The First Dive. Frank Owen Salisbury. British 1874-1962. oil/canvas.                   http://hadrian6.tumblr.com

“Der Stau” by HA Schult, 1996

My newphew stomps each beige lizard he finds from beyond the chrysalis of our bathroom mirror. Is there a nature of habitat that escapes? Out of it a cicatryx the color of water passed through entire chapelfuls of hands. To prevent a sudden loosing of the cannon, a thumb plugs the potential for ember to flare. A removal at a chance for kinesis. Sometimes the lizards scurry dizzingly across a carpet that hides them, scoffs at us for chase, the dog unaware, oblivious along a flyway, my nephew indifferent to death. When he is older, I will suggest a position as carollineur within a pestless belfry, to suffer the reverb of beating something, to appreciate use of force when resulting in melody instead of a spoonful of quivering. While scrubbing clean the carpet of small body I wonder about the peeling of fruit and whether an orange minds its nakedness prior to propogating a seperate body, wonder about fog and its willingness; the failure of ligament; how to explain torrent to the dog; what else may violently welcome themselves from behind the gap in the bathroom mirror.

Silent for a pitch, finally ask the boy if he understands the value of life, if he thought it possible to brush the dead guest into the hyacinth bush instead. No hesitation, he points at the fading red blot, says ‘I won’t let anything run from me, and no one wants to go into rain, and also think you missed a leg, right here.’

Tampons are a “luxury item”

Once I worked as an intern in the state capital. One of the representatives I worked for was this middle-aged guy. And he hated the tampon and napkin machines in the women’s bathrooms. Hated them. He insisted that they weren’t necessary.

I found out why after I’d been working there, oh, about a month. My period started suddenly, as it sometimes does, and I asked to excuse myself to go to the ladies’ room. He wanted to know why. I told him.

He started ranting about how lazy women were. How we wasted time. How we were so careless and unhygenic, and that there was no call for that. He finished by telling me that I certainly was NOT going to the ladies’ room and that I was just going to sit there and work. He finished this off with a decisive nod, as if I’d just been told and there could be no possible argument.

“If I don’t go,” I said in an overly patient tone, “the blood is going to soak through my pants, stain my new skirt that I just bought, and possibly get on this chair I’m sitting in. I need something to soak up the blood. That’s why I need to go to the bathroom.”

His face turned oatmeal-gray; an expression of pure horror spread across his face. He leaned forward and whispered, “Wait, you mean that if you don’t go, you’ll just keep on bleeding? I thought that women could turn it off any time that they wanted!”

I thought,  You have got to be kidding.

Several horrified whispers later, I learned that he wasn’t. He actually thought a) that women could shut down the menstrual cycle at will, b) that we essentially picked a week per month to spend more time in the bathroom, i.e. to goof off, and c) that napkins and tampons were sex toys paid for by Health and Human Services. I didn’t know the term then, but he believed that tampons were dildos. Which was why he and a good number of his friends considered them luxuries.

And that’s how, at twenty, I had to give a talk on menstruation to a middle-aged married state representative who was one of my bosses. American politics, ladies and gentlemen.

That’s.., that’s insane.

what the fuck did i just read

WHAT

Detroit teachers stage another sickout protest

Detroit’s got a major problem on its hands. Most of its teachers are fed up — so fed up, in fact, that they’re staging a district-wide sickout forcing 94 of the city’s 97 public schools to close on Monday. The teachers staged a similar sickout in January over deplorable school conditions, today’s protest is in response to a frightening email about their salaries after June 30,

Update: On Teacher Appreciate Day Tuesday, Seth Meyers was not about to let this slide. He spoke out against Detroit teachers not being paid in a 7-minute segment:

Watch: Meyers goes on to question where the $30 million owed to the teachers went exactly.

masterpost

tag yourself im spicy

this is not a christian company!!

OH MY GOOOOOOD

Sufjan Stevens Renames Kitchen Appliances

Perishables! Come Congregate in the Cold! Little Hot Waves, Or, Let’s Get Brain Cancer While We Wait For The Popcorn Mix Your Drinks! (Stir! Whip! Purée!) A Configuration of Whisks Which, When Activated, Allow Sufjan Stevens to Cook a Fluffier Omelette Toaster (For the Toastless)

My fav post

THE SHITTY HOROSCOPES ANTHOLOGY IS NOW FUNDING ON KICKSTARTER!

The horrible horoscope series is now conveniently compiled into a single book!

Reblog and spread the word for your chance to be one of five people who wins a Kickstarter launch celebration package containing:

Giveaway ends May 5th 2016 at 7PM EST, winners will be contacted on May 6th!

literally yesterday i made a post about doctor strange that included the joke phrase “the latest advancements in yellowface technology” but uh also people were working for really real on new yellowface vfx and i’m speechless

this is actually insane are white people real?

SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK

A sponsor for the Tennessee bathroom bill has been exiled from the Capitol building for sexually harassing 34 different women. He was said to be, "a continuing risk to unsuspecting women who are employed by or interact with the legislature.” They moved his office across the street.

http://occupydemocrats.com/2016/04/12/sponsor-anti-lgbt-bathroom-bill-caught-sexually-harassing-34-women-exiled-capitol-building/

This man still has his job. He is harassing women, is known as a risk to women, but has his job.

But trans people are the issue.

THIS FUCKING SHADE IS REMARKABLE.

i am so glad you have found love now.

i dont know if you can hear my voice 

in your head after the wake bristles down to ripple,

less maybe, like so many crests between,

im saying it. im sorry i think the baby is ugly.

do you wonder about anything now that

you have found love, do you care about

the color of the new kitchen, the cut of granite,

a whirl in the shoddy pink pearl

of your belly, all of you, each lip pressed

together and all of you lined up.

i think its kind of cute to remind myself

that i have both hands palms up, woundless

and empty. my dogs fur gets matted in the heat.

i throw up in the bathroom at work, egg on

the debacle of want and coping. 

the slope of the horizon, once, you said,

was the only thing you wanted after

waking next to me. fuck this poem for turning

into wanderlust. in reality i am only wondering

about whether or not i’ll land a fish

worth breaking the neck of.

what is the point of an anchor if you have 

such a lack of deeper water.

i still have the dirty underwear you sent me but

ive sired and ruined them— do the men who

love on all of you tell you dirty things

when you are on the toilet?

i bet you do the same thing with their neck.

this is to remind you that i keep wishing you a happy birthday

a day earlier than im supposed to