitation. Going to school is in fact a fundamental protective factor, which protects from these forms of exploitation. According to the latest data available from the UNODC (United Nation Office in Drugs and Crime) Global Report on Trafficking in Persons 2020, for every 10 victims of trafficking – identified globally – 5 are women and 2 are girls. Overall, 50% of identified victims are trafficked for sexual exploitation, 38% subject to forced labor (about 25 million people), while 6% have been subjected to forced criminal activities and over 1% to begging. In a smaller percentage – but still considerable if compared to the total number of registered victims – it is the object of trafficking for forced marriages (about 16 million), organ harvesting and other purposes. It is estimated that 1 in 5 women in the world were forced to marry as a child. Regarding domestic slavery, although there are no precise data given the more hidden nature of the phenomenon, we can say with certainty that the phenomenon mainly involves women and girls under the age of 16.
One of the most widespread arguments in favor of mass anti-Covid vaccination is that it is the only way out of this pandemic and lockdown situation. Whether resignation or conviction matters little, the fact is that there is a general belief that once the vast majority of the population has been vaccinated, this long chapter of suffering can be closed. And the widespread adverse reactions – high fever, fatigue, general malaise for a few days – become an acceptable price to pay for regaining normalcy. However, there is a double miscalculation in all of this. First of all, the elites that govern us do not expect a return to pre-Covid conditions of life, we have been explicitly told in all sorts of ways. Even Prime Minister Mario Draghi, in the government’s programmatic speech, delivered to the Senate on 17 February, said very clearly – referring to the Word of Science – that “getting out of the pandemic will not be like turning the light back on”. But we will still have a chance to talk about this. Here, however, we would like to focus on the second wrong calculation, that of vaccines. In fact, what we are facing is not the hypothesis of a one-off vaccine that eradicates a disease, but the introduction to a vaccination logic that tends to be endless. This is not about being no-vax – we are not at all – but it is a pure matter of logic and common sense. The vaccines that are being inoculated have in fact limited coverage. How much? Nobody knows. The Istituto Superiore di Sanità (ISS) states that “the observations made in the tests so far have shown that the protection lasts a few months, while it will be necessary to wait longer observation periods to understand if a vaccination will be sufficient for several years or will need to be repeated”. But the possibility of a multi-year coverage of the vaccine, aired by the ISS, is not reflected in the statements of the pharmaceutical companies concerned. Both Pfizer and Moderna, regarding the “duration of protection” affirm: «The duration of protection offered by the vaccine is not known; clinical trials aimed at establishing it are still underway ». As for Astrazeneca, on the other hand, nothing is said.
Therefore, it is not known. And it is for this reason – explains the Center for Control Disease of the United States – that those who have made the vaccine must still continue to wear the mask and maintain the so-called social distancing. In any case, no one bets on coverage lasting more than 9-12 months. This means that unless the coronavirus decides to spontaneously remove the ailment, the most likely prospect is an annual vaccination. Moreover, even assuming that – according to the latest commitments made by the government – herd immunity is achieved for September thanks to the vaccination campaign, at that point it will already be time to start over, given that in the meantime nine months have already passed. . Furthermore, for the many variants of the virus that are around and that are scary (even if the greater danger has not been verified), it is all to be shown that the vaccines already in distribution are equally effective: everything is to be seen, but also here the scenario probable is that of a continuous run-up to variants and relative systematic administration of vaccines. Even the probable vaccination passport, already introduced by China and which could soon become a reality in the European Union (the proposal will be presented on March 17), only makes sense as a function of continuous vaccination; otherwise in September-October, for the first who have been vaccinated, the passport will already be out of date.
Covid fear is irrational. In Italy there are about 35 thousand deaths, 0.049% of the Italian population. The risk of dying from Covid is minimal and concerns very old people and very few young people who are already sick. The government tried to contain the epidemic and then acted consistently. I would have done something different, but everyone should have agreed: the epidemic in fact arises when there is an overpopulation. We are not many on earth (seven billion) but, with the continuous coming and going of people, we are actually many more. The epidemic has the task of thinning the population. It is hard to say, he is Nietzschean, but the pandemic eliminates the least suitable and most vulnerable subjects.

