“You are such a beautiful soul. You deserve all of the love that exists in the universe.”
— Nicole Addison @thepowerwithin
#foreverboy

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@anotherghostkid
“You are such a beautiful soul. You deserve all of the love that exists in the universe.”
— Nicole Addison @thepowerwithin
#foreverboy
Breathe. Bring your mind back to this current moment. Any other moment, whether past or future, is not occurring. Right now is what’s happening. Right now is what’s to be experienced.
Nicole Addison @thepowerwithin
#foreverboy
Reminder to self:
Your writing seems boring and predictable because
You wrote it
You’ve read it like eight million times.
A person who has never read it before does not have this problem.
Great encouragement for writers
Pass it on
Nonbinary people, like trees, can be old, young, scarred, unscarred, short, tall, etc.
Many of us are different from each other, but together we are a deep and mysterious forest.
Hot girls sleep with stuffed animals
(Georgia O’Keeffe, in a letter to Russel Vernon Hunter, from Georgia O’Keeffe: Art and Letters)
AMAB nonbinary mlm are AWESOME! Your nonbinaryness and gender deserves to be recognized! You're not just "basically cis"!
AFAB nonbinary mlm are INCREDIBLE! You're real mlm no matter what the transphobes say! Your assigned gender and nonbinaryness make you no less of a mlm!
Whether you're presenting as feminine, masculine, or androgenous right now, whether by choice or not, it doesn't change who you know yourself to be. No matter what you consider your gender alignment or if you use those terms at all. I see you.
(Also special shout out to black nonbinary mlm. You are wonderful and add so much to our community.)
Nonbinary mlm are breaking down barriers of gender and sexuality to be ourselves and that's super awesome of us!
When I was a kid, my mom was a judge and my dad was starting his solo practice, and they both worked full time. There were four of us kids between the ages of one and seven (the Just Us League) and no decent daycares nearby, so they hired a nanny. She had three almost-adult children, and on days when she couldn’t work, one of her kids would substitute. The oldest kid was named Bob, age 18, and he had just finished army basic training when this all went down. Bob did not have the good sense god gave a rock.
I have an older brother, Jake, who was seven; then me, Hellen, age five, then Seth, age three, and my little sister Gin would have been one. It was late August, and we were at our nanny’s house, though she was gone for the day. Bob was in charge.
Bob should probably not have been in charge.
Bob tried keeping us entertained with board games and tag and movies. Gin took a nap. Eventually he decided to get creative, and sat us down in the living room with a game and vanished into the garage. There was a smashing sound. And then some saw noises. And then some hammering. And then we saw him going around the house to the back yard through the windows, though we were too short to see what he was doing. And finally, he yelled to us to come out into the driveway.
Jake and Seth and I trooped out. Bob had both hands behind his back. He stepped up to Jake and revealed what he had in his right hand.
It was a wooden sword. It was clearly made from what appeared to be parts of a chair’s legs, cut down and nailed together. He presented this, and announced, “You are Sir Jake, the strongest knight!”
He stepped up to Seth and presented what was in his left hand. It was another wooden sword, smaller than the first, also crudely made out of chair legs. He announced, “You are Sir Seth, the bravest knight!”
At this point, I was practically vibrating in place, waiting eagerly for my sword so I could use it to whale on my brothers, as god intended me to do. I was therefore understandably disappointed to be presented with the business end of a garden hose and told, “You are Miss Hellen, the Water Fairy!”
“No,” I said. “I want a sword.”
Bob was confused. “But you get water magic! Magic’s great!”
“No.” I repeated, holding the hose. It had a spray nozzle set to jet. “I want a sword.”
“Magic’s great. Magic’s better than a sword.” Bob insisted. “You’ll see. Wait here a moment.”
And then Bob ran around the side of house and vanished.
We stood in the driveway. Jake and Seth poked each other with their swords. I spritzed them idly with the hose, trying to decide which of them would be easier to steal a sword from.
And then we heard a quiet wooshing noise, and smelled smoke.
We turned. As we watched, a line of fire rushed around the corner of the house, consuming a path of gasoline poured into the dry August grass.
We paused and considered this for a few moments. I raised the hose and sprayed a jet of water at the fire. It went out. We glanced at each other. Then we took off running, following the trail of fire, spraying as we went.
The fire led in a path around the house to the back yard. As we turned the corner, we saw Bob, clad in a bathrobe and holding a curtain rod, standing in the center of a large ring of burning grass. He cackled manically. “I am the FIRE WIZARD! Your puny swords are useless! Nothing but water magic can defeat me!”
I promptly blasted him with the hose. He spluttered. The fire did not go out.
I turned the hose on the fire itself, spraying a section close to us so that it would extinguish. As soon as there was enough room, Jake charged forward, brandishing his chair leg sword with a battle cry. Seth, always happy to be included, followed. They ran into the circle and began beating Bob around the kneecaps with their swords. I kept spraying.
