@aielylois's writing journal/diary -- mylo (they/them) 20s -- an eclectic collection of writing, rambling about writing, and attempting to explain my writing -- tag game (and generally) friendly :)
and just as the seasons change, so too does the cycle of me using this blog begins again lol
heyo and welcome to a happy little storm! call me mylo :) this here is my writeblr/studyblr sideblog! (my main is @aielylois, which is where I share my original poetry)
the facts are these:
imp disguised as an adult
they/them/siya pronouns (and yes, that's the Filipino siya)
genderfae/genderqueer
signs off posts with -ylm
predominantly a writer of poetry but existing evidence suggests a penchant for prose
why am I back on my blogging bullshit? well, I started my PhD recently and I just wanted somewhere where I could vent into the void anonymously and not worry about my 'reputation' as an aspiring academic lol
of course, anonymity is a luxury, but I hope this blog is far-removed enough from any semblance of my being that I can just vaguepost into the void lol
but if you do somehow recognise me: I urge you to not 👀 XD
I don't have the patience nor the time to make aesthetic posts, so be prepared for vagueposts featuring [redacted]! (both literally and metaphorically lol)
all my main tags are below the cut, but hey, my inbox is open if ya want to chat! just allow 3-5 business days for a response lol
take care,
mylo (-ylm)
my tags
all my original posts
specifically my rambles/rants/misc lol
my studyblr posts
my original writing
my OCs // The Crew > The Crew wip page // Anagolay Lost
Guest Post: Upper Limb Difference - from a friend of Mod Rock's.
This is not so much writing advice as it is personal experience, but it's about living as an upper limb amputee. If you have any questions for M, I can pass them along.
My name is M. I was born without an arm, specifically below the elbow on my right arm. I'm a college student.
I find as an amputee, approaching and asking about other amputees is much more socially acceptable. It’s like a shared experience that people acknowledge and whatnot. It’s great seeing another amputee out and about!
My personal preference is that I don’t mind answering questions or giving insight on the amputee community. I know that this is not an idea shared by everyone and a lot of other amputees don’t like stares or questions.
I do just about everything with my left hand which means my left hand is at more risk of being overused. It’s a common thing amongst amputees, especially as they grow older.
Some things I do to adapt is use my nub (term used to refer to the shortened limb - others, usually leg amputees, may call them stumps) and my knee and a pinch action when opening items or things people normally do with the thumb to hold this down. I do have an elbow so if I have any light bags I usually just hook it on my elbow and I can carry it without thinking about it too much. Heavier items may mean I can’t do this. I applaud using my left hand and right elbow.
I find adapting to things comes more naturally to me as I was born with my differences. I utilize a lot of other body parts to make up for a hand. I also sometimes use any walls or other surfaces to help.
For example, if I’m putting up my hair, I go against a wall and use the wall to help hold up my hair while my hand ties it into a ponytail. I have found that hair claw clips are really easy to use. I do ask my friends to help me or hold stuff occasionally and they are really nice about it!
Sometimes I have to get creative to adapt, like playing the guitar (I taped a guitar pick to my nub to strum).
I have similar adaptations for opening sodas or packaging, although sometimes I genuinely do struggle. Getting larger containers is usually tricky so I am used to asking others for help when I need it.
Since I was born an amputee, I found prosthetics difficult to use. I never liked wearing a prosthetic for an extended period of time because the effort outweighed the use. When I did wear one, it would often clonk against things because I’d forget it was there and my brain wasn’t used to calculating space or dodging with the added length. It would also be uncomfortable in casual settings, where I’d have to try to find a position that worked around the arm.
No amputee wears their prosthetic all the time. They become uncomfortable and exhausting to use.
Advanced prosthetics such as bionic ones are much more costly as they are able to move around, at the price of having to be charged + the expense. A lot of more affordable ones are more stagnant; they usually only have a specific use. They can be made more versatile with removable attachments for various individual functions.
In general it is easier for me to adapt tasks using my body or my surroundings than with a prosthetic.
I think people are often shocked I can do pretty basic things like tie my shoe or cut paper. They're also surprised I can do more athletic things like cartwheels and handstands (which I can't do now but when I was younger I could). I can do elbow planks or one handed regular planks; although I can do a regular plank, I’m just really slanted. Pushups are more falling than the push up itself.
People also definitely do infantilize me sometimes. Sometimes I get ableism where they think I can do everything an abled person can, but sometimes I've had people think I can't do anything, even when I advocate for myself. It can be hard for people to realize they're being ableist.