COLOURS WIN

I look out the window. What a dark night. Just below the house some street lamps illuminate the street, and the lines of the windows are clearer; then your gaze flies a few blocks away, and you don't understand where, in that black, the houses rise and end. The night is scarier, because you look around you and it's cold, and you don't quite understand what's happening, because it's all so dark and confused. But then there they are, the lights. A thousand lights that dampen the gloomy and dark air of the night. Whether they are far or near, they illuminate and kill the black with color strokes. And never as during the night, colors win over black. Date: every fucking day. I lie down on the bed. It's night? Yes, it's always night inside me. Also because night rhymes with blows, routes, fights, blows, blows. Inside me everything is so messed up that even day rhymes with night. Inside me it makes everything scarier. Because I am always cold, acidic, impregnated with memories, cut by pain. Because I never understand what I do; right? Wrong? They are formalities. People judge me anyway, they trample me. But then there they are, the bright and cheerful memories, those few but good friends, the passions and the family. What I love to do, what I want to become. The stories people tell me. The experiences and the lessons, the memories, the memories. They are what carries me forward, that helps me fight that black inside me. They are my colors. And never as in people's lives, colors win against black.
I did the costume fitting. Naked, I looked in the mirror, it had been a long time since I did.

Holy shit, I'm more beautiful now than twenty years ago, had it happened in the past I would have spared myself so much sadness.

Okay, I said to myself, better now than ever, take care of yourself and think about your health.

I have to say, I'm doubly proud of myself. First of all because perhaps I have never had such a splendid b-side, then because I am enjoying many beautiful days in good company by the sea and this is very good for me.

It was not easy to carve out some days for a vacation but you always have to find the time.

Girls, trust nature and yourself, don't care what society demands of you, wrongly. You are always worth it. Dress up and be proud of yourself and your body, whatever shape it is.
My hair got more wavy. Every time I get out of the water they are all stuck and tangled but then after the shower, when I dry them they become waves of sun. They say it is the salt of this sea water. I don't know but it looks like I'm going blonde.

THE BAD QUEEN

I experience fabulous adventures in distant realms, breathe the acrid, ancient smell of books in majestic castles from distant eras, walk a path made of clouds and fly aboard a mighty dragon with a brilliant black cloak and two eyes of fire. they bow as I pass, I am a royal figure shrouded in a halo of mystery, there is no place in the world that I cannot reach On my head I wear a too heavy golden crown embellished with the rarest gems, I sit on a lined throne of the finest red silk, I have immense armies of the strongest and most terrible warriors, infinite riches and whatever I want. All culture resides in my hands, I get lost in concepts of philosophy and I wander among pages of history. Then I open my eyes again. and I die.
If I lived in a Disney movie or in those storybooks I wouldn’t be on the side of the princess or the prince. I’d be with the evil queen. Because, let’s face it, without the villain the story does not exist, the protagonist is only someone who suffers evil, not the one who creates them. From an early age they always filled our heads with these stories of kind girls or boys who didn’t want to grow up anymore because being small was fantastic. They never answered the question “Why is the bad guy being bad?”. This was the question that haunted my entire childhood, and even now I try to find an answer. I don’t care how Cinderella eventually married the prince or how Snow White went to live in a castle away from the evil queen. What then have you noticed that the bad guys are always the ones left alone? I wonder why.
There was this thing, between her and life, an unsolved question. He kept her away from the things she loved most, as if she wanted to test her sincerity, her strength. But everyone told her she was a strong girl. No one could ever claim otherwise. He had faced trials that would drive anyone out of their minds. She hadn’t freaked out. She was a little dead inside, but it didn’t matter, because she was strong. So she didn’t need anyone, according to the others, and she almost believed it. Almost, because every now and then she let out a tear for someone, a “I need you”, but on time life put her back in line: she didn’t have to be alive, she had to be strong.
You don’t have to please anyone. Whatever you do will be deemed right or wrong by someone. Anything you say can be appreciated or considered pathetic. Whatever you do, it can be considered madness or the most suitable thing. You don’t need to show if anyone is thinking of you, if you are alone or if you are having fun. You don’t need to make someone think about something. Be is enough. For someone you will be the sea, for someone else the storm, for someone else still nothing. But you never stop! It is the biggest mistake you could make. That’s the secret, my little one: doing what makes you feel good, not others. If you have to turn something off, do it, leave it all on for yourself!

