Princess Jim
MNL, Phil

I like coffee and hugs
// personal blog //

"November 19th, 2013,
‘Selfie’ was named the Word of the Year by the Oxford Dictionary
Pseudo-intellectuals everywhere cried about the ‘death of the English language’
Because God forbid modern colloquial speech be recognised as valid.
Time Magazine refers to ‘millenials’ as the ‘me me me generation’
Selfish, all we care about is personal gratification
Lazy, entitled, shallow narcissists.
A picture of a girl taking a selfie on her phone is used for the cover
Because our selfishness can be summed up in the fact that we like how we look enough to document it.
We are consumed, they tell us, with our self image.
Everything is about us.
With the addition of every word to the dictionary,
‘Hashtag’. ‘Perf’. ‘Sexting’. ‘Totes’. ‘Selfie’,
The ‘me-me-me’ generation continues to make it all about ourselves,
And we should, they tell us, weep,
We should weep because we are entitled,
Because all we care about are selfies and parties and Instagram,
Because this is the generation that will one day run the world,
And for that, we should weep,
Because all we are is ‘me-me-me’.
Let me tell you something.
Every year, university tuition will be 2.3% more expensive for MY GENERATION,
MY GENERATION reports the highest levels of anxiety and depression than ANY other generation,
15% more of US than YOU will go to university,
But 46% of MY GENERATION won’t find a job until over a year after law school,
MY GENERATION, on average, is $47,628 in debt.
58% of girls in MY GENERATION feels like they are the wrong weight,
95% of people with eating disorders are part of MY GENERATION,
And MY GENERATION has a million dollar industry telling us that we are not good enough,
That we are ugly, lazy, and entitled,
And anything we do to be financially successful,
Or less stressed,
Or beautiful, god dammit,
Is in vain.
So pick up your phone,
Pick your favourite filter,
And take a goddamn selfie.
You deserve it for having to grow up in these times."

My poem, ‘Hashtag Selfie’. (via dingdongyouarewrong)


I wanna be the thought that slips your mind
the thought that makes you come
to your senses

But I’m shy
so I’ll never tell you that
Instead I’ll say something like
“wanna hold hands sometime ?
wanna come over to my house and watch tv ?”
And I don’t have a tv
So you’d be left flipping the channels of me
my breath on your neck like perfect reception
I’d tell you things like how I know
all your lies and deceptions have just been commercials
before the real show
And I’m a moody Star
(Andrea, that is the cheesiest line you’ve ever written)
I’m a moody star

But if you said glow
I’d cut my soul into a million little pieces just to form constellations to light your way home
I’d hire little tiny gnomes
to play the parts of dick Cheney and George Bush
so you could squish ‘em between your toes and feed ‘em to your cat
I’d love you like that
All political and shit

Like the distance between my body and yours
is the same distance that stretches from shore to shore
from right to left
from rich to poor
and we could fuck our way to one brilliant communist union

And I know fuck is a bad word
but it sounds so good
Good like flipping off the preacher whenever he forgets that Eve was Adam’s teacher
‘Cause apples are fucking healthy, you patriarchial piece of shit

Back to you
Your eyes are so
I can’t remember if they are brown or blue
But you’re a really great dresser
I am too, but you are better
And I’m not looking for forever
I’m just looking for that one moment
when your collar bone phones my mother at home and thanks her for giving birth to my breath
When the tides of your chest rise and fall on my shore
And I swear I can hear the sound of every name I was ever given and every life I lived before
Singing arias from the vocal chords of your pores

And I’m more than sure
that you’re all wrong for me
but all right would mean we have a lot in common
and I’m not attracted to common things
I prefer we sing our tears
so we can save the water to drown our fears

And there’s something like an ocean
in the motion of your fingertips
when they sweep your hair from your eyes
and you stare into mine
like you know I’m not an angel
But I used to be

So I was thinking
maybe you’d wanna hold hands sometime
maybe you’d wanna come over to my house
and watch tv


Slip Your Mind, by Andrea Gibson (via e-l-e-g-ance)