for me, honestly. That's fucking haunting. The image of a wild thing staring at you, not knowing if the wild thing is in the cowberries or behind the curtains (plot-twist it's both??? 🤌🏻 *chef's fucking kiss*). THAT's. delicious.
what mary magdalene said to the young transsexual, elle emerson (@transsextual) after clint smith
text description under the cut!
text description:
What Mary Magdalene Said To The Young Transsexual
Child, I know you think yourself doomed / Written out of history, or else / Kept slinking in the shadows of alleyways, / Disappearing into unforgiving crowds, / Putting on airs in strange bedrooms, / Spoken over and denied / A place, a heart, a conscience, a home.
I know you have struggled to synthesize yourself / Into something logical, singular. / They have retold you into an outsider, / An amalgamation of sinners, / The repentant fool they would make out of you / If you let them.
I know you are not what they have made you out to be; / You are, in fact, good / & much more. / I have seen you with my whole heart & this / Is what you need to know:
You never were and never will be a singularity / In the sense that you are not and will never be a single thing. / You are a singularity in the sense that you are the celestial point from which / The universe of yourself will burst forth. / It is the nature of people like us to be / Pluralities, multiplicities, / Code-switchers, rich with motion, speaking in tongues, / Contorting the canon of love & sex & gender to fit our bodies / Not the other way round. / Even at rest, we never stop moving.
Child, they will try to keep you from yourself. / They will try to write you out. / They will smear your good name / (And it is, by the way, a good name, well chosen, / do not be afraid to choose a new one if the notion strikes you.) / They will call you perverted, call you out of line, / Call you scheming, call you outrageous, / Childish, reckless, evil, out of time. / They will run you out of time / Like they did me
If you let them.
It does not matter to them / If you are beloved by what is pure. / It does not matter to them / If you are devoted to the same forces / That tuck them into bed at night. / You will not change them with kindness. / They will eat you alive if you try.
So protect yourself with the truth / & with blades & bullets & fists / & tooth & nail. / & give them no further thought than that.
Child, we are something else. / We make ourselves holy. / Who are they to claim power over us? / They may dictate history,
This is a painting of Jacek Malczewski called simply ‘Death’ and it’s my favourite personification of death in any medium.
She’s not creepy or scary, or sexy, or abstract. She is this thick woman with worn hands, dressed as normal, with a non-stylised scythe and pins in her hair: like a farmer’s wife that just came form the field and rests against the wall, catching some sun. She is not creeping about the dying one holding her scythe over their head, she is just there, calmly waiting her turn.
This painting always fills me with peace and optimism when I think about death. She is just there, outside the window, in no hurry at all, sensible and down to earth. I can live with that.
ellievsbear
pixelskylines
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
dededos
2087
snowghoul