STORY OF A PINK GIRL

As a child I had a beautiful book, because when I pushed the button set in a hard cardboard page, a sweet melody played.
I always leafed through it and looked at the pictures carefully.
On the last page, the musical one, there were two characters; a boy, kneeling with the guitar in his hand, under the window of a girl always looking out on the balcony, who smiled with red cheeks and bright eyes, who listened.
My grandmother told me that that scene represented the "serenade", and it happens when two people love each other.
Every time I looked at those images I always dreamed that, even when I grew up, I would have a boyfriend who, when he missed me, would run to me with the guitar and that he had begun to sing me a sweet poem in such a way as to get me out of the house and be able to see me.
It had become my fixed thought, my desire.
I scrolled through the pages of the book, and I imagined myself living those fantastic scenes.
When the boy handed me a bouquet of flowers, when he opened the door for me, when he held my hand and we walked near a lake, and then let me get on a boat and enjoy the sunset on the water.
And of course when he came to serenade me in the evening.
It was all so beautiful, so perfect.
Then time passed, I became a girl, my body changed but my thoughts didn't.
I was still hoping to find the "boy from the book", but it seemed impossible as most of the people I met didn't even know that the "serenade" existed.
I don't know where that book ended up, but I didn't find any more like it.Then, one day, as I was walking absently and thoughtfully, my foot got stuck in a crack and I fell to the sidewalk.
Quick, someone rushed to my aid.
He lifted me off the ground and I could see a boy who looked my age, with emerald eyes and black hair, matted on his skull.
I had peeled my knee and he was already begging me.
Her skin was pale and soft, it looked like silk.
While he was healing my wounds he asked me how I was, how I felt ... And we started talking.
Then when he was done he looked me in the eye.
I looked him in the eye.
He smiles at me.
I smiled at him.
And I realized that I didn't want to get lost in other eyes and kiss other smiles.

He didn't have his cell phone with him, so I wrote my phone number in his arm.We went out, he showed up at my door and gave me a bouquet of roses.
He always held my hand, offered me ice cream or hot chocolate, hugged me when I was cold.
For my birthday, I heard pebbles hit the glass of my windows.
I opened them, leaned out of the balcony and found him, kneeling on the ground, with a guitar in his hand, dedicating a poem to me for my birthday.Today I was at his house to do my homework together.
I was looking for a tire, but I couldn't find it anywhere.
I opened a drawer to look for it and widened my eyes when I saw a big old book, with cardboard pages and a button that, as soon as I pressed it, a sweet melody came out.
He entered the room and smiled at me embarrassed, confessing that while he was walking down the street, some time ago, he found that book next to a dumpster.
He picked it up and opened it, and the and he liked it so much that he took it with him.
I didn't say anything, just smiled at him and he kissed me.

I don't know if it was fate, or karma or fate or the forces of the universe… I just know it happened, and I couldn't be happier than now.

KAWAII SMILE

The word kawaii is an important part of Japanese culture. … Kawaii is used for everything, from clothing to food, from fun to physicality; and describes something charming, vulnerable, childish or lovable.
The phenomenon was born in the 80s with the boom of gadgets related to anime characters, from then on “Kawaii” tends to indicate mainly a cute, adorable object, with small and tender features, usually in light pastel colors (how to forget by Hello Kitty, the pink and white kitten nca became a symbol of a nation?). Over the years, however, it takes on a different connotation, expanding in meaning no longer only to inanimate objects but to a real lifestyle, becoming a culture, the way of life of a band of Japanese children that will eventually extend up to the ‘unlikely, crossing any age or state boundaries.
Giant eyes, rounded shapes and simplistic features are the hallmarks of one of the most beautiful art forms. It is known as “kawaii”, for the Japanese word cute, and has been adopted into a subculture that can be found all over the world.
The concept began as a rebellion against traditional Japanese culture in the 1970s. Girls wrote, scribbled, and adopted more elegant clothing styles in order to stand out from the roles their society was pressuring them. As is quite common for cultural rebellion, it resulted in the art world: visual arts, performing arts and music were created in this genre. It’s safe to say the most ubiquitous form of kawaii is visual art and fashion (really, they go hand in hand).
This kawaii oblique started with women imitating a style called “burriko”, which means “woman acting like a child”. You will see it in kawaii clothing styles and kawaii subcultures such as Lolita (dresses, tights and tights), fairy-kei (pastels, colored hair, wings), decoden (countless accessories, all dazzled), etc. Think of the sweetness you’d like to associate with a preschooler, apply it to an adult female, and you have an understanding of burriko. Now, to be fair, kawaii isn’t limited by gender. It is a product of culture to refer to images as stereotypically feminine.
The Kawaii box is a box full of strictly Japanese and / or Korean surprises that arrives by post every month. kawaii box, in a nutshell, is a way to go back under the age of 12 once a month, unwrapping a box full of sweets and little surprises. Each package, in fact, contains a selection of 10-12 pieces including dolls, sweets, DIY materials.
Among the many limited edition and exclusive gadgets, there will certainly be surprises with famous Japanese characters, such as Hello Kitty, Pusheen, Alpacasso, Rilakkuma, Pokemon, Sanrio and Totoro; a real treat for fans of the Kawaii world!

