Blashbros

20 or so I’ve been told. Self identified mayor of nothing, Ms. Frizzle admirer, and a boy that cares so much about everything all of the time. I love people and want to get to know people as much as possible. Everyone and everything is so interesting so come on by!

[ace-disgrace-on-the-case]

For those who needed to hear it today

[sluttynurse]

everyone's afraid of looking busted everyone's afraid of making mistakes everyone's afraid of looking stupid everyone's afraid of embarrassment everyone's afraid of imperfections because of the damn PANOPTICON that is current society and it's fucking STUPID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[thestuffedalligator]

A regular part of my job is trying to reach out to people who have been quietly trying to make their community a better place; the volunteers, the teachers, the fucking. People who rehabilitate injured wild owls in a Quonset hut in the woods, and to a one this is the kind of person who immediately reviles at recognition. The kind of person who immediately says that they never got into this to get praise for it, and that they’d infinitely prefer to quietly plug away at this anonymously forever.

And from this I’ve always drawn two conclusions:

To always distrust Mr. Beast and his ilk who always want their acts of charity done on film, because the people who really want to do good and have no motives to do it besides the doing it never want recognition for it, and

That there are, in the dark, in the quiet, always people who are doing good, and the reason you don’t hear about it is because they’d rather die than receive recognition for it, but they’re real; they do exist. And you are never alone

[celluloidrainbow]

QUERELLE (1982) dir. Rainer Werner Fassbinder In a colorful brothel in the port of Brest, proprietor Nono is known for wagering with his customers. Win a throw of the dice, and they get to make love with his wife, Lysiane; lose, and they must take it from behind by Nono himself. One day, Lysiane reads the tarot for her lover, Robert, and learns in the cards of his intense passion for his brother, Querelle. The young sailor himself soon arrives, breezing into town with nothing but trouble on his mind. Meanwhile, working man Gil, who looks exactly like Querelle’s brother, murders one of his compatriots after the brute publicly impugns his manhood. (link in title)

[acegender]

explain your gender in 10 words or less without using boring words like “male”, “female”, “nonbinary”, “masculine”, “feminine” or “androgynous”.

go!

[bigbigbigtruck]

1978 chevrolet malibu station wagon

[seafooms]

2 fish sometimes 3

[worldbuilding-tomfoolery]

Schrodinger’s Cat

[cipheramnesia]

invitation only

[bucketofdeltav]

The guy at the FourSquare reluctantly wearing jandals in July

[thatlittleegyptologist]

Gauzy curtains billowing in palazzo windows as shoes click along a marble floor

[augustarambles]

Art teacher the weird kids love

[homunculus-argument]

The Odyssey but retold as a low-stakes modern adventure of one guy out with his girlfriend leaving the bar with his buddies to do just one (1) simple thing real quick, it'll take like 15 minutes tops, he'll be right back, but then some bullshit happens and the trip keeps getting more complicated as more bullshit keeps happening while he just tries to get back to the bar because he promised his girlfriend that he'd get back and he knows that she's still there because she told him she'd wait there.

And by the time he finally gets back it's almost 3 am and the bar is about to close while she's sitting there stone cold sober, surrounded by 5 drunk guys unsuccessfully trying to convince her to give up on waiting for him and go home with one of them instead. And the guy shows up to proceed to beat the shit out of them before explaining himself to her like hey sorry bullshit kept happening, my phone fell into a storm drain and my wallet got stolen when I was trying to find someone who'd borrow me a phone so I could call and

[thekijs]

His girlfriend had been fending off the 5 drunk guys for most of the evening by explaining that even if she was going to ditch her boyfriend, she can't possibly leave without finishing her beer, which she is keeping perpetually full via careful sleight of hand where she's just pouring it back and forth into and out of the pitcher.

However the drunk guys are also drinking, and eventually she can't afford to buy another pitcher for the table so she can't keep up the ever-full beer glass trick. At this point she has to resort to setting up the pool trick shot that she's never seen anyone but her boyfriend pull off, and says she'll leave with whoever manages the shot first.

That buys her another hour or so and then, finally, her boyfriend makes it back. He looks like shit, hair down and just a mess, he's wearing an entirely different jacket that he got from an alley, and barely recognizable—especially to 5 guys who've been drunk for hours now. He lurks for a minute, finds out what's going on, and proceeds to pull off the trick shot first try. Throws the jacket off, fixes his hair with a hair tie his girlfriend lends him, finally looks like himself again, and THEN beats the shit out of them with the pool cue.

[weaselle]

yuh i was there, that's how it happened

[spicycheeser]

"A marriage ending isn't a failure at all. I spent eleven years with her. We were so in love that we couldn't image life apart from each other. We got our own place, adopted a dog, and supported each other through school. I thought if tow people loved each other enough the rest would fall into place, except... love isn't everything.

And I didn't want to believe that, but we were sitting in counseling one day, talking about our future and I realized we were describing two completely different lives. Where we'd live, what kind of life we wanted, what made us happy. And it hit me that- I love this woman and this woman loved me. And after eleven years of loss, grief, career changes, we were so deeply in love... but we weren't aligned. And I kept thinking 'We just need to try harder. We can find some compromise to make this work,' because that's what you're supposed to do when you love someone, right?

