IVY?

 I am a twenty-something poly / pan / transwoman, I'm she. This is my blog, it's proper object is things i thought I ought to blog about.

[incorrecttazquotes]

Taako: You owe me, like, a dollar.

Lup: You'll have to kill me for it.

[oakpear]

For anyone who hasn’t heard, Griffin & Justin will no longer be working at Polygon.

[visual-poetry]

by juan arata

[sleepygyllenhaal]

[tofu-pofu]

listen john oliver releasing the gay bunny book is amazing but let’s not forget that this is the same man who released thousands of people from potential crippling debt with his tv powers, and the same guy who bought 5 wax figures of presidents,,, what i’m saying is that john oliver is just all around a good guy

[thatoddboy]

Chaotic good

[cripples-r-us]

He’s pretty cool but his segment on opioids was more of the same fear-mongering pseudo scientific BULLSHIT and I wish he knew how much damage that can have and he needs to fucking learn and apologize.

[tofu-pofu]

Okay, Big Pharma

[cripples-r-us]

Yes, addictions and overdoses are bad, as someone that needs narcotic pain meds on a daily basis to function, these issues are very close to home.

But the current narrative being pushed –> that the high rates of addiction and overdoses in the US are because of careless doctors throwing pills at people like they are candy is actually doing more harm and certainly not curbing any overdoses because;

-among people with chronic pain, that have their meds prescribed by a dr, overdose rates have not changed over the past 20 years.

-90% of people seeking help for opioid addiction started on heroin, or were partying with pills, but not prescribed them by a dr.

-Thanks to the media hysteria, some doctors groups/hospitals/clinics have dramatically cut back on prescribing these drugs to people in pain, and now you have heart breaking stories across the country about people that had been living fairly normal lives, suddenly having their meds cut for no reason other than public opinion and pressure from the DEA, then committing suicide because the pain they were in was too much. This is happening especially often among veterans, because the VA has adopted some of these draconian policies. These stories never make it into the mainstream news because it doesn’t fit the neat easy narrative of of how Big Pharma just pushes these drugs and then doctors don’t give a shit and get paid to give them out and BOOM! addiction!

-The majority of people with addictions are struggling with past trauma and abuse and mental illness(s) that aren’t being properly treated, I would recommend Johann Hari’s quick ted talk on the matter:

https://www.ted.com/talks/johann_hari_everything_you_think_you_know_about_addiction_is_wrong

And then there’s the issue of the CDC not being honest in their reporting on overdoses: https://www.painnewsnetwork.org/stories/2018/3/21/cdc-admits-rx-opioid-deaths-significantly-inflated

“How inflated were the overdose numbers?  Using the agency’s “traditional definition” for prescription opioids, the CDC estimated that 32,445 Americans died from overdoses of pain medication in 2016.Under a new “conservative definition” – one that excludes the “high proportion of deaths” involving synthetic opioids like fentanyl – the death toll from prescription opioids is cut nearly in half to 17,087 overdoses. “

Here’s a few more sources, please read up for yourself and try to understand where I’m coming from here. I want there to be 0 overdoses, like they have in Germany, and I also don’t want the CDC or the DEA at all involved in my private medical decisions that I make with my doctor. I am sure you would want the same, and I know for a fact if you lived in the amount of pain I did, you would be chaffed as well by this current narrative. John Oliver could do better if he and his team just scratched the surface a bit rather than believing whatever the NYT puts out.

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/17/opinion/treating-opioid-addiction.html

https://tonic.vice.com/en_us/article/8x5m7g/opioid-crackdown-chronic-pain-patients-suicide

https://tonic.vice.com/en_us/article/a3z98b/big-pharma-didnt-cause-the-opioid-crisis-most-pain-patients-dont-get-addicted

[disorderedcripple]

Hi there. Actual addict who started on prescription drugs here. And let me tell you, Swag is spot on.

