…but i mostly hate it when he photographs people i like and respect. not just because it makes me question them, but because it means my tumblr dashboard is filled with reblogs of photos of babes that queer people like such as chloe sevigny and freja beha… but they’re still photographs by terry richardson. i used to have a “unfollow” if people post a) b) or c) (either things i find triggering or offensive) but damn some of y’all are still cool.
so here’s a refresher:
fuck terry richardson
fuck any of his photography, of anyone
i don’t care what he photographs, whether it be kittens or a fucking war zone - it doesn’t change the fact that he is still an abusive sexist piece of shit douchebag who refuses to take responsibility for his behaviour. by reblogging his shit or following his tumblr you’re kind of giving the thumbs up (haha) to the practices he uses (manipulation, exploitation, etc) to take those photographs, and to be paid a pretty penny to do so.
i can’t for the life of me understand why any fashion magazine or brand continues to hire him, i find it indefensible. fuck the way he treats women, fuck the way he treats his mother (slightly ableist headline/imperfect article, but important questions about ethics), fuck terry richardson.
The song Belly of the Beast was written by Carl after attending the Occupy Wall Street protests at Times Square on 10/15/11 with Blake and Mecca Lecca Recording Company founder Jonny Leather.
After the protests, a General Assembly was held at Washington Square park where Professor Gayatri Spivak of Columbia University gave a speech stressing the importance of political action by Occupy Wall Street demonstrators because they are in “the belly of the beast.”
“I don’t think they [my songs] are all that said. I have a few that aren’t sad; they’re hopeless, totally hopeless situations. The rest aren’t sad, they’re just the way it goes, you know? You don’t think life’s sad? From recognizing sadness you can put it aside and be happy and enjoy the happy side of life. Blues is happy music.”— Townes van Zandt