EVERYTHING N FIRE

It's true I often burned my paintings, notebooks, books, I burned to forget that I was an artist. To forget the power to create from nothing. It was exhilarating, demeaning, tiring, it was destructive to me too. But my life was fire, fire lit every day. Now there is not even the ash left. I have burned souls, I have burned whole nights, burned words and loves. All together incinerated in a moment of sublime beauty. The green fire.
My green fire guided me. It was night, it was day and for me it was always life. But it doesn't burn forever. Eventually we turn off.
Eventually the coal becomes blacker. Very black. You find it in the walls, inside your inner walls, and you always get dirty every color you try to trace on your door. But Black crosses the threshold, reaches you, takes everything, burns you completely.
She was the one in the photo, holding a bouquet of flowers and a red hen’s crest on her head. It was she who acted among the frightened girls. Hamlet hadn’t hesitated either in his gestures or in his voice. And she continued to play a role that was not hers: the good girl who goes out of her way to meet her father’s expectations. A studious pupil, a caring daughter. Never any drift or dangerous friendship. Never any friends who are too annoying or a boyfriend who is too jealous. Never any of that. Only music and art, mixed with the tears that often bathed his pillow. He loved his mom and dad. He went out of his way to make them happy. And her little sister also loved and often played with her and never teased her. Growing up he had kept that naive and innocent look, that beautiful vivacity of one who has not known evil. Yet Hamlet knew evil from an early age, when a man took her innocence. Her nightmares were frequent and she did not know who that man was and she could never see his face. Maybe it was the shadow that appeared in her paintings or maybe she lived next to it without knowing that her executioner was the one who fed her. The executioner was always present. The executioner who had destroyed her at the age of 4.
The needs of an artist are different from all those of others. Of course an artist eats, sleeps, goes to the bathroom. He may have things and people he cares a lot about. May have interests and hobbies. But one thing distinguishes him profoundly from all other people: the need for stimulation. An artist feeds his art from himself and from what he sees, knows and experiences. Visual, mental and empirical stimuli are deeply necessary for every artist because in the absence of these his creative lymph dries up. In fact, if an artist is not put in the conditions of being able to have these stimuli that satisfy his needs, he will slowly fade away. His imagination, not being nourished, will become dry and will find it difficult to give him the input for artistic creation. Just as an animal dies in its instincts if placed inside a cage, an artist dies in his creative life if he is put in conditions that are not favorable to the expression of his artistic talent. Fantasy is like a plant and must be fed with the water of stimuli. If these are lacking, the substance for dreams is missing. It lacks the energy itself to create other dreams and other works. So for this reason it is sometimes said that an artist cannot live life like the others and the same things that others are enough cannot be enough for him.

