"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Today's Document
sheepfilms
Not today Justin
KIROKAZE
EXPECTATIONS
RMH
PR's Tumblrdome
NASA
Kiana Khansmith
titsay
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
The Stonewall Inn
Noah Kahan
izzy's playlists!
No title available
Andulka
Xuebing Du
oozey mess
Love Begins
seen from United States
seen from Bulgaria
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Brazil
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Pakistan
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Finland
seen from Guatemala
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Brazil
seen from Türkiye
@huagl
vine tarot
by ‘holly sweet’ on redbubble
five feet apart cus theyre not gay
oh my god they were roommates
i wont hesitate, bitch
THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELLS YOU
its wednesday my dudes
(no associated catchphrase)
a potato flew around my room
i have the power of god AND anime on my side
MY POOP IS COMING
~got a red dress on tonight, dancing in the dark in the pale moonlight~
(no associated catchphrase)
(’take on me’ opening notes)
(no associated catchphrase)
This explains a lot about my lack of asking for help when I clearly need it
ahsgdjhsagladgksadghsadgjsadgkhasdkghsag
yes
On Fandoms, Age, and Gender: The Politics of “ Putting Away Childish Things”
Weighing in on yet another round of “fan spaces are youth spaces” (aka “go home and knit, old lady” or “You’re old enough to be my/someone’s mom! gross!” )
Consider these thoughts:
There’s a whole set of interests and behaviors that you might become interested in as you grow from child to adolescent to young adult and take greater interest in the wider world.
You might like horses, or dolls. Or building models. You might play soccer, or follow baseball every summer and learn about box scores. You might follow the college football draft, or love a pop band. You might deeply admire a rock band and learn to play the guitar. You might love superheroes and see all their movies. You might love space opera and collect paperback books. Maybe you collect trading cards of your favorite team players – or movie moments. You probably get t-shirts and posters of teams, or media outlets. You might get deeply into a social or political cause.
Those are all expressions of interest in the world, all with associated social aspects, many with associated creative actions.
And then you get older. And here’s the thing about that list. The things on that list that are “for boys?” Are also “for men.” But the things on that list that are “for girls” or “for nerds?” Are only “for children.”
Adult men wear brightly colored team clothing and paint their faces without shame. They join fantasy football leagues and hang out online. They follow Phish (or continuously talk about how they did when that was a thing). They spend vast sums on tickets to bowl games. They get excited all over the internet about Geddy Lee’s greatest hits. They spend long afternoons on the golf course, playing very bad golf.
No one tells them to grow up
An adult woman who turns a childhood dollhouse into a beautiful scale model of a real Victorian home is “eccentric.” An adult man who builds a vast HO train layout in his basement is a “train enthusiast.” An adult woman who displays her favorite Bryer horses is “odd,” an adult man with a shelf of signed baseballs is “a collector” or even “an investor.”
Adult women making fanart of attractive movie stars is “creepy,’ while adult men decorating their garages with calendar art of scantily-clad very-young women is “just what guys do.”
Interests and hobbies that were feminine and are taken up by men become acceptable. When The Beatles were greeted with mobs of fainting teen girls, they were a “boy band.” When young men discovered them, they became Serious Musicians.
Over and over, across fields of interest, things that girls like are “toys and games and childish” and should be left behind by adults, while things that boys like are “hobbies and sports” that are lifetime pastimes. And acceptable “hobbies” for adult women? Most are things that could be coded as household chores, but generations of women have worked to turn into enjoyable pastimes: knitting, sewing, quilting. Home decor. Baking. Many adult women (myself included) enjoy doing those things in their free time and have elevated them to art forms. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re rooted in utility, while “men’s hobbies” are, by and large, rooted in leisure.
Look around you and follow the pattern. And then, before you ask “Why are adult women in fan spaces,” maybe ask “why do I feel like adult women don’t get to have fun?”
You thought they were myths. Simply legends, nothing more. Until you met one at the local grocery store.
A Karen.
The tidings of a supposed breach between worlds had been everywhere lately. Butterflies came fluttering in, writing the news in their shimmering trails; rabbits scurried across the bushes and clambered up the walls, pattering the news in morse code; even the owls enchanted the night with their hooting songs of bad-tempered and irrational mortals. The butterflies I didn’t mind. I could simply send the dusty message trailing away with a sweep of the hand. But the rabbits and owls had been getting on my nerves lately.
I should cancel my subscription.
Despite the incessant drilling about this breach, I didn’t pay much heed. Well, in all honesty, I didn’t care. I had spied on mortals through the veins of leaves, and I’ve seen nothing but tepid, lackluster beings who enjoyed the taste of beer and the sounds of their own voices. Not once had I seen the fabled Karens. This didn’t come as a surprise, myths were, after all, myths.
