tannertan36
AnasAbdin
titsay
Cosmic Funnies
trying on a metaphor
Misplaced Lens Cap
roma★
will byers stan first human second
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
oozey mess
ojovivo
Love Begins
#extradirty
Product Placement
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Kaledo Art
shark vs the universe
One Nice Bug Per Day
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Xuebing Du
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Thailand
seen from United States
seen from Rwanda
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from New Zealand
seen from Kenya
seen from Canada
seen from Singapore
seen from Denmark
@la-boricua
New Blog / Website
I will move all my creative ventures to my Neocities portal and open source spaces:
https://shaniinc.neocities.org/
Moving my real blogging to my Neocities, use this sideblog as an archive and my main to reblog and enjoy tumblr :)
I will move all my creative ventures to my Neocities portal and open source spaces:
https://shaniinc.neocities.org/
does anyone else live in verona or is it just the two gentlemen & the two households both alike in dignity
𝔞 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔫 𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔤
happy pride month!
Look Babe, I really do want to read all your fanfic but if you are just going to do mini microscopic font for ✨aesthetics✨ then count me out 🤷🏽♀️
girolamo dies of grief as he lies next to salvestra, the love of his life, and her husband
illustration for giovanni boccaccio's "decameron" (fourth day, eighth tale), france, c. 1430-55
source: Paris, Bibliothèque de l'Arsenal, Ms-5070 réserve, fol. 170v
No amount of time with you was ever enough.
But when you lose someone, you don’t lose them all at once, and their dying doesn’t stop with their death. You lose them a thousand times in a thousand ways. You say a thousand goodbyes. You hold a thousand funerals.
-Sara Seager, The Smallest Lights in the Universe: A Memoir
This writing is about grief………………
These past two months have felt like the road to calvary. Knowing a loved one that is about to die and the anticipation of the moment is already full of grief. The road in hospice care, or in-home palliative care. The Knowing. And also not knowing in the consciousness but feeling it in spirit.
--
I’ve always wondered how Mother Mary walked the road to calvary. Every Good Friday I tend to walk the road with her, holding my rosary, and memorializing the tempo of her steps to the crucifixion. I meditate on what it means for me, for her, for all life.
She walked the road knowing her son was about to die.
It's not until this year that I have been able to see the last breath. I think that when he took the last breath she reached out for the cross, for his feet and for the wood underneath it. She clawed against wood, received awful inevitable splinters, watched herself bleed-watched and wondered: “Why am I still alive and bleeding ... .while my son is dead?” Hating the moment she was able to look up and not see his chest heaving. Moving in the tempo she had watched since his very first breath in this planet. It would not make sense to her. The end would want to seduce her to sink. It would be an unbearable seduction, a temptation that she could hardly say no to.
I wondered if she knew that to be immortalized as La Pieta was part of her earthly mission. Part of the reason she could not fall on top of a Roman soldiers sword and end it all. Forever the marble that reminds all lovers, mothers, sisters, brothers and daughters when a beloved is below your loving hands with no breath.
--
I just want you better…happier…but I also want you with me. One more day. A thousand days. Immortal. This cycle of death is holy, divine and cruel.
It is what gives life to the next phase. It is poison.
You held on for so long through aches, heartbreaks, pains, losses. At the end there was…just an ending. Just the time lapse waiting so you could return to the first atom that brought you here.
--
I’m not a Christian woman. I hold on to the rosary’s mystery but not its religion. I am not Catholic. But Mary carried in her the original atom of every woman.
Maternity. Love. Caresses.
I carry the rosary because it is how my paternal grandmother passed her spiritual gifts on to me. But this gift is becoming heavier with time. Having to midwife souls from a state of purgatory to heaven--what to do when you remember their faces, loved their smiles, found life in being family. When the losses of love sound the hour - rings the bell in the square -- the toll announcing that all you love and all you live will end. And all your loves will be lost one by one, through their deaths or your own.
---
This pattern exists in the universe. Even stars die, and whole universes, solar systems and galaxies phase out. Sometimes they can even disappear into black holes. The universe itself is a gargantuan ambiance of greed where things perpetually die and are consumed. I think this is why we have to have death in every religion - Gods die, or animals die over altars, blood needed just so the law of the universe can open and you can have but one little glimmer of hope that makes a thing called “purpose” ignite.
--
…and I thought at the beginning of the year how that scene in Hamnet, the hawks funeral.
Agnes Shakespear looked like the Pieta
--------
Dance. Dance with your beloveds. Swim in pools, laugh out loud. Gossip about others and cackle. Hold your beloveds when they are in Pet-Animal-Familiar form, make them your Fur-Children. That glimmer is what hides behind purpose. Love wanting its fifteen minutes of fame in the cosmos. All I want is for love to keep growing, even if I have to lose it over and over again until the love of my heart leaves this earth.
--
I am not a woman preaching, just a woman who has lost this month…..
May came with the proverbial scythe and reaped the souls that were ready to be harvested.