It's Juneteenth yall. And I'm not letting this day go unmarked.
Black people fight for everybody. We stand in solidarity with women, lgbt people, poor people all over the world of every skin color and background. Every religion and nationality.
Today, stand with us. Be with us. Tell a black person you love them. Hug a black person (with consent). Ask that hot black girl out today. Make a black person smile. Black lives matter to everybody and you matter to us.
Stand with us on Juneteenth like we stand with you all year round, and I hope a happy Pride month continues for all of us
The thing about a good character flaw is that it has to be the same thing as their greatest strength just turned up too high. the person who loves deeply and therefore controls. the person who sees everything and therefore trusts nothing. the person who is so loyal they lose themselves. there are no clean villains and no clean heroes and once you understand that in fiction you can't unsee it in people. everyone is just their best quality at the wrong volume.
Friends, followers, and Fellow Workers, the Gainesville IWW's beloved union hall, the Civic Media Center, is in need. The Civic Media Center of Gainesville, Florida, provides countless vital community resources, such as:
The Stetson Kennedy Library, a reading room and leftist library that is home to 15,000 books, journals, newspapers, and magazines.
The Travis Fristoe Zine Library, largest independent zine collection in the southeastern United States.
A meeting space for countless local activism and social justice groups such as the IWW, Food Not Bombs, and Books to Prisoners.
The Gainesville Free Store, which was founded to help local transgender people access affirming clothing and toiletries as well as other important items. The Free Store has seen so much success that they've expanded to serve the entire Gainesville community.
The Gainesville Free Grocery Store, which offers no-questions-asked food to anyone who walks in.
A cool, dry place to rest, with an open bathroom frequently used by our unhoused neighbors.
A venue for local musicians and poets to perform, including during the renowned music festival FEST.
So, so much more. Losing this community hub would be an absolutely devastating blow to our town and our union. We cannot let it die.
Via the Civic Media Center's own social media:
Dear friends, please us survive the Summer Doldrums by renewing your membership or, if you can, making an extra donation in whatever amount you can spare to help us cover rent, bills, and some extra work on our facilities this summer.
Here is the direct link to the membership & donation page on our website: https://www.civicmediacenter.org/get-involved
If you have Venmo or PayPal you can also just make a contribution using the handle in the graphic below.
Thank you for supporting the CMC!
Please, if you can, help us out with a signal boost or a donation -- we love our union hall, and our community needs it!
On the day of my birth, my mother gave to me the funeral shroud she'd been weaving her whole life — seafoam and salt, and the pressure of the ocean floor. An oyster-mouth, holding just underneath a weary tongue something foreign.
I do not remember her voice. The recall comes in waves, building and breaking and bubbling overhead: the swipe of a hand, a flash of teeth, the delicate fabric and the way her tail twitched whenever the sea lay still and sunlit, and entirely clear.
The fluttering of her gills against my cheek.
On the day of my death, my sisters gave to me their desperate, wailing hands. From within the cresting of the waves, they reached me, already halfway in the grave.
Mother's legacy around my shoulders and in my eyes, and holding the shards of my heart together with hands that knew nothing, with a tongue so withered it might as well have fused into the soft wanting of my throat, I was already spilling blood down the side of the ship.
There is a haze over my eyes, mother mine, and through it, everything looks too far away to touch. This fabric is cool, and soft, and I know every turn and fold of it. Years I have spent handling it, years I have spent looking for you in between the weft and the warp.
Mother-of-pearl, lay yourself around the shapes I cannot deny. Keep apart my mouth, and crawl into my gills. Build yourself, layer upon layer, around this stupid wanton heart, preserve for posterity, if you will, the fingerprints and the teeth marks, and the ache.
I am, blood and all, my mother's issue. I am, teeth and all, spread open for my father's grief.
How many cartoons can you name where a Black boy is the hero? Not the sidekick, not the comic relief, but the center of the story, the one who gets to dream, to fall, to grow, to save the day. For too many Black boys, the first time they see themselves reflected back isn’t in a world of imagination it’s in headlines, obituaries, or mugshots. That kind of visibility shapes how the world sees them, and how they begin to see themselves.
FLY exists to shake up that narrative.
A coming of age story about Black kids who finally have power to fight back against systems designed against them.
I have been trying to write a poem
about how beautiful my friends are
for three days now. But some things
do not get to be poems. Instead,
the moment slips in here beneath the
gold pub chandelier and you must
swallow it without a word no matter
how much you may try to call yourself
a writer.