The crack of dawn shrouded the world in indigo. My stomach rumbled to the rhythm of hunger. Instinctively I walked outside and examined the trees. A flash of anger popped and cracked in my chest, prompting the blood to rise behind my face.
Someone had stolen my apples.
The hoof-shaped trails betrayed the culprit had been a fawn. Damned be the fawns. I sighed. I really craved apples.
Accepting my defeat, I went to Bloom N’ Gloom, the local grocery store. Azaris, the fairy at the reception greeted me and told me to be careful.
“A Karen is here,” she said and waved her fingers in a spooky way. “She will eat you if you let her.”
“Aza,” I said, a smirk hooking my lips, “you are aware that frightening your customers is not the best way to do business.”
“Perhaps,” she said and tilted her head, sparkles falling down her ears. “I’m just taking care of you.”
I laughed and walked forth. “I’ve always thought of you as a trickster. You ooze mischief, you.”
I navigated through the tree-laden aisles, avoiding the stretching cats and leaping lemurs. Soon enough I found a stash of fresh apples. After studying some candidates with my scholar’s eye, I reached for one that wasn’t too large nor too small and that shone slightly more than the rest–
A hand appeared out of nowhere clasping the same apple, and, in turn, my own hand. My heart stuttered. I pulled back and attempted to apologize, but my words died in my throat after witnessing the middle-aged monster standing next to me.
The tales described her perfectly well. Rudeness welled out of her rolling eyes; an atrocious, skin-melting bob-haircut enveloped her face in demise; stains of dirt speckled her dress betraying she had been in a soccer field not too long ago.
It was a Karen, a true Karen.
“I feel threatened,” she said. Her voice rang in my ears like the scream of a banshee. “I feel threatened!”
I raised my hands aloft and took a step back. “It’s all yours. I swear. The apple is all yours.”
“I don’t want that apple. You stained it with your magical hands. I am too intelligent to be fooled. That apple is enchanted. You were trying to rob me. I saw your sleight of hand. I saw it. I’m a member of MENSA.”
“What is a MENSA?” I asked, my voice waning, breaking. “I didn’t do anything I swear.”
She pulled out something from her pocket and put it on her ear. “I will call the police,” she said and pointed at me with her wrinkled forefinger. “I am calling the police.”
I didn’t know what a police was. My heart fell to the pit of my stomach and thundered. “Don’t call the police. I didn’t do anything to the apple. I didn’t try to rob you. I swear.”
With a deft motion of the hand, she reached inside her purse and pulled of a small canister. She held it to my eyes and pressed it. Particles of fire clawed down my eyelids. I screamed and thrashed on the ground, rubbing the flames away. The pattering of fading footsteps filled my eyes. Amidst the pain, my vision a blur, I saw her leaving.
But then the fabled phrase came, louder than the pleadings of a cat in heat.
“Where is the manager?”
Still burning, I scrambled to my feet and escaped the store before it was too late.
I should take the news more seriously.
I’m ready to spend my last dollar
2020 for me has just been "am I stressed because of a global pandemic and an increasingly fascist far-right government, or am I just struggling to exist under capitalism" and I'm really getting tired of it
2020 mood
reblog if you’re gay because of ghosts
the best part of this image is that the website it’s from is dead fucking serious
I found the page and it’s better than I could have even imagined. apparently lesbians are possessed by male ghosts that cause attracted to women and gay men have female ghosts. Also this line:
“Spiritual research has shown that the cause for homosexual preferences lie predominantly in the spiritual realm.”
Part of me wishes it did have a citation
WAIT FUCK THERE”S MORE
Reblog if your homosexuality was a slippery slope to your interest in murder
@bechdels……………
Wait, best part about the percent tables above:
100 swear words = 1 murder
MORE FUCKING QUALITY CONTENT FROM THE SSRF
BREAKING NEWS
I just learned about a bird species called Golden Plover. Their chicks have an amazing camouflage: their baby fluff resembles MOSS!
LOOK AT THEM! JUST LOOK AT THEM!
...Oh to be a tiny golden plover lying in the moss safe and sound waiting for your mom to bring you some worms...
@normal-horoscopes
ATTENTION: IT IS NOW TIME FOR MOSS
The Burial Signs II:
Aries: The palace courtyard. The dead given to the earth, no coffin, no headstone. Above their grave, a marble statue depicting the dead in their prime. Generations of royal dead, frozen in polite conversation.
Taurus: Stuffed with resin and bathed in holy oils. A kiln in the desert, where the smoke can reach the clear and starry sky. The stench of fire and death overridden by cedarwood and juniper.
