my most american feeling is that i often think to myself that the films i consume biologically becomes bullets for the gun i use to interact with the world
styofa doing anything
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shark vs the universe

blake kathryn
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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Janaina Medeiros
almost home

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Claire Keane
sheepfilms
DEAR READER
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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roma★
KIROKAZE
Jules of Nature
Keni

PR's Tumblrdome
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@indoorzzz
my most american feeling is that i often think to myself that the films i consume biologically becomes bullets for the gun i use to interact with the world
ECCHI COLLAPSE EXPERIMENTS
RIAS GREMORY COLLAPSE: PUSHING THE AESTHETIC OF IDEALIZED DESIRE AND GLUTTONOUS SEXUALIZATION TO THE LIMITS OF UNFAMILIARITY (THE UNCANNY).
panopticon thrifting girl
to re-establish oneself as a girl; falling into the perfect little dissonant trap - FAGGOT WISDOM is the only thing that will get u thru this shit, endlessly moving from last vestige to last vestige.
LUCY'S ROOM: A BABY DYKE DRAMA
memory as raw footage: the way it feels, ruminating on an embarrassment, a vulnerability, over and over again. rewinding, rewinding, rewinding, recounting and examining every word and nervous gesture ad nauseam, and the memory warps, changing slightly each time u go over it in your head. the image is murky; its getting murkier. was i weird? did i say something wrong? is my laugh stupid? am i dumb to feel love? did i ruin everything? should i have kept this all to myself? remembering that feeling, its like being stabbed every time i keep desperately rewinding, anxiously reliving, hoping that the feeling will eventually fade.
San Fransisco State 16mm film production - raw footage for a short film. Transferred on 8/21/2019 by XFR Collective from VHS during the ARCH
saturday at the dyke march, an older schizophrenic woman was handing out these little photo-copied pamplets of her writings to all the lesbians who would pass by. she handed me one and whispered, "its weird, they keep recording everyone i give these to" and "thank you for sharing my story".
i kept it tucked away in a little copy of the scum manifesto i had in my bag, and i would read it over and over again, it came with me on the metro north, in a guest bedroom in connecticut, back to washington square park, in a church in ridgewood etc. etc. etc.,
the words themselves where kind of difficult to decipher; no complete sentences, spinning a distressing tale involving her deceased mother, anthony fauchi, larry kramer, violent hare krishna day(?), THE INTERNET, random names, dates, times, streets, addresses, and joan jett. it also included pictures of her mother, and paintings she had made, and pictures of herself and her brother steve. the whole things really affected me emotionally. i guess it was inspiring that someone so far from our general reality could get her story out so effectively.
i guess what i'm trying to say is i've been thinking a lot about like, operating in and coping with a world that doesn't make any sense, conspiracy theory brain rot, post-truth, and how reality is malleable, how it relates to forging your own identity, changing your body, everything being in flux, up in the air. it seems like for better or for worse, everyone lives inside their own worlds, worlds that are true to them. thankfully most of the time my world is one where a bunch of silly and beautiful trans people make noise music in the basements of houses and churches. other people live in a world where joan jett is secretely shooting lasers into their face.
to be surrounded by your community is an incredible thing, especially marching down the streets of manhattan, watching half-naked butch lesbians do pull-ups on the scaffolding of skyscrapers. but sometimes, being surrounded by beautiful people who are celebrating their confidence, comfort, and joy in their own bodies and identities can really internally highlight how massively shitty you still feel about yourself. as much as i enjoyed my friends and my community i still felt a bit isolated and crazy, like im stuck behind a glass window of dysphoria watching everyone and everything pass by. it can all be very overwhelming.
i know that these feelings do not reflect the "true" "reality" of my situation, i am lucky to have so many amazing and supportive friends around me, and my transition is progressing a lot better these days, in large part thanks to them. its just hard not to be a total doomer when the world is exploding and i still have hair growing from my face. i guess caren weckstein made me feel less alone in my suffering this weekend, we could both be fucked up and vulnerable together through the little pamplet i carried around.
i'll leave you with a poem she wrote, called "top of the world".
driving up the road from the bottom to the top. all you see is the light from the sun. you think you are driving into a fairyland and maybe you are the grass on the hills are rolling lush green on either side of the road. cat-o-mine tails blow in the breeze. cows graze in the pastor. and when you get there maybe that’s where paradise is.
this weekend at dyke march + nyc pride
beatufil freaking shoegaze track what the HELL?!?!??
idk why i love the way instagram ui looks on pictures of my friends basement and other things
june has unsuccessfully convinced me that the bloodhound gang is a bad band
seeing balalaika with a cigar in her mouth angrily editing porn and complaining about her work life in episode 7 of Black Lagoon is what made me want to be a woman
bought the s.c.u.m. manifesto from a local bookstore today, ate at a fancy restaurant, listened to erin wake tunes, my brain feels incredibly all-over-the-place and disorganized, too much so to make art at the moment, i’m thinking about the j train, drawing with sharpie on my body, and writing about realizing ur a lesbian.
four pictures of a truck decal of joe biden tied up
5-3-25 mud wrestling & dead fish on the lawn
some flyers i made for a d.i.y. screening of 964 pinocchio i’m putting on this week at school!!!!