attention all trannies: get silly with it

Kiana Khansmith
sheepfilms
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

oozey mess
hello vonnie

izzy's playlists!
One Nice Bug Per Day
RMH

@theartofmadeline
almost home
Cosimo Galluzzi
AnasAbdin
Peter Solarz

if i look back, i am lost
Show & Tell

#extradirty

Kaledo Art

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@cicadapuppy
attention all trannies: get silly with it
Jeanne d'Arc on a vintage postcard, photographed by A. Bergeret
MY EYES ARE SWOLLEN FROM CRYING. I CAN’T SAVE MY SISTER. IGNORING THIS COULD COST HER LIFE.
I am sick and breaking in Gaza while my sister fades and my younger siblings cling to me in fear.
Donate now. Your help could be the reason she lives.
Gofundme- Vetted #213
I AM CRYING RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I LIVE IN GAZA AND I’VE BEEN FORCED TO BEG THE WORLD JUST TO STAY ALIVE.
I never imagined my life would become this. Depending on strangers’ mercy to protect my family and survive. This is desperation. This is our reality.
What would you do if this was your life? Please share my story and donate if you can. Your help is our only chance.
Chuffed – PayPal – Verified
It's 12:48 AM,Gaza is being bombed right now!
I was supposed to give a speech to over a thousand people today at a labor rally, but the rally was planned mostly around white union organizers who have not been to ICE recently or maybe ever. I say this because they planned this as follows: a Rally, with a march to ICE, followed by a second half of a Rally, the second half of which was to include my speech, which seemingly was the only speech to include a Salvadoran migrant speaker.
I was not originally invited to speak, but heard last minute that someone else had fallen ill and was giving up their slot, and begged white organizers through the grape vine to let me speak as a Salvadoran migrant and union steward who came to the US at age 7.
I have long been soured of going to so many rallies and felt alienated that they were allegedly for or about my people, but that no one had thought people /like/ me exist - we are still here! There are migrants in your work spaces and neighborhoods and organizations, we have stories and labor songs and speeches to share, we are marxists and labor organizers and have reasons to speak out too.
But seldom if ever do you hear our music or faces or voices near the banners. Instead of Tigres Del Norte we heard Bella Ciao, and none of the singers knew the Italian words or bothered to even translate them, so they sang nanananananana, instead of the powerful lyrics that maybe meant something once to someone somewhere. Instead of Somos Más Americanos we heard Don’t Worry, Be Happy.
Instead of a Salvadoran woman who wanted to speak to the American union workers about the Banana workers unions, we heard from a dozen white people about democracy, and justice, and the constitution, and no one was warned about what would happen if they marched down the street from the park to the ICE facility. They fully expected everyone to come back and complete the second half of the rally.
Instead, marchers with their dogs and children were tear-gassed to hell and back the second they dared get close to the facility, maybe at best 1/3rd of the marchers returned while the rest were bottlenecked towards ICE. There was little to no water to treat the untrained protestors. I returned to the rally quickly realizing I could not get caught up at ICE, knowing who I am and what awaits me.
When I got back a chorus of smiling white faces sang a silly song like a Christmas carol with their heads bobbling, reading the lyrics from some handed out papers. White people with upside down flags cheered. Then a black woman in overalls abruptly got on the mic and said “Well thank you everyone but we have to close the program early because people are getting tear-gassed, please get home to safety righty away,” - and I swore I couldn’t believe my ears.
They had brought us all here, marched all these people down to the ICE facility, and expected us all to march back without encountering teargas? And then when some people had made it back they had them sing a little jingle but turned the one migrant away? I begged them to let me speak for the three minutes I had allotted, noting that I had put myself in serious danger to come out here today. That I needed to be heard just this once, and that all the white people had their fair turn to say many unrelated things, and to sing many unrelated songs.
She said, “you don’t understand, there are children down here,” and I had to say “you don’t understand, there are children in the camps.”
And she tried again, “yes but the gas is spreading,” and I said “yes we have been down here being gassed for six months, don’t you understand?”
She blinked twice and told me they just had to break down. I watched from the sidelines as they continued to blare Caribbean Blue and smooth jazz while people filtered out, stood around talking, chatting - finally I said, “please let me speak, you still have speakers going, it’s been 20 minutes,” and the DJ, a white elderly man in a sweater vest who had a strict “only the classics” policy that seems to actually mean “no hip hop and no curse words,” - barked at me that he had to break down and to help him take down his canopy. I am no maid, so I did not listen. He then turned to my comrades and told them to take his canopy down, which they did not. Then turned to his two other labor organizers who were not paying attention, and they took a leg of the canopy and moved it somewhere without breaking it down.