Inaccurate understanding of overdose and addiction clouds not only how opiate addiction and overdose rates are increasing, but also the solution to this problem. If all we’re doing is cracking down on prescribers and pain patients, thousands of people who need these medications to function are going to suffer and in some cases die (whether it be from suicide due to untreated pain or by being forced to the street market to find relief where there is a huge recent increase in the use of illicitly manufactured fentanyl, making overdoses extremely more likely, especially for those whose tolerance may have decreased while unmedicated).

My own doctor threw opiates at me when there were more effective pain management options not involving them, and did not factor in my history of mental illness– that has laegely gone untreated but is thoroughly documented– making me a much likelier risk for becoming addicted quickly to these types of medications.

But this doctor is an anomaly, and I do believe while he made a mistake on my part and did not discuss the seriousness of starting opiates with me or explore other options before beginning to prescribe, I do think he acted in good faith. What he and other prescribers need are more resources for patients who are predisposed to addiction, and research into other therapies that minimize opiate prescriptions for those who, having been educated on their options, don’t want to risk it. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that crap, but I can pretty much say, knowing what I do now about my own family and personal history with mental illness and addiction, I’d have much preferred to try other medications and therapies before I started down that track.

But for some folks, opiates are the best or only option, and the vast majority of these patients– even the mentally ill ones!!– are using their medication responsibly and as prescribed.

The CDC and DEA are doing a huge disservice to those suffering from the opioid crisis by conflating illicitly manufactured fentanyl with prescription fentanyl in their reporting of “prescription” overdoses. As I said, IMF has become more and more common. If we’re acting as though it’s one and the same as prescribed opiates, we’re looking in the wrong direction of who needs the most immediate help. Even for those addicts like myself who became dependent and then addicted on prescription meds, we can’t know for certain if their overdoses are from their medication or because of supplemented supply from the street. To me, that seems like the most likely scenario considering how strict prescribing has become and how quickly addicts build tolerance to a substance they’re abusing. But we don’t know for certain because the methods by which the CDC and other organizations collect data do not distinguish between these things. Instead focus has been kept solely on the perscriptions. This ultimately helps fewer, and hurts more. We’re allowing people getting their drugs on the street to die while we punish people with chronic pain for seeking help.

Generally I like John Oliver. But you can’t pretend that this style of reporting isn’t misconstruing the ways in which opiates are affecting our society. People in pain aren’t the problem. Lack of mental health resources, education about addiction, and rising rates of extremely strong street drugs are the issue. And until we properly study and address the true scope of this problem more people are going to die. From overdose and lack of pain management thanks to our inept attempts to thwart a problem that stems from elsewhere.

[lord-kitschener]

“genitalia associated with cis women are harshly stigmatized and policed as part of misogyny, which can lead to violence” and “not all women have vaginas and not everyone with a vagina is a woman” and “trans peoples’ bodies are harshly stigmatized and policed as part of transphobia, which can lead to violence” are not mutually exclusive factsx and in fact all of these things are very much interlinked, and should not be used as gotchas! against each other

[hundondestiny]

that’s just nuance babe!

[greelin]

i hope that, wherever my hair ties go, they’re happy. that’s all that matters

[thecutestofthecute]

[writing-prompt-s]

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

[sadoeuphemist]

Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.

“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”

The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.

“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”

“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”

The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”

Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”

“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”

Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.

“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”

“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?” 

The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.

A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer. 

“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”

“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”

“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”

The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.

And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.

Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.

“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”

“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”

“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.

“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”

“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”

And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.

[sameenbyhat]

Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.

“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.

“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”

Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.

“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”

“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.

“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”

Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.

“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.

“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.

“What?” the god asked.

Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”

[torisfeather]

Oh gosh I’m crying…

[giannamorphs]

Hey, I usually don’t tack onto long posts like this, but I had to give this a {very worthwhile} read because of the name of the farmer and the significance thereof.

The Sator Square is paradoxical—scrawled in ancient ruins, it’s able to be read forwards, backwards, up, and down, one of the first historical examples of palindromes.

