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21 Libra

[manuciruja]

awww the like button turns into a rainbow when you press it! that's so cute...hey staff what's with all the trans women you keep nuking?

[manuciruja]

i think we should be ridiculing them more for this. you don't get to try and go all "queer website" when your staff likes to go on nuking sprees targeting the trans fem users

[boomer-mythology-destroyer]

[herssian]

ya gotta stop caring what people think and start being extremely weird. but never cruel. i think that might save you

[ellesbees]

The Silt Verses spoilers ig ???

WHAT DO YOU MEAN “i wanted to be a ballerina…they retire young, ballerinas” IS FROM THE FUCKING SILT VERSES ??!???!

an audio that i have loved for the themes expressed in so little time is from the audio drama series i started two weeks ago and that has also irreversibly changed my brain chemistry ??

[natequarter]

eating is better than not eating. takeaway for the third day in a row? reheated leftovers? sandwiches for dinner? who cares! eating is better than not eating! obviously it's best if you can be eating balanced and filling meals regularly, but it's more important that you survive than that everything you eat is perfectly healthy. if you only had a slice of bread for lunch, you still ate something. you need food to stay alive. well done. eating is better than not eating.

[chronictranssexuality]

"you don't owe anyone anything" You are a tar pit. Speak for yourself. I personally owe the cafe employees my dishes put away and my friends a listening ear and small scared insects a cup and a gentle trip outside. Hyperindividualism is a rancid infection borne of capitalism and willfully misinterpreted therapyspeak and I will defy it by continuing to be kind regardless of whether or not it benefits me personally

[grendel-menz]

I hope you know that it’s always this

[magpie-trove]

“Do it afraid” I do everything that way! I’d like to do it normal for once thanks!

[homunculus-argument]

I find it funny how most working dog breeds are pretty cut-and-dry, they do exactly what it says on the label, but with hunting dogs it gets all No Such Thing As A Fish.

Like herding dogs herd, right? And shepherd dogs herd sheep. They make the flocks move where you want them to go. Some nip at their heels, some just use scare tactics, but their whole job is to make the flocks move. They run around them going hehe get relocated, idiots.

Guard dogs guard. Sure there's the patrolling alarm dogs whose whole job is to go around and supervise that nothing is out of place, and there's the four-legged security guard type that make sure that either the intruder leaves the premises on their own or with several limbs removed, but the principle is still pretty simple. This Is My House, My People, Our Livestock, And You Can Fuck Off.

But hunting dogs? Are we talking about the mushy temperament eager-to-please soft-mouthed retriever who can hold an egg in their teeth without breaking it? A bear dog that fucks off into the woods to find big game the size of a truck and then barks to keep it in place until the hunter with a gun can get there and deal with it? The noble dachshund that is specifically tube-shaped and audacious-natured in order to bolt into tunnels to go badger a badger in its own damn house? Or a pointer, who points.

My boyfriend's family's dogs are a very rare seal hunting breed, that are no longer used to hunt seals. They make pretty good alarm dogs, though, and for breaking your ear drums.

[butterflytetra]

Or do you mean greyhounds, who seem to do very little, unless you turn you back on them for 2 seconds and they see a rabbit. By the time you look back, they are gone

[homunculus-argument]

"Greyhounds are very active, high-energy dogs" is actually a statistical error. Most of the time, greyhounds don't do jack shit. The 2 seconds every day when they get an energy spike and bolt, running at the speed of light to slam face first into a wall, are an outlier adn should not be counted into the average speed.

[abyssaldyke]

It's spring now which means the kids in my city have started drawing hopscotches on the sidewalk and as a rule I do every hopscotch I see because 1. Use it or lose it (ability to scotch) and 2. If a child got down on the hardscrabble streets of Boston Massachusetts to draw a scotch the least I can do is use it, but in doing the hopscotches, I've learned that about 50% of them are the typical 8-10 step scotch and the other 50% are. Somewhat avant-garde. And of course I'm not vetting the entire scotch before I start it so sometimes it's like haha 8 steps woo! Childlike whimsy! And sometimes they're 20 steps or 30 or they've got a section with three squares instead of two where you have to do a little Charleston to step on all three, or, memorably, FORTY one foot squares. A full BLOCK of jumping on one foot but I'm no quitter so once I've started Jigsaw Junior's fuckin hopscotch gauntlet I'm there til the end just a daily pot smoker in her thirties jumping kasa-obake style through an affluent suburb while some little proto-kennedy watches from his bedroom window rubbing his sadistic little third grade hands together and cackling. It's amazing. I love spring.

