“Don’t know what it is to get lost in someone and not lose yourself.”
— Porsha Olayiwola, from i shimmer sometimes, too (via buttonpoetry)

Product Placement
todays bird
Acquired Stardust
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dirt enthusiast

Love Begins
Game of Thrones Daily

shark vs the universe
h

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YOU ARE THE REASON
trying on a metaphor
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
ojovivo

roma★
Monterey Bay Aquarium
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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@amanda-erin
“Don’t know what it is to get lost in someone and not lose yourself.”
— Porsha Olayiwola, from i shimmer sometimes, too (via buttonpoetry)
even if you weren’t my lover, you would always be my friend
“Love is not picking up their call on the first ring no matter what you’re doing. Love is knowing that even if you it go to your answering machine, they will not mind. Love is knowing they will always call back.”
— Amanda Erin, I’ll always pick up (1.13.2016)
Look, we are not unspectacular things. We’ve come this far, survived this much. What
would happen if we decided to survive more? To love harder?
What if we stood up with our synapses and flesh and said, No. No, to the rising tides.
— Ada Limón, from “Dead Stars,” published in The Cortland Review
Romeo + Juliet (1996) dir. Baz Luhrmann
prose #43
How do you know when it’s time to say goodbye?
For years he has been everything you have ever wanted and everything you never knew you needed. Maybe you love him. Maybe you are comfortable.
How do you know that warmth you feel when he calls is love? How do you know when it has just faded into familiarity?
How do you know it’s your depression? Maybe the uncertainty isn’t with him but yourself. You hate what you see in the mirror and you feel yourself become more outgoing but sharing less. Setting up your defense mechanism and drawing inward again. Feeling like he does not notice. Wondering if maybe he does not care.
You are apart now. His life is much bigger than your years of kissing in the bedroom. Does moving to be with him mean you value your relationship? Or that you have never valued yourself?
How many nights are too many? You tell him you want to be alone. But maybe you want to be dead. Maybe you just want everything to stop moving. Maybe you want him to read between the lines, stop giving you the space you think you need, know what you are feeling without you telling him just once.
For all your years claiming not to need the romantics, you wish he could see that romantics are exactly what you want. Let him make a fuss over you. You have been so careful not to take up too much space. Not to need too much. And he has learned to take up the space you make for him. His applications, his deadlines, his career, his life. Big gestures are exactly what you need to make you feel alive. To make you feel like the two of you are not just going through the motions. Like you have a reason to be here: with him, but also on Earth.
Or maybe you don’t want that at all. Maybe it doesn’t truly matter whether you put in overtime at work or do well in class or keep the boyfriend (the partner) you have always loved more than anyone. Maybe you just want some validation that you haven’t wasted your time: with him, but also on Earth.
Maybe if you had a sign that the Earth wanted you to just keep living, then you would know that you did too.
some days im like “i havent eaten in 19 hours and im feelin fine”
and then some days im like “im on my ninth muffin and only the power of god can stop me”
ok so the other day i was at sears. I was in the baby section. Im standing there looking at clothes and a lady who works there comes up and is like “oh are you expecting?” And i was like “uhhhh” and because im a dumbass i was like “no i already delivered.” And she was like “How long ago?” And i was just like “two weeks.” And she said “wow! You look great! When i had my first son, i looked like a mess for six months. Is it a boy or a girl?” And i was just awkwardly like “a girl….” And she asked her name and i said Chernobyl and she was like “oh what a cute name! It sounds really familiar.” And i honestly just stood there going through all that and pretending i had a human baby two weeks ago named Chernobyl because i didnt wanna tell this poor lady i was buying baby clothes for my fucking baby opossum
every time i see this text post i forget the ending and every single time it decimates me
The Chris and Ben work dynamic is hilarious
oh you think your life is hard? try being a gay rat living in france who hates your dad and just wants to cook
why did this post make me realize there are no female rats in this movie
grown men fight about how annoying it is there are more women in superhero movies now.
im not unused to fights about superheroes. at school, i watch my girl students get into the opposite fight: who gets to be wonder woman. most of the marvel films were too violent for them to see, which leaves all of three names: supergirl and ivy. ivy isn’t even a superhero. she’s a villain that people fell in love with.
Every time they play, I am reminded again how many of my heroes are just the male hero’s name, but with “She” or “girl” tacked haphazardly onto someone else’s title. Whenever the boys join the game these children - meaning no harm, just saying the truth the way it opens up for them, as preschool children do - they remind the girls that Superman is stronger than Supergirl. The man is always stronger. this is backed by what they watch. i understand why they believe it.