But the reality was, we had just become different people. Her trade school took her in one direction, my graduate degree in another and trying to force us back into who we were five years ago wasn't coming from a place of love. It was coming from a place of fear. Fear that, if this ended, it meant we wasted eleven years. But sitting there across from her, I realized: That's not how love works.

Those eleven years happened. They were real. The dog, our home, showing up for each other through grad school and trade school. I wouldn't change a single thing because loving someone doesn't mean you're meant to stay with them forever. And letting go doesn't erase what you had. We measure marriage by whether it lasts forever or not, but what if we measured it by whether it mattered?

What if we measured it by the love we gave, the life we built, and the people we became? Because love's job isn't to last forever, it's to help you become fully completely yourself, and sometimes the most loving thing you can do is give each other permission to be yourselves, separately. But the dog doesn't know were' divorced. He just gets two Christmases now."

Pulled this from this guy Preston Rakovsky's Instagram (@prestonrack) because it is a beautiful perspective on love, marriage, and relationships in general.

[sometiktoksarevalid]

[svenskkaktus]

🐟🪸

[aquilacalvitium]

Write it badly or it'll never be written

Write it badly or it'll never be written

Write it badly or it'll never be written

Write it badly or it'll never be written

Write it badly or it'll never be written

[aquilacalvitium]

Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again

[comikbook]

hellfire and you

[dmcfadzean]

Based on a true story, someday

[inkskinned]

actually i will write a poem about it, because i used to genuinely believe i wouldn't live to be 30. i said it isn't right for me. i said i just sense it: it was an inevitability. what i wasn't saying was the other thing: that i knew it would be by my hand, my actions. by my own deed.

and what would i tell myself, really, honestly, at 22. back in 2016. it's been ten years - a decade - and they've slipped by both so slowly and impossibly quickly. a third of my life in a blink.

there are so many bad things. it's hard not to start with that. i've always been a "bad news first" person anyway, and there's so many tragedies coming. personal and political. for a long time it felt like i had a stretch of bad luck, and the bad luck just wouldn't stop coming.

in 2016 it was still about a year before someone would spike my drink, and a bad thing would happen to me. in another six months i'll break up with my public embarrassment of a boyfriend. the world never really heals from this year, but i don't know that it was really ever whole in the first place.

what could i tell you about your life, though. there are funerals coming that you cannot still figure the shape of. you lose all of your grandparents, you lose other family members, the cancer is diagnosed in your cousin. for about two months you'll be fully blind, half blind for six months. you go through three cars, although only actually crash one of them (the other two were old, there was nothing you could do but turn them in, crying about it). you're actually still looking for a new car after that incident, honestly, currently driving a stick shift subaru.

and that's the thing: you drive now, you're no longer terrified of it. you love trains again, the panic attacks have subsided. the world is certifiably on fire, that is immediately true: and... I'm proud of you for surviving to 32.

you will rekindle friendships that you thought you'd lost due to distance; you literally live down the street from jason and the two of you spend many saturdays talking and laughing. you haven't started your weekly dnd sessions yet, that's another three years down the road. you meet terrible people, sure, and you get your heart shattered (and then something even worse), but: you also meet people that are destined to be on road trips with you, howling at the moon. you meet nick and amity house and all of them. you discover you're actually not a terrible cook once you venture away from making plain pasta, you fall in love with baking and with painting and with crafts you've never even heard of. you meet alison's daughter, who is perfect and just like her mom, you'll love her. in four years you meet your dog, he is going to save your life. you meet your nephew, and you're now close with your family. you see concerts you never thought you could afford, read books and watch movies that you didn't think you'd be alive for. you've now gone abroad, conquered your fear of planes multiple times, have been to cities you used to only recognize by name. you come out first as bisexual and then as a nonbinary lesbian (which fits more accurately), and your mom is so okay with it that she consistently tries to set you up with people from her office. remember thinking you could never escape, never really find home? you discover you can make it. you are now in a suburb of boston, still writing (of course).

oh and you have a book out, you're a proper "author" now, your childhood dream come true. you're working on your second one already, actually, and a close friend is coming over tonight for a "wine wednesday writing session" (yes you still do those, they're still lovely), but you won't meet that friend for another eight years and six months. you have met the person you are currently roommates with, and your house together is fucking amazing. plants cover every fucking inch. the two of you have only one house rule: do whatever you want, forever.

you are so fucking lucky these days it is glittering. holy shit. bookstores and beach trips and so many people that you love and that love you back that you are endlessly, furiously happy about it. you are rabidly, obnoxiously happy, the kind of happy you used to think was faked; the kind of happy that pours out of you. you have dinner parties and friends over every weekend and music out of your speakers. you once wrote a short little paragraph about hoping you'd still find the beauty in things, and i have great news: you are still in love, if not moreso, with everything. little flowers and children in snowsuits and bunnies running and sunrises and the curl of oatmilk in your coffee (oh. oat milk is gonna be a thing).