STRANGE GIRLS

I’m that weird girl, yes weird. You know? The one who, among friends, is stupid and laughs, for everything. The one who prefers to cry in the bedroom alone and not in front of everyone. The one with the moments of madness and the paranoid ones. The one that gives meaning to every bracelet on her wrist. The one who prefers to take the picture and not be there. The one that keeps everything. The one who loses everything: keys, headphones, buses, people, respect. The one who asks “sorry” even when the fault is not his. The one who lives every single place and book. The one who imagines what she wants by her side, everywhere. The messy one. The one with complicated thoughts, which no one understands. The one who loves hugs more than kisses. The one who loves to write and not smoke. The one who, to be happy, does not need drugs but the smile of those she loves. The one who does not look for people for fear of annoying. The one who never writes to anyone but waits. The one with the smudged makeup at parties. The grumpy one, who responds badly. The one who would like to be kinder, but has that anger inside that, sometimes, ruins the good speeches she would like to make. The one that puts others first and then herself. The one who gives others what she would like to receive. The strange one. So, do you have this in mind? Here, it’s me. “
They are a human contradiction. I have no faith in myself, but I am self-centered. I want to do many things and I always have a thousand projects in mind, but I want to die. I want to make people believe that I am strong, but I cry all the time. In every situation I am indifferent and detached, but everything wounds me to death because I am hypersensitive. When I get up, every morning, I want to be happy and start the day well, but I also want to never get up and sleep forever.
There are those days where you feel the world is collapsing on you and you don’t want to see or hear anyone but you have to face everything. You get the urge to disappear, to go away but you don’t know where to go and so you look at yourself, you observe yourself and you ask yourself “what the fuck am I doing here? Why do I make so many mistakes? Why do I wither everything I meet? Everything ends and I am the cause. I am the person who while loving you, at the same time kills you. Where the more you stay together the more you suffer, where it is impossible to continue because I am impossible, irrecoverable, paranoid and irascible. I just have to leave myself to fate, to hope for a better day than today, yesterday and even before.
Alice, it was better to stay in Wonderland, don’t you think? Reality isn’t what you imagined, is it? But tell me, what did you think it was like to grow up? You always wanted to be happy. You didn’t think there was so much pain in the world. You thought they were all there, ready to stop your falls. You thought you were going to be a star someday. And now you are there, Alice, sitting in that dark corner, with that blood coming out of her arms, legs and soul. And cry, Alice. Cry, because you can’t take it anymore. Cry, because you stopped fighting. Cry, because you are not enough. Cry, because you are one too many. You cry, because you no longer know anything. Cry, why do you dry their tears but who dries yours? Cry, because your eyes can no longer hold all those tears trapped. Cry, because you are a mistake. Cry, because you are a disappointment. Cry, because you are like that. You cry, because you no longer find reason to continue breathing. You cry, because you have finished living for a while. Cry, because the monsters who lived under your bed grew up with you and moved into your head. Cry, because you want to end it. You cry, because you are too afraid to end it. You cry, because you are afraid. You call the White Rabbit, you want to be led back to Wonderland. You scream, you scream, he doesn’t hear you. Look at you, Alice. Where did you go? Why did you let yourself go? Alice will pass, you’ll see. Alice, you’ll be fine. Alice, Alice, why is it all dark around you? Alice have you gone away? Alice, Alice, do you see me from up there? Alice how much blood did you leave here. Is there any piece of your heart, in the midst of all this red? Alice, you were so little. So fragile. And to think, that it was enough just for someone to take care of you. Alice, Alice, Alice. Now in Wonderland you will stay there forever, aren’t you happy?

BODY POSITIVITY

Fat, hair, bones, spots, vitiligo, moles, blood: never before has the body-positive captured the media attention as today. Body Positivity was born as a political and social movement aimed at challenging the canons and prejudices of society on bodies. Its origins are intertwined with the history of the 1960s claims on fat-acceptance, to combat discrimination against fat people and celebrate plus-size bodies; they burned photos of models like Twiggy and even books on diets, organized lectures and seminars in schools. From concrete activism then a part of Body Positivity has turned into a real economy in its own right, coming to coincide with the photos on Instagram made of glittery stretch marks.
The online version that we could define as “a little fake”, was created by liberal feminism under the influence of pinkwashing, that is all those marketing activities that use themes related to women (feminism, sex / body-positive etc.) to gain market advantage. The message, however, is obviously deviating until it reaches the paradoxical situation whereby the Body Positive movement itself is marginalizing the bodies that were previously at the center. This is because brands show new standards in advertisements, this time a little curvy, but always new standards. This also happens in the fashion shows, where luxury brands give more and more space to models with different bodies. Yet, as Antonio Mancinelli noted: “when people go to the boutiques of the same brands to buy a suit, they often find only very small sizes”.
For each cover that praises Body Positivity and self-acceptance, “without judgments”, in the magazine on duty there are dozens of advertisements and articles on fitness that talk about how to lose weight in a few weeks, and that promote the diet cultures.
Lizzo talked about how the body positivity movement is marketed and most of the time when you see that hashtag it’s smaller, curvy, white girls, and that’s not inclusive
It cannot be denied that an openness from the media towards these issues is positive news, especially if one thinks of all the problems of self-acceptance that adolescents experience, but there is almost never a concrete translation of the great declarations and reflections that are made. In this way, this Instagram caption-sweetened narrative risks remaining an end in itself.
Suffering from your appearance is wrong, you are okay as you are ”. It doesn’t matter if you are thin, fat, wide or narrow hips, stretch marks or small breasts, belly or frizzy hair, big nose or thin lips, teeth or crooked legs – you are fine exactly the way you are. .
Andrea Watcher, a psychotherapist and author says – I have learned that changing my body will not make me feel loved, loving myself will. To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance  and all women and men have the right to accept their body. The shame is on the ones who use that to attack their self esteem.

 

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