Gemini: The totems of iron and carved birch placed above the mass graves. At their peak, an iron effigy of an eagle, intended to draw in lightning, allowing the souls beneath to pass over. What lies beneath turning to a grim fulgurite.
Cancer: A body bound in painted seagrass, young coral placed in the mouth. A funeral regatta to the ancestral reef, where the body is scuttled beneath warm and gentle waves.
Leo: No burial, no ritual. Body left where it fell for the scavengers to feed upon. Eventually the nomads will return in the warm season, and there they will mourn. Who are they to deny the dead to what gave them life?
Virgo: The dead given to priests and bound in holy red cord. A secretive ritual of sacred knotwork, wherein the dead are bound in ritual positions, suspended from the branches of leafless trees.
Libra: The place where the prophet died. Bodies given by the thousand, the veiled abbess in white who surveys them, selecting them by some unknown criteria. Only the chosen are stripped, bleached, and added to the cathedral of bone.
Scorpio: Empty battlefields. The holy men are too afraid to walk these fields. Some holy men they are. Prayers muttered as the dead are stripped for valuables, their bodies burned. In the right light, even God’s work turns a profit.
Ophiuchus: The poor dead, buried without silver for the ferrymen. Honest labor at the oars, helping other souls across.
Sagittarius: The valley of the dead. Coffins hung from ropes meant to be cut a year at a time in a gesture of mourning. Dry wood and pulverized bone crashing into the canyon floor, representing the final and true death.
Capricorn: Thrown to the hog pits! Strike up the band!
Aquarius: The stage of the dead. Plays in masks and pantomime as the kiln burns. The ashes pressed into concrete and made into bricks. Another stone seat for the great ampitheater.
Pisces: A small white stone, swallowed before death. Ten years passed in the mountaintop basin, open to the vultures and shrikes. Each year on the summer solstice, the priest walks the sacred ground, retrieving the stones, now deepest black.
Good Morning! Today I will be informing you of the existence of enormous purple squirrels.
Meet Indian giant squirrels. They are technicolor. They are 3 feet long. They are fully, utterly nonsense. They belong in a Pixar movie, preferably leading a musical number.
That is all.
Hi friends,
This is our new story FERTILE. We hope you enjoy it!
We’ve just released a new digital comic book, containing 3 new stories. Get it here: gum.co/lightsgoout
If you would like to support us creating more comics like this one, please consider buying a copy. However we know times are hard, so if you can’t, please download the book for free.
Thank you! Ehud and Yael
HECK
I gotta ask, how do people, like, do stuff???
here’s what i’ve figured out so far:
-gotta have eat first
-gotta sleep enough first
(seriously so many days i’m like “i have all afternoon I’ma Do a Thing” and then i just kinda buzz around and do Nothing and think “WHY” and then i’m like “oh yeah i’m really fuckening tired”)
-gotta be Excited About It (ADHD brain only does things if they’re Literally the Most Interesting Thing Happening Right Now) (so like, hype yourself up to work on a project, or think about how happy you’ll be with a cleaner room/all those chores done)
-gotta have small, doable first step (like, “get cloth from fabric drawer” or “open google docs”
-FUCK distractions (computer is in drawer, phone is Off)
-Engage the Senses (if task needs Brain, play vague background Music, if task needs No Brain, listen to audiobook/podcast)
-maybe set time limit so i don’t get lost??? e.g. i have a little egg timer that i use because the ticking isn’t distracting but is enough to remind me that Time is a Thing that is Passing Right Now
-gotta have Self Awareness and Thinky about the Moment (get into the habit of Consciously Noticing what you’re doing at the moment, so you’re more likely to go “wait, this isn’t what i wanted to be doing” and be able to redirect)
-be willing to redirect and try to do something else if whatever you want to do Just Isn’t Happening
-DON’T beat yourself up for only doing part of something, or failing entirely- all that does is make your brain associate “trying to do stuff” with “well that SUCKED”. Which means you don’t want to try again. Tell urself u did good for trying, and if it didn’t work, try again later, or figure out why it didn’t work and try a different way. Reward yourself for trying
this is what i’ve figured out about cajoling the Thinky No Worky Brain into Doing Stuff. it’s not 100% reliable, especially if I forget to do some of these things (like SLEEP), but it’s what i got, ya know??
I wasn’t actually expecting any answers when I made that post but damn this is really helpful, thank you <3
i don't need any more friend because i have one very big friend, here he is
I don't date. I gift pretty rocks and shinies from my hoard; it's courting hours babey, time to go write a handwritten love-letter