And one looked at me and said quietly, “it’s okay, take that bullhorn no one will notice,” and we took it and ran.
And we ran to a firetruck which I climbed, and I gave the speech, which was in fact more than 3 minutes, sorry not sorry, to a crowd of workers who were slowly pouring out from the ice facility, some stopping, some going, some who heard me, some who didn’t. And I gave it there and it was the only speech most of these people will ever hear from a migrant in all of this, and I think that is tragic. But I firmly believe that had I not given it, had I not climbed the truck, had I not taken the mic, some people would have never heard this story at all. And I think very much you should hear it. And I hope you will share it, if you have the chance. And I hope I get to tell it again, someday, to people who actually listen, to the masses who came to actually support immigrants, and not just to the dredges after they’ve been gassed and are running for shelter while I’m coughing myself.
This is what I had to say.
Transcribed for accessibility + added links for context, but please still watch/listen to the speech if possible. A live speech really resonates. Begin transcription.
Olivia: I came to the United States when I was 7 years old. And I became a citizen when I was 20. But I am on this stage to ask: if you will give me 3 minutes of your time, *cough* I will give you 300 years of American History that has been taken from you.
There are five crops that changed the world as we know it. Bananas. Coffee. Tobacco. Sugar. And Cotton.
First grown by slaves in the New World, these crops all happened to also grow in a little bean-shaped country that my parents lived in near the Caribbean called Cuzcatlan, ‘The Land of Precious Things.’ It would be renamed El Salvador in the 1800’s.
But the precious things remained after the name changed. And the people were captured, and they were forced to work for pennies on the dollar to dredge the precious things from the soil, and the sea, and the mountains, and the sand. Cuzcatlan was not precious just to us, you see. It was coveted by the Americans. And once they saw our jewels, they would never be satisfied again.
The people suffered. And how we suffered! Dying in the fields, raped by their masters, buried in the shining black volcanic sands, their blood fertilizing the crops.
Of Bananas. Coffee. Sugar. Cotton. And Tobacco.
Until one day, the people of Cuzcatlan said, ‘We can bear it no more.’ And they broke their shovels in half, and they plunged the stems into their masters, and they rode through the streets on their masters’ Spanish horses, and they cried out that Cuzcatlan would no longer belong to the American companies that demanded their precious things without paying precious prices. Perhaps, soon, those business leaders would learn to negotiate for the labor and crops they so needed.
And the Americans? The Americans could not stand it! They would not abide such a story be told. And so you never heard it! The American companies, and all of their corporate masters came down on Cuzcatlan, with a fury seldom seen before. They killed everyone.
Instead, you heard a story about “Communists” and “Terrorists” in Central America, spreading a disease that would destroy your country and families. You heard a story that we have no good will towards you. That we wanted you to starve, that we were lazy, and formed gangs, and were lawless, and wore weapons to sell you drugs and fund terrorism.
But you never heard the story of Cuzcatlan, because it was a sad story, and sad stories do not sell fruit, and coffee, and cigarettes!
No, they came to my country, and they wiped out entire villages. The Archbishop, Don Remar - er, Don Romero, himself, was shot by the military during his Sunday Mass, for having dared to wonder whether the workers deserved some mercy. Assassinated for having dared to wonder, and he was left bleeding on the pulpit, even as worshippers bowed their heads.
EVERYBODY was KILLED.
EVERYBODY! The women, with their children still in their arms. Anyone looking for cover; people who found cover, people who didn’t. People who worked, and people who had no jobs. Communists. Catholics. Those who didn’t know how to read, those who didn’t know what labor rights were. Simple folks. Smart folks.
And they didn’t stop there. They went through the countryside, and they killed everyone they thought was hiding labor organizers or communists sympathizers. Banana union men and women, who they labeled terrorists. And in one village, we still only speak about in whispers, called “El Mozote.” The Americans tied women and children to trees, and they threw their babies in the air, and they shot them. Everyone was killed, to send one message, and that is: “A union is a threat to the American Empire. Not one union man or woman will hide in your village, or any other. And if you hid one here, now or ever, you will never breathe to hide one again."
And I tell you this because I am you from the future. You and I, all of you, are very much alike. You worked very hard to buy the precious things you have from the ground, the sky, the water, and the aether. You all wrote stories, you filed insurance policies, you taught children, you rung people up, you made sure whatever sorry system they had worked, not because you believed in it, not because you wanted it, but because it was all you could do.
And in exchange, they offered you cheap bananas. Coffee. Sugar. Tobacco. Bananas.
But I will tell you a secret. They were never cheap. They were precious. And so are you.