Kids don’t read comics. These kids can’t read yet at all. I can’t tell them about squirrel girl or captain marvel (oh, oh, but didn’t Disney wait their sweet time to see if that would pay off - and her story is now just tacked on too, cleaning up a man’s mess). They won’t read that kind of stuff until middle school, maybe, if they’re told comics are an okay thing for girls to like. And by then they’ve lived a decade of their life. Fighting for scraps. For only one wonder woman.
“another female superhero?” groans a man on the internet. i see my 7 girls all scrambling for 3 names, and the boys each comfortable in their own batman/superman/spiderman/aquaman/ironman/hawkeye/antman/captian america. i see my 7 girls all deciding: let’s play my little pony instead. we can’t be heroes. girls don’t get to be.
they save equestria in their game. i tell them they’re my superheroes. one wraps herself around my body and looks up. “i hate all the girl heroes,” she says, “they’re stupid.” i remind her we don’t use stupid as a word at school. she looks at me, deadpan. “i don’t like them,” she repeats, “i only like wonder woman.”
i try my best. “there’s storm and batgirl,” i say.
“yeah,” she says, “but there’s no movies about them.”
none of yall know what propaganda actually is, do you?
this is legitimately the absolute funniest thing anyone has ever added to one of my posts, thank you for your service
I hate this “no spoilers” culture that we live in right now. Producers and writers are so terrified of fans predicting the ending to their works to the point that they’re making nonsensical endings to their narratives. They’re messy, out-of-character, and outlandish, but, hey! at least they’re unpredictable!
Rian Johnson, The Last Jedi — completely ignored & disregarded the 3-film narrative arc J.J. Abrams has planned out for the sequel trilogy, and instead developed his own messy narrative full of subversions for the sake of subversion, and completely disrespected the legacy of Luke Skywalker’s character (Mark Hamill himself has reported several times that he doesn’t recognize the character).
Russos, MCU — give out fake scripts, actors play against green screens and are cut & pasted together in post, show fake/edited scenes in trailers, throw away previous character development (Thor, Ragnarok vs Infinity War and especially Endgame).
D&D, Game of Thrones — throw away a decade of foreshadowing and character development for shock value, not to mention they missed a whole ass Starbucks cup in a shot in 8x03 (either on set or in post, somebody should’ve noticed this).
I’m sick and tired of this. It’s not good writing, and it’s no longer entertaining to fans when the characters they know and love become complete strangers. There’s good shock value — “No, I am your father,” for example — and then there’s ignoring years of character development and turning a kind and caring character into a murderous maniac. There’s a difference, and I think writers still know what that difference is, but they’re pressured to create an ending that fans can’t predict because of this mass panic over “no spoilers”.
This needs to stop. Give me a happy ending. Who the fuck cares if we guess what comes next? That means the writers have done their fucking jobs. If we can guess what comes next that means the writers have successfully developed their characters and foreshadowed future events as you’re supposed to do in a well-written narrative.
No spoilers? Sure. I like to experience narratives without being spoiled. But don’t make the narrative unrecognizable by the ending. It’s just not good writing.
Oh this is some good tea ☕️
‘No spoilers’ is supposed to be a warning to the fan base about ‘hey don’t ruin my movie experience by telling me what actually happened’ not ‘hey writers here is permission to fuck up everything because you read two fan theories that correctly predicted your ending’
“I’ve never really considered myself a jealous person but I think some part of me knows I’ll always be jealous of her. And I know that it might be silly because he tells me he loves me so often it’s all I hear in the moments before I finally fall asleep, but I am. Because before he fell in love with me, before I was his girlfriend, I was his friend. And I remember how he was when he was with her. How he used to complain to me when he hadn’t seen her that week, or how he used to FaceTime her before he went to sleep while she was travelling with family. And how he was when they fell apart. How he had been sober all summer but the night she ended things, he drank himself into oblivion. Because even if he swears she was just another blip on his radar before he fell in love with me, I know it’s not true. I know it’s just something he tells me to make me feel better. Something to help me sleep at night. But for some reason, the fact that he dresses it up in white lies makes it worse. I guess I’ll always be jealous because she was his first love, in a sense. They grew up together, and tried to make it work again and again because there isn’t anyone like your first. No matter how many memories we make, or what kind of life we share, I know there will always be a place for her in his heart. Your first love always has some hold on you regardless of what has passed between you, or who you are with after. I should know. He isn’t the only one with a first love. But he didn’t have to live through me losing mine. He never talks about her anymore, but in my mind she’s still there, because I know she must be there in his. In good moments, I know how irrational it is to think he is planning a life with me with her in the back of his mind. But in bad moments, I wonder if he loves me for the parts of me that remind him of her. I wonder if I’m a consolation prize. I wonder if she had never ended things, if we would’ve found our way to each other at all. I’ve never considered myself a jealous person, but I guess you only really get jealous if you’re afraid of losing the other person. And I’ve never been afraid of losing someone like I’m afraid of losing him.”
