[spinningnettle]

little gay sideblog for keeping my poetry, prose, rambles, mini diary entries, particularly good outfits, such the like together. imagine an archive but the archivist is in love with herself.

i basically only write abt three things (dykehood, sex, god) so :) you will not find variety here

much love 💕💕

[gatheringbones]

tanya olson, Exclude All Other Thoughts:

[”Begin by knowing what an honor we undertake together tonight. Treat everything of this evening as an honor. Rinse your hands to the wrists, backs first, as an honor. Palm water over your eyes, to your mouth, as an honor. Pay honor to the corpse face up atop the table. Sit to the right of the body, in honor. Know what is about to begin exists only as honor.

Stay at the body’s side, both hands upon the corpse, until nightfall. Until nightfall, think whatever thoughts present themselves to be thought. Think of your desires. Think of what you hope to achieve. Think of who you imagine you’ll be come morning. Think of this in daylight, as come night you must think only of your words. In the night, only your words may run through your mind and they must run on a loop like the frames of a movie, one word entering focus, leaving only when the next pushes it from the light. Although there is always room in the mind for other thoughts, there must be no other thoughts.

At nightfall, with only your words running through your mind, climb upon the corpse. Lying atop the corpse, place your mouth upon its mouth. Pull its body to your body. Hold it tightly to you. Think only of your words. This part of the night may feel like the longest, for, although it is the calmest, there is nothing to do but lie mouth to mouth with a corpse, excluding all other thoughts.

At some point in the night, the corpse will begin to move. Though the movement is merely fitful at first— fluttering lids, rolling eyes, twitching thighs— it is nonetheless alarming. Continue to hold the corpse securely to you, your mouth upon its mouth. The corpse will thrash and buck trying to free itself; think only of your words. The corpse will stand and shudder violently. Its elasticity, its determination to rid itself of you is shocking. It is impossible to imagine the desperation of a corpse until you are astride a corpse. Cling to it, repeating your words to yourself. Keep your mouth upon its mouth.

Stay engaged with the corpse in this manner, until the critical moment arrives. At the critical moment, you will feel the tongue of the corpse protrude from between its lips. Continue to exclude all other thoughts as failure to control the other body now will result only in death. When you feel the tongue fully between your teeth, bite down firmly, cleaving through the muscle. Once separated from its tongue, the corpse will collapse. You may then pull your mouths apart.

Return the corpse to the table. Pass your hands across its eyes. Salt the tongue before cleansing your hands, your mouth, your own eyes. Sit to the left of the body, hands resting upon it lightly, until sunrise. At that point, thoughts may once again be allowed to flood the mind. Words used this night have been exhausted. Let them go. Bow deeply upon taking your leave.

Handled this way, our journey together this evening should prove to be nothing but an honor.”]

[sapphling]

do not put weight loss content on my dash. come the fuck on

[harleyglenn]

I’m thinking of Beginning it all

[spinningnettle]

When I was maybe thirteen there was properly heavy week of snow, which very rarely happened where I lived. It was Freezing even with the heating on and the downstairs of our house was mostly open planned and had big glass doors so was really need to heat. For that winter we moved onto the rarely used front room and had the fire going from like mid afternoon and piled all the blankets on the house onto the two seater sofa and drank so much tea and hot chocolate.

Anyways my lover is -

[youreverythingandmore]

[ohjessmarie]

still blooming 🌷🌼💐 | prints

[crucifixpng]

[lamignonette]

[the-evil-clergyman]

Nereid by Marcel Paul Meys (1882)

[spinningnettle]

Blanket I made for a Uni assignment - in the process of sewing this the Green Paper That Wants To Kill Disabled People dropped which massively affected what the word on the blanket ended up meaning. Plus a close up of the writing on the prescription bag :)

[spinningnettle]

Martha of Bethany

You taught me, that man I now love, that all seeds are watered in the same rain. That some seeds grow tall and shade you under their leaves, that some are blighted and strangulating, but that all drip with what the histories taught them. My lamb, you taught me to learn, but never could be taught. You loved me. When we met, you were not the first philosophy I had known. Then, I wrung my cracked hands with oils from the bread I had made the four of us; now you work oils into my feet and brow. You rose my brother from the jaws of the dogs. My sister became second only to your Judas. I fed you. You did not see the work, how I learnt through it. You did not see that I weaved through the Zealots, given them salted fish and lentils, yes, but we spoke also. We did not serve them, although they forgot this sometimes. They were our brothers, as were you, and we stood tall against their shoulders. That day with my sister, when you loved her for her focus - her steely focus on what we should be - you showed me even you couldn't tell you were leaving us behind. You saw our mothers, the women who bled, the widows, Abraham's daughters. And even you forgot, just for that evening - looked over all of them, my sister, me. Take my hands, press your nail torn palms against the split skin of my knuckles. Let us anoint you, drink from our blood, learn the tears of a woman whose very name escapes you.

[spinningnettle]

Martha from Mary and Martha deserved better

[spinningnettle]

Martha of Bethany

You taught me, that man I now love, that all seeds are watered in the same rain. That some seeds grow tall and shade you under their leaves, that some are blighted and strangulating, but that all drip with what the histories taught them. My lamb, you taught me to learn, but never could be taught. You loved me. When we met, you were not the first philosophy I had known. Then, I wrung my cracked hands with oils from the bread I had made the four of us; now you work oils into my feet and brow. You raised my brother from the jaws of the dogs. My sister became second only to your Judas. I fed you. You did not see the work, how I learnt through it. You did not see that I weaved through the Zealots, gave the salted fish and lentils but spoke and fought with them too. We did not serve them, although they forgot this sometimes. They were our brothers, as were you, and we stood tall against their shoulders. That day with my sister, when you loved her for her focus - her steely focus on what we should be - you showed me even you couldn't tell you were leaving us behind. You saw our mothers, the women who bled, the widows, Abraham's daughters. And even you forgot, just for that evening - looked over all of them, my sister, me. Take my hands, press your nail torn palms against the split skin of my knuckles. Let us anoint you, drink from our blood, learn the tears of a woman whose very name escapes you.

[matryoshka2001]

[lgbtqiatext]

[lamignonette]

[the-gentleman-femme]