I lost my Older Fur-Baby Snoopy. I also lost My Spiritual Mentor and Godfather, and then My Paternal Aunt.
All in one month.
Each one meant something deep for me. Each one made my life richer.
How can I paint the picture?
An Aunt holds many memories of childhood, pool parties and dancing. Loud ass banter, cussing in Puerto Rican Spanish. Laughing so boisterous that she could light the world with that laugh. Shaking us with her humor. We had a thousand complexities in that childhood. But I still loved her and the way she loved me.
A Godfather who formed my adult years, my spirit, my spiritual vocation. He was answering his calling and mine when he decided to take me under his wing. He left me so young but his heart was broken. And now mine is. I saw a meme today. I could only send him and laugh with him about it. I miss endless texting. I miss his hugs and his encouragement and his unconditional love. He thought he was just embodying all of Obatala’s imperfections from the Patakis. He thought he was the messy side of the deity. Our Spiritual Father. And I hope he read in my eyes how much he was on all sides of him. How things were calmer when he was near. He thought it was just Obatala vibes existing around him and I wish I had the words to tell him that it was just him. It was the way he carried those vibes in the world.
--
Six days after my Aunt passed and within the same month my Godfather died…I lost my Fur-Son. His name was Snoopy. All his diseases and health conditions were amounting to an eventual heart failure. The Vet confirmed it. We decided to give him End of Life treatment. Hard as fuck. He had been very tired of his sickness but he was alive. He was my son.
I walked the road to calvary on those steps to the Vet’s office.
I held him like the Pieta during his last moments knowing he wanted to tell me he wanted snuggles and to tell me he loved me. And I sang the songs of Babalu-Aye and San Lazaro so he could hear them as a lullaby in his last sleep. I embraced him as best as he could, soothing him into sleep, whispering and cooing as I always did in our family bed. I held him, had my hands over his body as the breath left him and thought….
“I’m alive and breathing…while my son is dead…
They are gone…”
--
My wife, my younger Fur-Baby Toby and I are now walking the empty spaces in this home left by them.
Life without Snoopy being part of the rhythm is like a path and no north star.
We are walking like lost souls.
I actually do think we should discourage women from becoming housewives. Do not become financially dependent on a man. That's how a lot of women ended up dead over the years. A man gets violent suddenly and you have to choose between homelessness or potentially dying at his hand because you have an enormous gap in your resume and no degrees or certifications or anything that will help you pursue a career that will allow you to be financially independent. He owns your bank account. His name is probably the one on the car. Try and leave and he can report it stolen. Where will you go then?
Don't become a housewife.
And if you do become a housewife, take steps to protect yourself. Make sure you’re legally married, for starters; stay-at-home girlfriends have very little legal recourse to claim their partner’s assets in a breakup. Make sure your name is on the house deed/rental agreement, and have your car in your name, even if your spouse is paying for it. Have your spouse transfer money every month into an account solely in your name, so you can buy yourself things without needing permission, but also so you can save up to leave if needed.
If your spouse fights you on any of this, then don’t quit your job. The tradwife to poverty pipeline is real, and so is financial abuse.
also, many women/people experience controlling behaviour and domestic violence from their partner for the first time during pregnancy. don’t risk thinking “he’s just stressed, it’ll get better when the baby comes” because it won’t. neither you and your child will ever be safe with that man. get out as early and safely as you can
As a domestic violence counselor I can attest to listening to thousands of stories just like this every year. (For 11 years of my profession) They are not isolated incidents. There is a whole societal structure that makes this easy even to this day. It happens in every culture, every group, every religion, every gender to thousands of people from every identity ever. Please do the preventive work of protecting yourself.
Tiny Hedgehog Goes Camping, And His Pics Are The Best Thing You’ll See Today
holy fucking shit.
Hello everyone!
Last year I started designing a series of Coat of Arms, themed in the spirit of Pride Month and using different mythological creatures as heraldic animals. I now aim to turn these designs into wearable pins and will be running a Kickstarter in July to fund this endeavor! I have found a very trustworthy local manufacturer, who has already shown the quality of their craftsmanship with the first batch of test pins I received, just look at the detail they were able to produce!
Since I try to support local manufacturers, which produce pins with fair wages and are more ethical than outside of Europe, the pins are more expensive to create than through the usual pipeline via Asia.
I therefore seek to crowdfund the expenses since they would be more than I can afford. If you are interested and look forward to support this little endeavor, please follow the link below to sign up for a mailing list. People who signed up on the email list and pledged during the campaign will receive an exclusive sticker set by the end of a successful launch consisting of the following designs:
SIGN UP ON OUR PRELAUNCH WAITING LIST TO GET THESE LITTLE GUYS FOR FREE
Our Kickstarter Prelaunch Page:
A collection of Pride themed Coat of Arms Enamel Pins. Rally your friends, choose your crest and celebrate with PRIDE.
all jokes aside anyone know how to cope with knowing that chosing to love someone/thing means chosing to one day watch that thing die because uhhhh not doing 2 great
