hi, in a small voice
Goodbye Without Leaving by brinkwomanship
You can find me here.
taylor price
Claire Keane

★

izzy's playlists!
sheepfilms
Acquired Stardust

⁂

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

roma★
Show & Tell
AnasAbdin
YOU ARE THE REASON

blake kathryn
hello vonnie
Keni

Andulka
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
$LAYYYTER
Today's Document
will byers stan first human second
seen from Malaysia

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seen from Canada
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@insinanderror
hi, in a small voice
Goodbye Without Leaving by brinkwomanship
You can find me here.
Through the this
me, an intellectual, writing a final paper. (via lemmepetthatdog)
Be For Real
While I’m deeply distrustful of big data/cloud computing, I do appreciate the accumulation of data, the “On This Day” feature on Facebook, the numbering, counting, and sorting that every computer system I use does automatically. The most played song on my itunes right now is “Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye” by Leonard Cohen, which feels like a joke. The last time I listened to it was on August 1st, at 11:53 AM. I wonder what I was doing that day, that morning, if the air conditioning was humming its persistent whine, if I was unpacking, reading, or just sitting there, listening.
The first time I heard Leonard Cohen I was in high school, driving--my boyfriend's friend put on a mix CD with Famous Blue Raincoat. Both my boyfriend and his friend were older, out of college while I was still seventeen, and I was too embarrassed to ask who was singing so I memorized the lyrics to look up later.
When I learned who was singing, I realized I'd met Leonard Cohen a couple years prior, at Book Expo, when his last book of poetry (from Ecco, the publishing imprint where I later worked for three years) was published. My mother's employee, a bookseller I'd had an all-consuming crush on, had been in New York with us for the convention but unable to make it to Leonard's book signing, and sent me in his place. There was a one-copy limit, so I didn't get one for myself. Later, months of longing later, that bookseller was my first kiss, twenty-eight to my fifteen. During my first semester of college, I wrote letters to the man who first played Leonard Cohen in the car for me, kissed him the night before Christmas Eve. I wore flowers in my hair to see him--he didn't deserve it. I worked the closing shift at Greenlight on Friday nights for well over a year, and whenever I closed with Pat or Jarrod, I'd put on Leonard Cohen as soon as ten o'clock hit, jokingly singing along as I tied up the trash and they counted the register. I thought it was funny to put on 'Closing Time'. In 2012, I saw Leonard in concert, alone. Pat and his mom happened to be sitting just two rows in front of me. Leonard sang and played for four hours. He stood by while his longtime backup singer, did a solo number--holding his hat to his chest the whole time. Before the show ended, he introduced and thanked every member of his crew by name. I walked home alone in the cold, blissful and destroyed. At twenty-three, I listened to Hallelujah over Skype with a much older married man I knew would never fully be mine, sobbing as I watched his face change with the music, wondering if it made our relationship seem even more cliched, that we loved this song together so much. A different married man took me out for a business lunch a couple winters ago, bought me steak, asked me why I was single. I wanted to kiss him but I knew better; instead, that night, I emailed him a list of my top ten Leonard Cohen songs. On my second day of work at Ecco, looking through my boss's phone book, I found three (three!) separate numbers for Leonard Cohen, an old friend of his. I never called any of them. I so wish I had, now. I don't know what I would have even said. It's fitting that my eulogy of Leonard reads like a blind item list of men I've loved in so many different ways. I think he would approve. But hey Leonard--this is no way to say goodbye.
Once I asked Eleanor to cut my bangs, when we lived next door to each other, as in her bedroom door was there, six inches from mine, in the tiny little apartment that seemed so warm and safe and homey until it got bedbugs and it suddenly seemed hostile and claustrophobic–that’s when I decided finally to move back to Portland because my mom had told me that there was a place for me there but I got there and there wasn’t! so I made one for myself, but it was just as hard and my heart wasn’t in it, so back I came–where we padded around in underwear and t-shirts, one whole wall filled with our books, chocolate on every shelf of the fridge, our bras hung drying over the curtain rod, a haven and a woman’s home, though sometimes men were invited in, they always seemed a little out of place, a little big in that tiny safe space of ours that later became not so safe, and she said, “I cut mine, but I think I’d be nervous cutting yours,” and she was right, and I never did get bangs because I have thin curly hair and they would have been awful, and she doesn’t have bangs anymore either, and she looks wonderful, both our faces uncovered and unapologetic now, now we both live in big apartments, big open spaces that we can expand in, each of these are shared with a man, too, a kind man, but a man, and it feels like growing but also compromising a little, but there she is, twenty blocks away, she in her home and I in mine.
Some pages from my new Comic Your Black Friend. I don’t think I’ve written about black alienation so directly. Came out alright.
If you’re itching to read it all I’ll be at MICE in Boston, Ripexpo in Providence and NOCAZ Fest in New Orleans. Radiator Comics Distro will be sellin them soon too. Also Subscribers to my patreon can read this comic and all sorts of other comics including episodes of BttmFdrs, Daygloayhole issue one and two, and all sorts of short comics done for anthologies like Irene and As You Were.
Is this too much of a Look for my 8am presentation on unaccompanied refugee minors?
added a leather jacket and killed it!!!
Is this too much of a Look for my 8am presentation on unaccompanied refugee minors?
Oh and I cut off a lot of hair!
me to my therapist: yeah idk I’m pretty good!
me to my tumblr followers: I was born with glass bones and paper skin. every morning I break my legs, and every afternoon I break my arms. at night, I lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep.
When are you gonna post more? I miss reading your stuff.
I just checked my messages--hi, whoever you are! This is very sweet. More to come soon, but a little update below, at least. <3
it’s been a While
nothing major, except everything major, maybe
Had to label the old trash barrels so the collectors would know to take them
This should be the last post on tumblr before it is shut down.
the year is 2078
my wrinkled, arthritic fingers slowly make their way across the keyboard
just
wanted to
follow up
Just because you wrote a book doesn’t mean it should be published. Be proud of yourself that you wrote that book. It’s an accomplishment. But recognize it may not have a place in this world beyond your computer. It might just be a stepping stone to whatever you’re going to write next. It might just be an exercise. It might just be therapeutic. If it gets rejected by agents or editors, they might see something you don’t. But don’t let that stop you. It might just mean you’re ready to write the next one.
really helping me today as someone who is in the ‘rejected by editors’ stage of this situation!!! thank you @jamiatt
upping the count of ‘how many men I’ve slept with who own this sheet set’ to three =/
Me 10 years ago: I never use online abbreviations! standard english all the time!
Me a couple of years ago: u kno wat fuck it
Me now: it is impossible to communicate effectively online without using internet slang due to the mixed mode format and lack of paralinguistic features. Things like lack of punctuation, abbreviations, acronyms and such all have their own connotations and communicate far more than their commonly accepted meaning. Linguistics has evolved. n u kno what i love it
my kids: can you sing us a song from your time?
me: sure! *clears throat* WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I AM?
my kids: jesus christ
me: YOU AIN'T MARRIED TO NO AVERAGE BITCH BOI