And they stole you, and they stole us, and they stole it all, and they told you: if you look the other way, you get to be satisfied and at least well-fed. But who can afford the luxuries of cigarettes or vapes or groceries anymore? Even that is being taken from you. And even if you have them, your food or your small pleasures won’t satisfy you. Not more than knowing the truth about Cuzcatlan, not more than knowing the truth about El Salvador. Today, where our precious land once stood, they built a concentration camp called CECOT. And not just for our precious things, our people, but yours. Your citizens, your dissenters, your unwanted disappeared into the hole that America built.
And what will we do when they start building incinerators at the camps? What will you do when they open up mass graves?
For our people, the most precious gift of all: do not take my warning lightly. The story of Cuzcatlan is not just from the past. It is from the future. The workers face the same enemy, and the enemy never had your interest in mind. From the moment they had you, the plan was to have a worker. From the moment you existed, it was to create another soldier against the people of Cuzcatlan and the rest of the world. You were a commodity to them.
But we have written you a new future. One in which we no longer point guns at each other. One in which our billionaires fear the land of precious people from learning they are no longer precious things.
Turn to me now! And tell me you will not forget the last three minutes. You will never again be ignorant of this story. And you will not let it happen here. You will close the camps. You will destroy ICE.
Spectator: Yeah! Olivia: You would rather have seasonal bananas or never see one again than have it covered in blood.
Spectators: That’s right! Yeah!
Olivia: You would rather trade fairly with other union workers than kill your fellow man, wouldn’t you?
Spectators: Yes! Olivia: Tell me you love me, and that our fates are tied! Tell me you’ll stop them from dragging me down from this place, and I’ll never let them do to you what they did to us. I promise. El pueblo unido…
Spectator: JAMÀS SERÀ VENCIDO!
Olivia: Nunca será vencido. Amen.
End Transcription.
It means a lot to me, that someone wrote down this speech for me, that I in the middle of the night wrote for as a love letter to the American labor movement.
I know I stuttered a bit, as I had just been gassed, as it took place not but 400 feet maybe from the Portland ICE facility.
One correction among many tiny ones:
“You worked very hard to /ply/ the precious things you have from the ground, the sky, the water, and the aether.” - And that work, it is very precious.
May the message make it to you all regardless.
I will not forgive anyone who sees this post and does not support me with a single word and ignores me.
I'm writing this post feeling deeply disappointed by everything happening to us here. The situation here is beyond horrific. Life is so difficult, it's practically nonexistent. In less than a minute, the price of everything becomes insane. On top of that, the bombing and killing never stop, and my father's illness and heart attack are affecting him. Everything is painful and difficult here in Gaza.
All I'm trying to do is collect as many donations as possible to survive in the hell of Gaza and escape at the first opportunity. Please give us your support and donate now. Your donation can give us hope for my father's treatment and for us to stay alive until we can get out of here. Please donate.
Nader's father urgently needs medical treatment, but resources in the Gaza Strip are extremely limited and treatment costs are very high. Please donate now to help them. This is an urgent humanitarian case. Please don't hesitate to donate whatever you can. Your donation could save the life of a father and his entire family.
Putting everything else aside, this is a humanitarian crisis. My father is dying, and I don't want to lose him or witness his death. Please share this post widely and donate to us. Please don't leave me alone in my time of need. I have great hope in you and I'm counting on you. Please don't let me down and donate now.
In a world where Gaza has been totally isolated from the world, outside help can really only materialize financially. Nader and his family need as much help as they can get!
I implore you to donate, it's never been more needed. My friend wants to survive the winter, and wants to bring his family with him. Whatever you can spare. <3
Please, anything you can give will make a difference. Nader's father is struggling, but together we can help them. Share and give what you can to help
Hello, I'm Nadir, a young man from the Gaza Strip. I've lived through th… Nadir Alanqer needs your support for Help Nadeir and his family re
IN CASE YOU MISSED IT:
ISRAEL IS STILL BOMBING GAZA.
CHILDREN ARE STILL DYING.
THE CEASEFIRE IS A LIE.
Oh my God… the bombing was near my family’s tent. We are living one step away from death. Please donate now to help evacuate us before we are next.
Chuffed – PayPal – Verified
Rafah Crossing opened for medical evacuation this past Monday for the first time since May 2024. In the 24 hours preceding the opening, Israel killed 30 Palestinians in air strikes. At time of writing, another wave of air strikes has killed at least 23 people since dawn today. Israel has violated the "ceasefire" agreement 1,520 times, continuing to critically injure and permanently disable hundreds of people.
