happy birthday, gilbert baker. (june 2, 1951 — march 31, 2017)

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happy birthday, gilbert baker. (june 2, 1951 — march 31, 2017)
Felt too much. Now I don’t feel at all.
just in case no one tells you today…..you’re worth having around. you’re worth committing to. you’re worth appreciating. you’re worth loving… you're worth reassuring. you're worth risking it all for. you're worth everything...
The original flag, by Gilbert Baker, June 25, 1978.
I wanted to get a video of this ghost crab but every time I got close to their hole they scuttled back in, so I tried getting clever with it. I made a little sandcastle and shoved my phone into it, hit record, and walked away. Crab was VERY suspicious of this addition to their environment.
girl you erected a mysterious black monolith that contained all the knowledge your culture had ever collected were you hoping he'd develop rudimentary tool use
my most sick and twisted fantasy
wanting to talk to people is so fucking embarrassing. literally hi it's me again I wanted to have a conversation with you because I think you're fun to talk to. oh god you can just fucking kill me if you want sorry
don't worry about me when I say this but I think in a way being hunted for sport would be a relief. my nervous system would be like, wow. finally, a proportional reaction
hate to sound cold and callous, but I cringe and judge people every time I see blogs asking strangers to send them money to pay for rent, etc.
sometimes when I’m being especially self deprecating and convinced no one likes me I have to tell myself “you’re being goob. you are being goob right now”
my ducks? in a row. the elephant? addressed. my goose? cooked. my eggs? in several baskets. the bigger fish? fried.
Your monkeys ?
those aren’t mine.
one time at a funeral i panicked and said the first drink i could think of and the bartender made me the pina colada With all the fixings all the trims all the bells and whistles i didnt even ask imagine youre at a funeral and the person besides you is drinking a pina colada with whip cream as tall as the drink with a cherry and an umbrella, thats what happened to me
what a typical wednesday looks like
at some point in your life you will be boiling fruit, water, sugar, and lemon juice in a pot to make a syrup or jam. the instructions will tell you to simmer for a certain amt of time. your timer will go off and you will look at the pot and go, "hm, this doesn't look thick enough. maybe i'll let it go for another 10 minutes." this is the devil speaking. it's only so liquid right now because it is at boiling point. it will thicken when it cools down. learn from the follies of my youth and do not let this happen to you
at some point in your life you will be making a sauce or a stew in which you need to add cornstarch to thicken it. and you will prepare a slurry of starch in cold water and think "this looks like way too little starch to thicken this amount of liquid." this is the devil speaking. cornstarch instantly polymerizes at 95°C and if you add too much it will turn into an impossibly thick goop.
at some point in your life you will be making some sort of cream based dessert that requires gelatin to thicken it. and you will soak some gelatin sheets in water and think "this is too few gelatin sheets for this amount of cream." this is the devil speaking. it will thicken in the fridge and if you add too much you will end up with milk jelly
at some point in your life you will be baking cookies. you will take the sheet out after twelve minutes as the recipe instructs and the cookies will still be glistening and soft. "these don't seem cooked enough," you will think to yourself, "i should place them back into the oven until their edges are nice and golden." this is the devil talking. this is how you get dry, overdone cookies. the cookies will continue to bake on the warm sheet for several more minutes and then harden up after sitting on a rack for a while. trust the process. trust the process.
It's seriously fucked up that there's no way to speak frankly with a professional about suicidal thoughts without the looming threat of involuntary institutionalization and, by extension, psychiatric abuse. How, exactly, are suicidal people supposed to be aided in not feeling suicidal if they aren't allowed to safely express it through what are supposed to be the appropriate channels?
I think people would be less suicidal if they were allowed to talk about being suicidal without risk of being sent to the Torture Dungeon