[metamorphesque]

this is what it means to be human

Everything, Mary Oliver

The Breathing, Denise Levertov

A Prayer by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

The Laughing Heart by Charles Bukowski

Like a Small Café, That’s Love by Mahmoud Darwish (translated by Mohammad Shaheen)

Having a Coke with You by Frank O’Hara

Eating Together by Li-Young Lee

The Orange by Wendy Cope

The Quiet Machine, Ada Limón

To Go Mad, Paruyr Sevak

Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled with Shrieks by Christopher Citro

Hammond B3 Organ Cistern, Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Peace XVIII, Khalil Gibran

Your Unripe Love, Paruyr Sevak (from “Anthology of Armenian poetry")

Here and Now by Peter Balakian

Ich finde dich (I find you) by Rainer Maria Rilke

The Thing Is by Ellen Bass

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

Miss you. Would like to take a walk with you. by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

I Want to Write Something So Simply by Mary Oliver

What's Not to Love by Brendan Constantine

Where does such tenderness come from? by Marina Tsvetaeva

You Are Tired (I Think) by E. E. Cummings

Living With the News by W.S.Merwin

What the Living Do by Marie Howe

[ellesbees]

low quality pics of my magnus archive doodles at work: gerard keay (left) and michael shelley (right)

johnny sims your smooth smooth voice is the only thing keeping me going at my day job

[edettethegreat]

rip magnus archives crew but I'm built different. if my boss was literally all-knowing and couldn't fire me, I'd be in his office all day asking him questions about everything. I wouldn't use google anymore. I'd be like "what's the rarest kind of tree frog" and he'd be like "shut up please shut up" but he'd tell me the answer every time.

and then I'd go home and immediately call him and be like "hey elias I forgot what time I put the burekas in the oven, how much longer should I leave them in"

and he'd be like "I hate you so much. you put them in 12:42. they should come out at 1:12"

[estrogenesis-eeveeangelion]

no animal was harmed during the making of this video. not one. for the few minutes that we were shooting film, the guns of each hunter fell silent. the industrial bolt throwers observed a moment's peace and the jaws of every predator hung softly open. no fish bit any hook and the bait worms held off on drowning only until the cameras stopped. the tails of ruminants ceased to flick just as their attendant flies, in unison, landed on their flanks to catch their tiny breaths. a spider instantly stopped winding silk around a wasp, patiently waiting for the caesura to end. a young veterinarian paused with the syringe in their hand. somewhere, a colicky baby stopped biting its mother's nipple and nursed happily for the very first time. we're sorry. we're sorry it couldn't have been longer. we didn't know this would happen.

[estrogenesis-eeveeangelion]

i think after 35k notes of people tagging welcome to night vale, which i'm certain is good but which i've never listened to more than maybe 3 minutes of, i can say now that this was not written with a soothing radio voice in mind. the voice here, in my imagining, is grief-stricken, on the verge of tears.

if you're interested to know what this post IS biting, if it is not biting WTNV, it's basically just a conflation of the key descriptive passage in Jorge Luis Borges' short story El Aleph with my favorite passage from Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse V (the war movie that plays in reverse), plus a little piece of imagery borrowed from the staggeringly brilliant and tragically underappreciated poet Cornelius Eady, specifically the bit about the flies, which is lifted in part from my favorite image in his poem "Victims of the Latest Dance Craze." if you aren't familiar with any one of these, please consider this my recommendation of all three.

[estrogenesis-eeveeangelion]

Works Cited:

"On the back part of the step, toward the right, I saw a small iridescent sphere of almost unbearable brilliance. At first I thought it was revolving; then I realised that this movement was an illusion created by the dizzying world it bounded. The Aleph’s diameter was probably little more than an inch, but all space was there, actual and undiminished. Each thing (a mirror’s face, let us say) was infinite things, since I distinctly saw it from every angle of the universe. I saw the teeming sea; I saw daybreak and nightfall; I saw the multitudes of America; I saw a silvery cobweb in the center of a black pyramid; I saw a splintered labyrinth (it was London); I saw, close up, unending eyes watching themselves in me as in a mirror; I saw all the mirrors on earth and none of them reflected me; I saw in a backyard of Soler Street the same tiles that thirty years before I’d seen in the entrance of a house in Fray Bentos; I saw bunches of grapes, snow, tobacco, lodes of metal, steam; I saw convex equatorial deserts and each one of their grains of sand; I saw a woman in Inverness whom I shall never forget; I saw her tangled hair, her tall figure, I saw the cancer in her breast; I saw a ring of baked mud in a sidewalk, where before there had been a tree; I saw a summer house in Adrogué and a copy of the first English translation of Pliny—Philemon Holland’s—and all at the same time saw each letter on each page (as a boy, I used to marvel that the letters in a closed book did not get scrambled and lost overnight); I saw a sunset in Querétaro that seemed to reflect the colour of a rose in Bengal; I saw my empty bedroom; I saw in a closet in Alkmaar a terrestrial globe between two mirrors that multiplied it endlessly; I saw horses with flowing manes on a shore of the Caspian Sea at dawn; I saw the delicate bone structure of a hand; I saw the survivors of a battle sending out picture postcards; I saw in a showcase in Mirzapur a pack of Spanish playing cards; I saw the slanting shadows of ferns on a greenhouse floor; I saw tigers, pistons, bison, tides, and armies; I saw all the ants on the planet; I saw a Persian astrolabe; I saw in the drawer of a writing table (and the handwriting made me tremble) unbelievable, obscene, detailed letters, which Beatriz had written to Carlos Argentino; I saw a monument I worshipped in the Chacarita cemetery; I saw the rotted dust and bones that had once deliciously been Beatriz Viterbo; I saw the circulation of my own dark blood; I saw the coupling of love and the modification of death; I saw the Aleph from every point and angle, and in the Aleph I saw the earth and in the earth the Aleph and in the Aleph the earth; I saw my own face and my own bowels; I saw your face; and I felt dizzy and wept, for my eyes had seen that secret and conjectured object whose name is common to all men but which no man has looked upon—the unimaginable universe.

I felt infinite wonder, infinite pity."

— excerpt from El Aleph by Jorge Luis Borges, transl. Norman Thomas Di Giovanni in collaboration with the author

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"It was a movie about American bombers in the Second World War and the gallant men who flew them. Seen backwards by Billy, the story went like this:

American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew up backwards to join the formation.

The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks. The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own, which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes. But there were still a few wounded Americans, though, and some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything and everybody as good as new.

When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody again."

— excerpt from Slaughterhouse V by Kurt Vonnegut

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"From the air,

Insects drawn by the sweat

Alight, when possible,

On the blur

Of torsos.

It is the ride

Of their tiny lives.

The wind that burns their wings,

The heaving, oblivious flesh,

Mountains stuffed with panic,

An ocean

That can’t make up its mind.

They drop away

With the scorched taste

Of vertigo."

— excerpt from "Victims of the Latest Dance Craze" by Cornelius Eady

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"Lazarus, listen, we have things to tell you.

We killed the sheep you meant to take to market.

We couldn't keep the old dog either.

He minded you; the rest of us he barked at.

Rebecca, who cried two days, has given her hand to the sandalmaker's son.

Please understand – we didn't know that Jesus could do this.

We're glad you're back. But give us time to think.

Imagine our surprise to have you—not well, but weller.

I'm sorry but you do stink. Everyone please give us some air.

We want to say we're sorry for all of that.

And one thing more. We threw away the lyre.

But listen, we'll pay whatever the sheep was worth.

The dog, too. And put your room the way it was before."

— "Adjusting to the Light" by Miller Williams

[vastlywillow]

[estrogenesis-eeveeangelion]

holy fucken shit

[tlirsgender]

I'm really not a very angry person there's just a lot of rage inside me

[tlirsgender]

There's something terrible boiling bubbling under my skin ready to burst out of my chest but I'm a chill guy

[detectivehole]

"why do you know that" i am curious about the world around me

[ellesbees]

sometimes i truly bemoan the growing intensity in reflection. mirrors that can reflect your pores. ultra high definition phone cameras. 1000x zoom. i can’t hold the belief that we were meant to see ourselves so up close all of the time because the most beautiful i’ve ever felt is in the reflection of the warped steel door of an industrial grade oven.