Gaza Ministry of Health estimates that 20,000 people urgently need to evacuate Gaza to seek medical care, but Israel states they'll only let 50 Palestinians through Rafah each day. In practice restrictions are even worse: Israel only approved travel for 5 patients on the first day and 16 on the second.
Injured Palestinians protested near Al-Amal Hospital in the south of the Gaza Strip, demanding an increase in the number of people allowed to travel daily. One of the protestors, Farid al-Qassas, explained to a UN News correspondent:
“We have been waiting for the crossing to open since the beginning of the war, and like many others, we have not been lucky. In this building alone, there are about 100 patients in need of medical referrals, and the number of wounded waiting to travel reaches about 13,000 patients and injured people. We hope that everyone will hear us and save what remains of these patients.”
There are over 4,000 children who need access to medical evacuation. My friend Ahmed (@ahmedaldani333) is one of those children. He and his brother are both disabled, and both desperately need access to healthcare at an adequately staffed and resourced hospital.
Even if the line wasn't thousands long, he has not even been able to raise enough funds to start the process. Instead, his gofundme (verified on the @gazavetters list, #198) has only raised enough for his family to purchase some food and medicine.
Even that isn't consistent, though. They often go without enough food, and his whole family was continuously sick for weeks this winter without access to medication.
Please donate what you can so he and his brother can survive and get needed healthcare!
Please, friends, help us. I am very sad and exhausted right now because my brother is sick and cannot afford his medicine. His health is deteriorating every moment, and he is constantly in pain and crying. I am also sick from hunger, the cold, and the rain that leaks into our tent. Please help us and donate so we can buy medicine for my sick brother, buy food to feed ourselves, and repair our tent. Please donate and don't ignore us. Please donate.
please donate
Please share and give what you can to help Ahmed and his family survive the ongoing seige. All basic necessities are incredibly expensive.
Oh, my God, it feels like the first days of the war all over again. Bombing everywhere in Gaza right now. It you scroll past this without sharing, please question your humanity.
I just got a call from my mother while I’m lying in a hospital bed. She was screaming as my younger siblings cried in terror. The bombing was very close, and they survived by a miracle. Please donate to help evacuate my family and keep them alive.
Chuffed – PayPal – Verified
please share
please share and donate!
happy pride. i worked hard on this shirt
They're making movies about Hind Rajab while her family members are still in Gaza.Shameful..this world should burn down
The mother is literally pleading for help in front of camera
Wesam's Paypal
there is a GFM (however donations have been disabled in the last 24hrs I don't know why)
here is Wesam's IG
these have been linked by Operation Olive Branch
DON’T SKIP, PLEASE I BEG YOU.
Please, I beg you — don’t scroll past this.
Don’t look away. Every second matters. Children in Gaza are not just starving — they are dying from hunger. This heartbreaking photo shows just one of the many innocent lives wasting away in silence. My own baby, little Qais, is suffering the same fate. He’s just a small child, too weak to walk, too empty to cry. I’m pleading with you to donate anything you can — even the smallest amount could help save his life and the lives of others like him.
The famine in Gaza is a human-made catastrophe, driven by unbearable conditions:
1. Total blockade: Food, medicine, and aid are deliberately prevented from reaching millions of civilians.
2. Destruction of agriculture: Airstrikes have wiped out farms, bakeries, and water systems, cutting off local sources of survival.
3. Collapse of healthcare: With hospitals under attack and no supplies left, malnourished children like Qais are left with no treatment, no care, and no chance to recover.
Together, these three forces are killing Gaza’s children. Hunger is no longer just a crisis — it’s an execution.
I’m just a mother holding onto hope with bleeding hands. I cannot feed my son. I cannot keep him warm. I watch him slip away — not because I failed him, but because the world abandoned us. Please, I’m begging you from the depths of my shattered heart: don’t let Qais be another nameless victim. Don’t let hunger erase him. Give whatever you can. Share this. Speak up. You are his last hope. Help Qais live.
PLEASE DONATE HERE
If Qais was your only child, would you leave him to face his fate alone?
DONATE HERE PLEASE
DON'T SKIP, I BEG YOU ✋🚨 you're the only hope to save a child😔😭
Dont Look Away
Please do what you can. Share beyond just tumblr and donate wht you can Please
Qais' mother left me this comment earlier today.
Please show her that there are many of you that care about her and her dear child.
Think about the last treat/fun drink/trinket you bought yourself and truly ask yourself if you can commit tht much to this campaign and just skip it next time.
A Mother’s Plea for Her Children in Gaza My name is Esraa Al-Ka… Esraa Al-kafarna needs your support for Help a Mother and His Children
has anyone posted about how big falin's boobs are
can i say somehitng. is anyone out there whos understands me
youre broken. nobody has ever thought this
fuck my entire life
Day of Rest 2025
(GIF of a ROM Corruption Glitch from "ActRaiser") [SNES, 1991], part of the "Console Spirituality" Exhibition on Feral File.)