this is the year that you start taking therapy seriously, thank you for that. and yes, we're still in therapy (like i said, a lot of bad things have been happening), but we are so much better. something you find impossible: we finally stopped self-harming. we get tattoos over the worst scars in five years pretty much on the dot. we have such a fucking good relationship to our body; we finally have an excellent relationship to food and to eating. we still dance, we still make art, we are still singing. we laugh so much more now, though. we are so much more confident, a version of ourselves we never thought possible: funny, and fun-loving, and healthy. healing.

you have a long road to walk. i think you'd have asked me: is it worth it? all the scars, the indignity of trauma.

and i'm telling you: even one moment of it is worth it, my love. even one drop of the future that's waiting for you. and while i wish none of the bad shit happened: holy shit, i cannot wait for all of the good that you live through. every single sunbeam was worth it. every walk with your dog. every quiet morning. every time you watched the soft purr of the grey and lifting fog.

it is worth it, and i'm so glad you're here now. it was worth it all. i know you feel aging is one long and terrible fall. i am telling you i am waiting for you there, at the end of the tunnel. i am waiting in the light and the growing spring.

you should stay for another decade. the birds are coming back. i can't wait for you to hear them sing.

[inkskinned]

it's just that i'm always worried i'm doing the wrong thing even when there's not a wrong thing to be doing. in the grocery aisle i'm doing the wrong thing. stopping for a moment to retie my shoelaces i am doing the wrong thing.

it is the first time i've visited this friend at her house; i'm doing the wrong thing already, what if i have the wrong address, what if she has special rules i don't know about, what if my presence here was more of a politeness and not a true request. it is the first time i've been to this restaurant, and surely yes i've been to many of these but what if i'm doing the wrong thing in this one. and even if i've been to this gym a million times what if this time the rules have changed somehow (or i've been doing it wrong all along and it was pure luck that nobody noticed) and what if this time i'm doing it very wrong.

they're taking orders for lunch at work, what if i order the wrong thing somehow, or what if - what if i am not even supposed to order anything - is this a test? my friends ask if i want to see a movie but what if i suggest a movie that they won't like and that's certainly doing the wrong thing. yes im certifiably happy and she's amazing and i love being a lesbian but if i bring her on a date where everything isn't blisteringly perfect (the weather is a bit chilly, finding parking was harder than i thought, the event started 3 minutes late) isn't that doing the wrong thing? i know i can't control everything obviously but i should have planned better; this was my fault. and of course i know i'm only human but - a lack of omnipotent foresight really is doing the wrong thing now.

am i doing the wrong thing writing about this? i'm doing the wrong thing, aren't i, i'm so sorry, i always seem to be doing that somehow.

[inkskinned]

you know what? fuck it, man. the world is held in the fists of people who like to break things. at this point i’m saying who gives a shit. wear that victorian dress you don’t have an excuse for. dress up like a witch, pointed hat and all. who cares anymore. why worry about it when there’s bigger stuff to worry on. i’m saying. yeah, this lipstick is too dark, wanna share? i’m saying go talk to her, tell her that you like her hair. i’m saying she’s out of my league but i’m still swinging, i’m saying yeah i’m in a ballgown and it’s a pta meeting. what about it. eat the extra brownie, tell her your feelings. i’m saying if nothing matters than we might as well give nothing meaning.

[inkskinned]

#i’m saying if existence is a void at least i’m going down screaming.

it’s been 9 years since i wrote this. i was experiencing 24/7 anxiety so badly that i needed serious medication. these days in the back of my car is an “emergency party box.” when people admit they no longer really celebrate their birthday; i tell them to put the sash on and queue up kesha, we’re going bowling or something. these days i can’t spin around without finding something i am enamored with. these days i list 3 things i’m grateful for before i fall asleep. you’re probably one of them, just by virtue of you existing.

at the time i wrote this, i was suffering through a severe panic attack literally every night. i tortured my brother with constant 2 AM calls just to hear someone else breathing, because i couldn’t be alone in the silence.

i rarely wish i was still 23 even though ironically i had more hope back then. what i can tell you is this: i love the same way, but bigger now. i’ve worn the velvet cape to several business meetings. i spent thursday in a crop top without caring what my stomach looked like.

i told her i like her; i often dress as a witch. i still got glass in my foot this morning. i’ve kissed maybe a thousand people since then and met a million more than that; passing like the shadow of a hammerhead in trains and planes and buses.

i saw you, beloved, there, maybe, on platform in south station. you didn’t speak, but you said: i struggle to give the nothing meaning. the nothing fills up everything. it is just loud and yellowed panicked silence. i can’t stop shaking.

on the roof, birds curl together against the chilled spring wind. the sky outside of the craft store was an iridescent pink. the nothing already had meaning; you are giving it meaning by witnessing.

the act of living, beloved: it’s just decoding how to translate it.

[santapau]

Remind me later.

[elodieunderglass]

[elodieunderglass]

A little visit