I am the madness behind the genius. @queenofsardony - Tumblr Blog

Merci, @ocean-sans-serif.

last song I listened to: "War Isn't Murder" by Jesse Welles. He did a random acoustic performance in a park in NYC yesterday. It was a lovely surprise.

favorite color: I probably should say black, but I'm gonna say purple. In my last apartment, I painted my bedroom a rich, smokey purple and I miss it.

currently watching: I don't watch a lot of TV anymore, but I'm enjoying the current season of Taskmaster. Such a fun show.

currently reading: The Jakarta Method by Vincent Bevins and Moominvalley in November by Tove Jansson. The vibes could not be more different.

current obsession: I don't know if I'm truly obsessed with anything at the moment... but since it's getting hotter as summer approaches, I'll go with the homemade ice cream sandwiches at the fabulous bakery down the street. They have inventive flavors and they make the cookies, the ice cream and the toppings themselves. They're sooo delicious.

currently working on: Fighting my country's rapid descent into a fascist hellscape and trying to decide where to go on vacation in autumn.

last internet search: Finnish consonant gradation. I'm trying to learn the language and it's very different from any language I've studied.

homunculus-argument

There's a direct correlation between how embarrassing and/or undignified some specific cause of death would be, and how much potential it has for a cool name for a punk band. Consider:

human error

sheer incompetence

rabid pigeons

liquid shits

drowned in shit

chainsaw castration

chinchilla attack

autoerotic electrocution

I love my city.

#nyc #sunset #small moments of beauty

foxes-in-love

queenofsardony

#need

dissoziieren

tired in a way that sleep can't fix

silkygauntlet

Sending someone letters.

Carefully crafting them. You chose the paper, the pen, the stickers and the little trinkets you will hide in the envelope.

Writing is difficult, there's so many things to talk about. Knowing that you will correspond again brings you relief, you have all the time in the world. And so, you write just enough to transfer the weight of your heart into each paragraph.

It's not perfect, the calligraphy is shaky, there's misspellings here and there, and your hand smudged a bit of ink on the left corner.

But none of that matters. You wrote it, created it, and because of that, it is loved. You can't see it, but the oil from your hands, your touch, have penetrared the paper irreversibly. The way you curl your letters, your choice of words, the silly doodle at the end.

Someone was waiting patiently just for the chance to read it. Weeks traveling the world, days in the post office, and now, it's finally in their hands. And they smile. Because it is from you.