S. @flowerchildandstuff - Tumblr Blog

Posts

My numbness is like a thick swamp engulfing my consciousness. I'm growing accustomed to my inability to feel nothing, yet feel too much at the same time. Sounds like a paradox, right? Mostly darkness feels comforting- both for eyes and soul. I make up stories in my mind, too fantastic to fit into the box of reality. I think of words, thereby caging my unadulterated emotions into the wooden box of the finest words that I stole from the dictionary or into perfectly elaborated phrases and sentences. Often, the pandemonium of words feel melodramatic. Sometimes the sunlight feels okay, beaming through the crooks of leaves and branches, gawking at me.

I wish I could give my sadness a cause.

#my words #spilled ink

kosmogrl

learning not to return to places where I miss the past but see no future

twocubes

what if you combined a pressure cooker and a deep fryer and made a pressure fryer, the most dangerous kitchen implement in history

baedlyweathered

does this imply you want to heat cooking oil to past its boiling point at one atmosphere

iatrophilosophos

Its real and its called a broaster.

garaged0g

*grabs america by the shoulders* we have got to lock the fuck in. south asia and the middle east are running goddamn circles around us. we have got to come up with a more dangerous way of cooking food now or we can kiss these quarter finals goodbye

museify

weltenwellen

Beverly Engel, Healing Your Emotional Self

inkskinned

it's hard to explain but i often think about how divorced we are from our bodies and how that divide is encouraged by capitalism. if we view our bodies as a separate commodity, it's easier for us to accept that our labor is also separate from us. alienation from the body haunting everything.

and it's a perfect circle for capitalism, isn't it? they make trillions of dollars asking you to lose weight so that you may be a more valuable asset. you need a nose job and lip filler and a bubble butt. you need more time at the gym, more protein, less freedom. you need your hair removed unless you're a different kind of person and then you need to be so hairy. you need a ton of makeup unless you're a certain skin color and then fuck you, we're not matching our foundations to you, buy 2 and mix 'em. those clothes are cringe now, buy a whole new wardrobe. you need 18 kinds of skincare, you need 12 hair products, all must-haves.

"here's the steps i'm never skipping in my morning routine - and how it made me rich. we all have the same 24 hours, right, you should just wake up earlier. click the link in my bio for the pills that made me like this. for the class that taught me how to prioritize myself. for how to be a better you; and by that i of course mean how to be beautiful."

and the way people talk about bodies. holy shit.

and it's tiring, and you are exhausted, and you are insecure because of course you are - how could you not be? nobody looks like you. nobody else has loose skin or bad skin or scars or back pimples or stretch marks or cellulite or a broken nose. the filter literally sorts all of that out, and leaves beauty behind. the things that are yours are erased.

so you buy the $14 mascara because honestly it really is a nice mascara and it lasts for a while and besides, it gives you a little boost of confidence. so you buy the expensive face mask because it is your skin, you deserve like, one nice product. self-care is now a product, isn't it? self-care isn't just meditation, now you need to download this meditation app, and then you'll be okay again.

and it's so fucking hard to find your way back to your body once you've gotten used to the price of it. because, what, you're going to pay 200 dollars a session for a "somatic" therapist? (you don't even really believe in a lot of "somatic therapy." what the fuck are they saying when they say "trauma is kept in your hips". the body keeps the score; but like, you believe the real help for trauma lies in neuroscience. you'll still do the stretch just in case, but come on). and the thing is that you are selling your body - no matter how gentle your work is; your time on this earth is limited, and you are selling hours of that time in order to make a miniscule profit (ha! as if breaking even equals "making profit").

so how do you take care of the thing that is essentially your tool? capitalism recommends you hone it. you certainly don't feel better when you rest; you feel almost self-indulgent. quick-fixes make you feel worse, annoyed with yourself for stopping at a fast food place; calculating how much cheaper it would have been to just buy the stupid ingredients and get over how tired cooking makes you.

you woke up this morning and thought - i need a vacation. but how are you going to take a vacation from your body? it costs money to exist.

ryebreadgf

bintro

metamorphesque

The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas

cats-and-cardigans

Fiction & Poetry:

A Life Apart, by Neel Mukherjee

A Thousand Dreams Within Me Softly Burn, by Sahil Sood

Babyji by Abha Dawesar

The Best at It, by Maulik Pancholy

Blue Boy, by Rakesh Satyal

The Boy and the Bindi, by Vivek Shraya

Bright Lines: A Novel, by Tanwi Nandini Islam

Cinnamon Gardens, by Shyam Selvadurai

The City of Devi, by Manil Suri

Cobalt Blue: A Novel, by Sachin Kundalkar

Funny Boy, by Shyam Selvadurai

High Noon and the Body, by Kyla Pasha

My Magical Palace, by Kunal Mukherjee

Marriage of a Thousand Lies, by SJ Sindhu

Mohanaswamy, by Vasudhendra

My Father’s Garden, by Hansda Sowvendra Shekar

Ode to Lata, by Ghalib Shiraz Dhalla

The Paths of Marriage, by Mala Kumar

The Pregnant King, by Devdutt Pattanaik

Quarantine, by Rahul Mehta

She of the Mountains, by Vivek Shraya

Stealing Nasreen, by Farzana Doctor

Swimming in the Monsoon Sea, by Shyam Selvadurai

The Tree Outside My Window is a Drama Queen, by Avinash Matta

Trying to Grow, by Firdaus Kanga

The Two Krishnas, by Ghalib Shiraz Dhalla

Valmiki’s Daughter, by Shani Mootoo

The World Unseen, by Shamim Sarif

Non-Fiction & Anthologies:

AIDS Sutra: Untold Stories from India, by Amartya Sen and various authors

Because I Have A Voice: Queer Politics in India, edited by Arvind Narrain and Gautam Bhan

Dirty River, by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

Gay Bombay: Globalization, Love, and (Be)Longing in Contemporary India, by Parmesh Shahani

Impossible Desires: Queer Diasporas and South Asian Public Cultures, by Gayatri Gopinath

The Invisibles, by Zia Jaffrey

A Lotus of Another Color, by Rakesh Ratti

Love’s Rite: Same-Sex Marriage in India and the West by Ruth Vanita

Loving Women: Being Lesbian in Unprivileged India, by Maya Sharma

Made in India: Decolonializations, Queer Sexualities, Trans/National Projects, by Suparna Bhaskaran

Me Hijra, Me Laxmi, by Laxminarayan Tripathi

Moving Truth(s): Queer and Transgender Desi Writings on Family, by Various authors

Neither Man Nor Woman, Serena Nanda

Out! Stories from the New Queer India, by Minal Hajratwala

Queering India: Same-Sex Love and Eroticism in Indian Culture and Society, by Ruth Vanita

Queer Activism in India: A Story in the Anthropology of Ethics, by Naisargi Dave

Sakhiyani: Lesbian Desire in Ancient and Modern India, by Giti Thadani

Same-Sex Love in India, edited by Ruth Vanita and Saleem Kidwal

Sexual Sites, Seminal Attitudes: Sexualities, Masculinities and Culture in South Asia, by Sanjay Srivastava

Sex Longing and Not Belonging: A Gay Muslim’s Quest for Love and Meaning, by Badruddin Khan

Shikhandi and Other Tales They Don’t Tell You, by Devdutt Pattanaik

With Respect to Sex: Negotiating Hijra Identity in South India, by Gaytri Reddy

A Truth About Me: A Hijra Story, by A. Revathi

Yaraana: Gay Writings from South Asia by Hoshang Merchant

metamorphesque

I have so much love in me that I would like to cry.

Simone de Beauvoir, Kayleb Rae Candrilli, Sylvia Plath, Clarice Lispector

inkskinned

it took me 964 applications. i've been counting, but not well. i don't always add every quick-apply to the spreadsheet. this one was five rounds of interviews. saying my elevator pitch like a parrot, peppy and happy. for a long time, i didn't hear anything from them. i thought it was the same as always - they say where did we find you, seem excited, then ghost me. i had sent three follow-up emails hi, just checking in! excited for this opportunity!

i have a master's degree and over 10 years of work in the industry. i've worked 5 jobs at once. i have worked hard and i tried hard my entire life, no matter how burnt out i got or whatever else happened to me. i am the representation of the american dream.

but i'm not a good fit for an entry-level job, i guess, so i get told a lot we just don't think you're be happy. but they fill other positions internally, instead saying - well, there was another candidate who had 6 more days of experience. if i'm lucky, i get this sad little email back from the recruiter, all saying the same thing: we liked you, but we went with another option, good luck job hunting. that is - if i'm lucky, and they even communicate at all with me.

what a waste of fucking time. i've been counting interviews - i am a fucking master total of 42 fucking hours. can you fucking believe. i would have made rent if they'd fucking paid me.

and now nobody does remote, even though this is a job that for the last five years has been remote-completely. now they are paying 14 an hour for a job that used to be 33.50. now they are saying we are looking for rockstars and mean we don't give you health insurance. "we need someone motivated and a little crazy" translates to you will have one day of PTO annually. every job board filled with the same AI-generated bullshit of "our values/join our family/Make Waves With Us". they need to be constantly growing. who knows if they're genuinely hiring.

sometimes i want to write did you know i saved a life once into the cover letter. sometimes i want to put a little secret in there, a little short story about how when i was a kid i used to dream of speaking to my plants. i have the same six conversations with people and answer the same eight questions. sometimes at the end they'll throw something in there that's completely irrelevant. what is my go-to belting song (and yes, they say, there is a wrong answer). what animal would i turn into. what's the most reactive element i've had direct contact with. do i know how to lift an elephant.

964 feels like a nice number, somehow round and pleasing. sometimes i have nightmares where the spreadsheet grows arms and strangles me to death. i saw an old friend in one of these recently; he said the earth will end and you'll still be applying until you run out of breath. 964 is a lot of time to spend filling out an application on a site that doesn't load properly and just steals my information.

one time in desperation i applied for a supermarket position. just anything to make the ends meet, good lord, i'd take anything. i was rejected from it. i'm not, like, proud. i'd take anything so i can afford to live again. and meanwhile, god! our fucking president!

i can't think about it without shaking. i had to beg for help. i paid my own way through college - i have been working (under the table) since i was 12.

nine hundred and sixty-four. and finally! something! and here's the fucking thing: i had to turn it down because it's in your city. how pathetic to think that 2 months ago, i would have agreed to move out to DC, my hands in your hair. my life splashed on your sheets. how pathetic that 2 months ago, you said you wanted me. 964 fucking jobs later, and how pathetic! i can't say yes because my life is entirely different. holy shit.

it's just hell. because god fucking protect you if you have a breakup or a mental breakdown or health issues or need your meds. you can try for a year and still hear fucking nothing from the job market. i have no idea how many times i've said i give up and i still fucking kept doing it. every moment like sandpaper against a raw wound. lowering and lowering my expectations. watching my savings dwindle to nothing. thank you for submitting your application!

back into the frying pan. over and over again.