'Sometimes we make it, too, and it's beautiful.'

Woman, feminist, reader, friend, (bi)sexual. Studying for a DPhil in English Literature at the University of Oxford.

[the-argonaut]

'Writing open letters to the dead can surely be read as a queer crip interruption of the linear time of past/present/future as separate and distinct planes' Alison Kafer, Feminist, Queer, Crip p.42

[horace-pippin]

Harmonizing, 1944, Horace Pippin

[hauntedbystorytelling]

Nickolas Muray :: Ruth St. Denis and Ted Shawn at Mariarden, 1923 | src: NYPL

[the-argonaut]

The Place Beyond the Fire Island Pines

Columbia County, a quiet part of upstate New York, has emerged as a 21st-century haven — and a reminder of the ongoing relevance of the queer community.

[luster-candy]

Ms. Congeniality 🌹 @assgod

[assgod]

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH #queen

[the-argonaut]

The sons of our sons will marvel, Paging the textbook: “1914 … 1917 … 1919 … How did they live? The poor devils!” Children of a new age will read of battles, Will learn the names of orators and generals, The numbers of the killed, And the dates. They will not know how sweetly roses smelled above the trenches, How martins chirped blithely between the cannon salvos, How beautiful in those years was Life. Never, never did the sun laugh so brightly As above a sacked town, When people, crawling out of their cellars, Wondered: is there still a sun? Violent speeches thundered, Strong armies perished, But the soldiers learned what the scent of snowdrops is like An hour before the attack. People were led at dawn to be shot … But they alone learned what an April morning can be. The cupolas gleamed in the slanting rays, And the wind pleaded: Wait! A minute! Another minute! Kissing, they could not tear themselves from the mournful mouth, And they could not unclasp the hands so tightly joined. Love meant: I shall die! I shall die! Love meant: Burn, fire, in the wind! Love meant: O where are you, where? They love as people can love only here, upon this rebellious and tender star. In those years there were no orchards golden with fruit, But only fleeting bloom, only a doomed May. In those years there was no calling: “So long!” But only a brief, reverberant “Farewell!” Read about us and marvel! You did not live in our time — be sorry! We were guests of the earth for one evening only. We loved, we destroyed, we lived in the hour of our death. But overhead stood the eternal stars, And under them we begot you. In your eyes our longing still burns, In your words our revolt reverberates yet Far into the night, and into the ages, the ages, we have scattered The sparks of our extinguished life.

Ilya Ehrenburg (1919)

[fag-hags]

Lisa Simpson, fag hag.

‘Non-Threatening Boys Magazine’

[the-argonaut]

Me, a menstruater: Why must you constantly prep for babies? Can't you just wait until after we decide we want babies?

Uterus (now with magical eye, hip flask, and peg leg): CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

[gail-v-gail]

honestly, same.

[fag-hags]

Nicholas Andry (1741). Frontispiece ‘Haec Est Regula Recti: This Is The Rule For Straightness’. Orthopaedia: Or the Art of correcting and preventing Deformities in Children. By such Means, as may easily put in Practice by Parents themselves, and as such as are employed in Educating Children.

[fag-hags]

[the-argonaut]

'This is the rule for straightness’

[twenlyonepilots-deactivated2020]

gay propaganda

[queergraffiti]

“antifa / queers against cops, capitalism and homonationalism / us faggots kill fascists!”

Newtown, New South Wales, Australia

[fag-hags]

WE two boys together clinging, One the other never leaving, Up and down the roads going—North and South excursions making, Power enjoying—elbows stretching—fingers clutching, Arm’d and fearless—eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,         5 No law less than ourselves owning—sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening, Misers, menials, priests alarming—air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing, Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing, Fulfilling our foray.

Walt Whitman (1900), ‘We Two Boys Together Clinging’, Leaves of Grass (via fag-hags)

[the-argonaut]

[fag-hags]

Hugerl, for a decade now My bed-visitor, An unexpected blessing In a lucky life, For how much and how often You have made me glad. Glad that I know we enjoy Mutual pleasure; Women may cog their lovers With a feigned passion, But males are so constructed We cannot deceive. Glad our worlds of enchantment Are so several Neither is tempted to broach: I cannot tell a Jaguar from a Bentley, And you never read. Glad for that while when you stole (You burgled me too), And were caught and put inside: Both learned a lesson, But for which we might well Be *Strich* and *Freier*. Glad, though, we began that way, That our life-paths crossed, Like characters in Hardy, At a moment when You were in need of money And I wanted sex. How is it now between us? Love?  Love is far too Tattered a word.  A romance in full fig it ain’t, Nor a naked letch either: Let me say we fadge, And how much I like Christa Who loves you but knows, Good girl, when not to be there. I can’t imagine A kinder set-up: if mims Mump, *es ist mir Wurscht*.

W.H Auden, ‘Glad’ (via fag-hags)

[the-argonaut]

me:*sees two women kissing on a show i have never watched or heard of*

me: i am suddenly Very Invested

[the-argonaut]

Heheheheh from 'Fag Rag' (at Park Slope, Brooklyn, N.Y.)

[the-argonaut]