te reto @somniferas - Tumblr Blog

What fuckin timeline are we living in

As President Trump deploys ICE, Border Patrol, the National Guard and other forces to U.S. cities, here’s how to tell them apart — and what

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akamuffintop

My city is teaming with ICE. I don’t want to write too much about it online so I’m asking you to trust me.

In my city, the ICE agents are always in plainclothes-sunglasses and hoodies up. They arrive in unmarked cars and always as a surprise attack. It’s eerie and unsettling. Here is an example of the cars used by ICE agents on Friday. These cars were verified by community advocates.

If you are in Massachusetts and think you see ICE in your neighborhood, contact LUCE. They will send out US Citizens out into the community to verify reports. We all have to help each other because shit is dark.

LUCE Immigrant Justice Network of MA

sacred-portal

deborah22

😁

9taurus

Mexican Surveillance

In 2025, Mexico City is set to become the most video-surveilled city on the American continent, with a planned total of 113,814 surveillance cameras—more than twice the number in New York City and three times that of Chicago or Rio de Janeiro.

##C5

*screenshots of C5 YouTube channel dithered in Touch designer by (ig: @diegokarel) for méjico’s debut EP “C5”

(ig: @_maxcl)

i am finally back on tumblr after losing my password and believing i had lost it forever. it was so depressing to think that an archive i have built since i was like 12 is forever gone...

larchcoin

guiltfactory-moved

did johnheartpaul on livejournal die?? What happened? I'm so sad!!

#mclennon #johnheartpaul

tropcialsouls

mclennon apple

641234-deactivated20250914

Sadie Whelan

papayajuan2019

you have too much swag, your punchlines are too poetic, scars too layered, fate too open. they'll kill you

poem-locker

Margaret Atwood, “The Saints“

The saints cannot distinguish between being with other people and being alone: another good reason for becoming one.

They live in trees and eat air. Staring past or through us, they see things which we would call not there. We on the contrary see them.

They smell of old fur coats stored for a long time in the attic. When they move they ripple. Two of them passed here yesterday, filled and vacated and filled by the wind, like drained pillows blowing across a derelict lot, their twisted and scorched feet not touching the ground, their feathers catching in thistles. What they touched emptied of colour.

Whether they are dead or not is a moot point. Shreds of they litter history, a hand here, a bone there: is it suffering or goodness that makes them holy, or can anyone tell the difference?

Though they pray, they do not pray for us. Prayers peel off them like burned skin healing. Once they tried to save something, others or their own souls. Now they seem to have no use, like the colours on blind fish. Nevertheless they are sacred.

They drift through the atmosphere, their blue eyes sucked dry by the ordeal of seeing,exuding gaps in the landscape as water exudes mist. They blink and reality shivers.