SATOR means a sower, a planter

TENET means “to hold”

OPERA is “work” or “care”

ROTAS are wheels

But AREPO? Nobody really can translate what that is. 

Arepo in the SATOR Square, just like Arepo in the story, is forgotten and overlooked. 

But without AREPO, the SATOR Square would not work; without the story’s Arepo, the world would not see even the smallest gifts of life.

[thisexistsexpectnothingfromit-d]

One proposed translation/reading is - “ Assuming AREPO to be a possible proper name, though, the most common reading of the square is ‘the farmer/gardener (SATOR) AREPO holds (TENET) and works (OPERA) wheels (ROTAS). (The Gardener Arepo holds and works the wheels/plough) “ (http://mysteriouswritings.com/the-sator-square/)

[crispy]

Juliet gazed across her balcony and said, “It’s over Romeo, I have the high ground”

[lessonfromtheleaves]

Something had changed; but I couldn’t tell what. It was as if the world tilted, and nothing was quite as it had been. Or as if there were the very smallest turning in the pathway, just a tiny deviation, but to take it meant you would end up somewhere quite different. And it was already too late to go back.

Juliet Marillier, Daughter of the Forest (via lessonfromtheleaves)

[riverwindphotography]

[animatedamerican]

you know, it is not very often that I see a gif and experience this strong a desire to put my hand into it.

[activistpoisionivy]

@androidgynous

[wldybbuk-deactivated20180526]

“Trans men are men” Trans men- okay but this is the dumbest fucking opinion on tumblr

[bofa-gender]

Trans man: I might be a man, but I’m also assigned female at birth, giving me unique experiences from cis men. One thing is that I’ve been viewed as female most of my life. Being viewed as female means I’ve been treated as female. One treatment females receive is misogyny. Please don’t tell me what my experiences are.

Queer theorists: LOL LOOK AT THIS TRANS BRO MISGENDERING HIMSELF.

[crazo3077archive]

I will always say that trans men often understand the treatment of women better than trans women, and to disregard a trans man’s input is only going to hurt your perspective.

[wldybbuk-deactivated20180526]

Lmfao wow.

[ovari3s-deactivated20200530]

JESUS CHRIST THAT IS ALOT OF MALE BULLSHIT AND TRANS WOMAN HATE

[ofthisblogiwillsoongrowtired]

wowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

[activistpoisionivy]

I often feel like I’m an invader, or like I’m creepy because I want so badly to be a woman, because I am a woman. But I constantly feel like an imposter, in many ways because I am pretty constantly told that everyone knows what it’s like to be a woman better than I do, even men. Basically a large part of my experience is people saying ‘oh yeah you’re a woman, but like you know basically nothing about womanhood and you never will but I guess you can call yourself a woman, whatever" and it gets me feeling paranoid and like the only reason people don’t actively try to get me out of spaces is because they don’t want to be called transohobic (and not because they feel like I actually belong there)

[lousysharkbutt]

he ruined snakes forEVER

more thor comics on patreon

[activistpoisionivy]

@androidgynous

[jeinu]

you know lup’d be losin her damn mind

[activistpoisionivy]

@ivegotmagickpowers

[ithelpstodream]

[activistpoisionivy]

@androidgynous

[disasterlarper]

I had a dream last night I had a daughter and I brought her to a MBMBAM live show and got to bring her up to the boys and ask “how would you rate this baby?” And Griffin yelled into his mic “you want me to RATE your BABY? Your INFANT? Your actual HUMAN CHILD?”

[star-shine]

I can only imagine from there on Travis immediately says 7 and Justin holds up a hand says “hold on I’m gonna need some parameters before making a decision”

[undergroundmonorail]

Hold on this is perfectly in-character

[ivegotmagickpowers]

《Listen, running? Away? That’s not how we do things here in the fuckin’ B.O.B.》

Made for @activistpoisionivy