— Amanda Erin, jealousy, turning saints into the sea (12.30.2015)
What don’t have what now
Bees don’t have lungs
you can’t just not have lungs
Evidently you can, provided you’re a bee
You're asexual? But...
“but sex is what makes us human!”
in 1916 a French officer in his twenties writes his
doctoral dissertation under
heavy mortar fire.
he sends it by mail, a page
at a time, to his wife.
a week before he’s to step up to the podium and
defend his work rather than his country
he is killed in action.
even as the bullets rip
through him he still wishes he could have become a professor
in French literature and
the university awards him a posthumous Ph.D.
sex is
a woman breaks down in tears on the phone because
a week is not enough time to
get over a breakup.
her sister drives an hour across town,
comes up the front steps with
a gallon of ice cream and some beer
and together they eat moose tracks and marathon
every
single
Godzilla movie
ever made.
sex is
she’s late for work but her car isn’t
starting and even through her coat and hat she’s cold.
she knows she can’t be late again because she’s missed
one time too many already because her
father’s nurse was sick with the flu and someone
needed to help him bathe.
the clock ticks past fifteen after and she hits
the wheel like it’s a heavy bag as though that will help
steps on the gas like the car will go
and wonders how she will pay rent
and how she will feed her father.
sex is
it takes three people to hold the predator down because
even with the cover over his head
a bleeding eye and shattered wing
he is trying to hurt them.
none of them have seen this bird before in their lives but
they bandage his wing and head and give him a painkiller and
put him in a warm place to sleep and heal because
it is right.
at first he is paralyzed and cannot
fly but soon he is taking steps
and then fluttering, and then soaring, and
six months later he is whole and healed and hunting.
once he is gone they never see him again
which means they’ve done their jobs right.
sex is
in 1969 a girl watches grey-and-white footage on her parents’ tiny television and
can’t quite believe that what she is seeing is not a movie set but
another planet.
the men on the screen look a little like
aliens with bulbous heads and no faces and fat
marshmallow arms
but they are still men.
her mother puffs on a cigarette behind her and declares that
this is progress
even if it was just a small step.
the girl grows up to be not an astronaut but a secretary
and her boss calls her ‘sweetheart’.
but sex is
a boy is taught that real men don’t cry so
he doesn’t.
when his best friend dies from a self-inflicted
gunshot wound, he locks himself
in the shower every day and sobs under scalding
water until it runs cold
so nobody will see him grieving
so nobody will see that tears are just love that
has no place left to go.
he learns to dull love rather than suppress its expression and
soon the owner of the liquor store knows him by name.
three DUIs, two evictions, and twelve steps later,
he is feeding people at a homeless shelter,
and telling them it’s all right to cry.
Sex is
the broken man tells the comedian
that he didn’t mean to step in front of the car but the rain
made it hard to see.
he seems okay but his leg
does not.
the comedian clutches a grubby receipt with the driver’s
plate number scrawled on the back
in pink pen, stands out in the rain so the broken man
can have his umbrella,
and gives him the comedy routine that ruined his career
so the man doesn’t think about the pain in his leg.
once he’s out of the hospital, the fixed man sends him a thank-you card
with kittens on it.
what makes us human
yawning is contagious,
and there is a species of bird whose young we call “pufflings”.
melodic collections of sound, spaced by silence,
can move us to tears.
the tallest building in the world is
two-thousand seven-hundred and seventeen feet tall.
in less than eighty years we went from our first powered flight
to touching the moon,
and in one-hundred from the first phone call
to instantaneous connection between thinking machines of our own creation.
we make pies out of tree organs
and let cow’s milk ferment until it hardens and then
we put them together, because apple pie with cheddar cheese isdelicious.
what makes us human is
the earliestfossils of anatomically modern humans are
two-hundred thousand years old .
we have had pet dogs
for sixteen-thousand of those years, longer
than corn
or the wheel.
the steps we take are part of
one of the most energy-efficient gaits the
animal kingdom has ever seen.
we invented the concepts of love
and hate
and justice, and mercy
and we invented the language to convey them.
we sharpened rocks, then metal, to convince other people
who don’t hold the same idea of those things as we do
because we think
it’s right.
we are two hundred millennia of love and disappointment and
sorrow and innovation and
mercy and kindness and dreams
and failure
and recovery.
“but sex is what makes us human.”
sat and read this all the way through. will reblog the shit out of this every time i see it. holy jesus. YES to all of this. just yes.
I LOVE THIS
Even after their first mate died, the two males remained faithful to each other, and are now raising three eaglets with a new female named Starr.
In a tall tree situated on the Mississippi River in Fulton, Illinois, three eagles, a female and two males, are looking after three downy eaglets.
Their eggs? Many. Their enthusiasm? Boundless. Their brain cells? One.