Eventually, Bob the Fire Wizard was brought down and all the fire was extinguished. Seth and Jake continued to work on bruising Bob’s shins, and I quickly discarded the hose to lend my fists and extremely pointy elbows to the cause. Bob lay in the smoldering grass, probably regretting using such sturdy chair legs.
Once we’d all tired ourselves out and lay panting in a heap, Bob decided it was time for the moral of the story. “You see, a sword is nothing compared to the power of a little girl with **magic**.”
We thought about this for a few moments. Bob nodded wisely. Jake and Seth nodded back.
“I still want a sword.” I said.
there’s a lot of people in the tags and replies expressing several concerns, which I will address:
“Where was Gin?” She was sleeping in a crib on the sunporch. We did this a lot–played outside while she napped–because we could hear her if she woke up and started crying, but were less likely to wake her up. She slept through the whole thing and was totally fine.
“You can’t put out a gasoline fire with water.” At the time, my little kid brain assumed that any flammable liquid was gas, but in retrospect it could have been almost anything. It very well may have been something other than gasoline. All I know is I could extinguish it with a garden hose.
“What did your parents say?” A lot of swear words at a very high volume.
“Did you get a sword?” Yes. Lots. Here are a couple of them, and also my pet ringneck dove, Arson. You can see how this all may have had some lasting effect on me.
Is that a real bird?? :0
Yes, she’s real. This is Arson, her mate, Larceny, and their idiot children, Forgery and Fraud.
Arson lives her life constantly wishing she had opposable thumbs so she could light fires.
What a ride
The absolute mania of naming your pets after felonies.
thrilled to report that that was also me
For anyone who is contemplating suicide
I don’t personally know you, I don’t know what you’ve gone through, I don’t know what you’re still going through, but I know that there are people who need you here. You’re still here for a reason, and if you don’t know what that reason is, then your reason is to find your reason. There are people out there who are not only willing to listen, but they’re more than willing to try and help in any way they can.
Those people don’t help because they ‘have to’… They help because they care. Plenty of people who work on hotlines don’t get paid, they volunteer to help people. You might not want to admit that people care about you, because you don’t want to know that people will miss you if you push that blade an inch too deep. If you swallow one too many pills. If you pull the trigger. It might not always be evident who does care, but people do, so even if finding those people is your motivation to stay, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re still here to read this now. You’re still here, to look out the window and you have a chance to see beauty and peace in the world again.
Your life is still yours, and you can take back control in a healthy way. Depression convinces you that it’s your friend and then beats you into the ground, pins you down and forces you to stay. It takes from you until there is nothing left to take and then it stays purely to see you slowly bleeding out on the floor.
Again, I don’t personally know you, but I know that you have so many reasons to live, even if you don’t think you do. So fight it. Fight the urges to die, to give up, to listen to the voices in your head.
Fight until you reach the end of a rainbow.
Fight until you find someone who you fit perfectly with.
Fight until you finish your shampoo and conditioner at the same time.
Fight until you remember the title of that song you used to listen to.
Fight until you draw the perfect circle.
Fight until you muster up the courage to finally talk to that person you’ve been interested in lately.
Fight until you see a double rainbow.
Fight until you finish that level.
Fight until you put the blade down.
Fight until you put the lighter down.
Fight until you untie the noose.
Fight until you admit your feelings.
Fight until you put the pills down.
Fight until you feel food against your lips again.
Fight.
It doesn’t matter how small the motivation seems. Slow progress is still progress. Depression isn’t something you can just wake up and get rid of. Neither is anxiety, neither is any other mental illness.
But
Please
Fight
SANDRA OH by Boo George for Net-a-Porter (2019)
my best life
God I wish this were me
I’ll try to find this but not only did he leave behind countless manuals on his workings
He had his whole room covered in occult charts and figures
The ceiling, bookshelves, and table tops too.
He was studying a long dead wizard and commissioned a bronze statue of the guy that was completed very shortly before he disappeared.
He used to hang around on /fringe before it went to shit
Definitely the most apparent case of ascension I’ve ever heard of short of Jesus himself.
This dude’s room out here looking like a museum exhibit
Better days are coming.
castiel + his weakness
On twitter I’m seeing dozens of threads from Black activists warning people against burnout, giving all sorts of useful tips about preventing and managing it for the sake of a long-term, sustainable effort.
On tumblr I’m seeing a hell of a lot of young white kids yelling at anyone who actually follows those steps, and acting like burnout is a moral falling rather than a well-proven psychological phenomenon.
Be careful who you get your information from. Don’t let guilt lead you to make choices that will harm both you and the movement.
I’m going to reblog this again since I see more individuals are inquiring about burnout prevention tips in the notes and it’s why I sought out this resource. I hope it helps you!
source
Happy Pride from your four godfathers and non binary fairy parent.
From Woroni, 1986.