Restlust. @restlust - Tumblr Blog

pugwithglamour-deactivated20160

by toile_blanche

I read in the paper that my brothers are being thrown from rooftops blindfolded with their hands tied behind their backs for violating sharia law. I heard the crowds stone these fallen men if they move after they hit the ground. I heard it’s in the name of God. I heard my pastor speak for God too, quoting scripture from his book. Words like abomination popped off my skin like hot grease as he went on to describe a lake of fire that God wanted me in. I heard on the news that the aftermath of a hate crime left piles of bodies on a dance floor this month. I heard the gunman feigned dead among all the people he killed. I heard the news say he was one of us. I was six years old when I heard my dad call our transgender waitress a faggot as he dragged me out a neighborhood diner saying we wouldn’t be served because she was dirty. That was the last afternoon I saw my father and the first time I heard that word, I think, although it wouldn’t shock me if it wasn’t. Many hate us and wish we didn’t exist. Many are annoyed by our wanting to be married like everyone else or use the correct restroom like everyone else. Many don’t see anything wrong with passing down the same old values that send thousands of kids into suicidal depression each year. So we say pride and we express love for who and what we are. Because who else will in earnest? I daydream on the idea that maybe all this barbarism and all these transgressions against ourselves is an equal and opposite reaction to something better happening in this world, some great swelling wave of openness and wakefulness out here. Reality by comparison looks grey, as in neither black nor white but also bleak. We are all God’s children, I heard. I left my siblings out of it and spoke with my maker directly and I think he sounds a lot like myself. If I being myself were more awesome at being detached from my own story in a way I being myself never could be. I wanna know what others hear, I’m scared to know but I wanna know what everyone hears when they talk to God. Do the insane hear the voice distorted? Do the indoctrinated hear another voice entirely?

les-betogether

tomboiculture

Every damn time

autostraddle

Now, more than ever, in the climate we’re in, our stories need to be told. And our stories include loving, joy, revolution, dancing, crying, raging, surviving, and so, so much more. We have so much to tell, and it’s so important that we do.

Alaina, Who Tells Your Story? (via autostraddle)

humansofnewyork

“When you’re four you can do awesome tricks. You can do a tumble and a cartwheel. Actually I can’t do a cartwheel, but my sister can do that. She’s five years old and likes to play with me but I haven’t met her and I don’t know her name because she’s imaginary. She likes to fly. Her job is so save the day every time the bad guys try to steal the word. She is friends with Water Girl, and Fire Girl, and Wind Girl, and Shark Girl. Shark Girl has the power of sharks. She can save the world every single time. All she has to do is put out her hands and think really hard about sharks.”

homegrowndiamonds

thecountryfucker-deactivated202

Via fechtdesign

carmenrios

i remember when i was broke and i ate ramen six times a week with frozen spinach and onions and i remember that porch i lived in with no air conditioner where every morning i felt like i was looking out at a city that i didn’t live in and i remember crying to my mom on the phone and my bank on the phone and the water company on the phone and i remember that i hosted that brunch and i had to ask riese for money just for eggs and cheese and i remember the time marina and amanda paid my bill at the looking glass and i remember drinking leftover vodka from parties during the week and i remember it all, i really do, and i remember that it was hard but i also remember that i survived. i survived. i made it. i got out. i went on. i lived in amanda’s living room and they took my dog away and i would cry when i went to visit him and i would watch wes anderson movies on the big tv downstairs because my computer’s disc drive was broken and i couldn’t afford to replace anything and sometimes i fell asleep applying for jobs and i remember stealing from the grocery store and i also remember getting on that plane. i remember i had almost no money to my name when i bought the tickets: $129, round trip. i remember i took the bus to bwi because i couldn’t afford a super shuttle with a heavy suitcase in my hand the entire time and that i cried at every tarmac. there was a time i did what wasn’t justified and it opened up my heart and i bled and i dropped my phone in the toilet and i felt like i was born again or a little more naked or a little more light.

these are a bunch of things i remember, but never told anyone else. yes, they’re from my secret tumblr. no, you’ve never heard / read them ever. (via carmenrios)