@monstrous-femme / monstrous-femme.tumblr.com
some queer people will never end up with a perfect label that describes them 100% and that's okay. sometimes you just go "i dunno i'm just queer" or "i'm a dyke who's a fag who's a drag queen" or "i'm just some guy" and that's okay. you don't always need a label or easy way to describe it if you can't. you can blaze your own trail
"Immature people crave and demand moral certainty: This is bad, this is good. Kids and adolescents struggle to find a sure moral foothold in this bewildering world; they long to feel they’re on the winning side, or at least a member of the team. To them, heroic fantasy may offer a vision of moral clarity. Unfortunately, the pretended Battle Between (unquestioned) Good and (unexamined) Evil obscures instead of clarifying, serving as a mere excuse for violence — as brainless, useless, and base as aggressive war in the real world."
Ursula K Le Guin at it again, being right as always
hey did you know??? that if you stop stretching and maintaining mobility in your body then it goes away?? things get tight and you can't move the way that you used to??? and when you decide to try getting a stretch routine going that the first week fucking sucks because you keep going 'damn i used to be able to do this no problem' and then you have to switch gears and be kind to yourself and just focus on getting better from here instead of berating yourself for dropping the good habits in the first place??? and your body never stops aging so you gotta keep taking care of it and sometimes you gotta take care of it extra in certain areas because of things that happened when you were younger and it's boring and sometimes hurts but it's so necessary???
i am yelling this at myself right now i am going through An Experience (trying to get into a routine of body maintenance again for my physical and mental health)
oh, Sisyphus! i got you
“…so don’t tell me how love will rescue me, I was carnivorous about love, I ate love to the ankles my thighs are gnawed with love still and yet I cannot have loved, since living was all I could do…”
-Dionne Brand, Ossuaries
*
“My flight’s not until nine,” Robin says. She’s sitting on the counter, legs dangling over the edge and hands wrapped around a gray mug with the Emerson crest on it, which she hasn’t sipped from once. “We could do something today. If you’re up for it.”
In the hour she’s been awake, Nancy has determined that it must the Monday of Robin’s impromptu visit, the day she’d missed the first time around. For the first twenty minutes after she’d awoken, she’d carefully looked for clues while Robin clutched the pillow to her face and refused to get up. There are no signs that this is some second visit that she hadn’t known about. Everything right down to the calendar is accurate.
It feels disjointed, to be back here after so much else has happened, but Nancy does her best not to let her agitation show. When she’d noticed her hands shaking a few minutes ago, she’d wrapped them around her mug so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. She takes a careful sip from it, now. Robin was right. The instant coffee really does taste bad.
She can’t stop staring at Robin.
This is the chapter that broke @annieofhearts ability to stay within the AO3 character limit for comments pls enjoy
i really can't overstate how fucking furious i am that corrupt egyptian officials have become millionaires from charging palestinian refugees thousands upon thousands of dollars to escape genocide and not only that, that it comes down to the generosity of normal people like you and me to fund these people, to feel guilty over not being wealthy enough to do more, to feel the pressure of choosing which fund to donate to, to have to shoulder the emotional burden of deciding which lives to save, when politicians will get absurdly rich off of insider trading and taking bribes from companies as they help engineer a worse world for all of us to endure.
please say which in the tags!
I was gardening in my yard today and two fat racoons walked past me in the daytime!!
Some of you don't have firm principles that transcend ideology, and it shows.
"Spreading blatant misinformation is okay when it supports a cause I care about, and if anybody corrects me, it means they do not share my values." 🤡
"Police brutality is okay if it's being carried out by a government ascribing to my preferred political philosophy." 🤡
"If this person has harmful views, then my criticism of them can't be [racist/sexist/homophobic/transphobic/antisemitic/Islamophobic/classist/ableist/etc]." 🤡
Like, please, I'm begging you guys to invest in some basic standards.
Do I want to take revenge on the police officers who murder people with impunity, on the billionaires who cash in on exploitation and gentrification, on the bigots who harass and dox people? Yes, of course I do. They have killed people I knew; they are trying to destroy everything I love. When I think about the harm that they are causing, I feel ready to break their bones, to kill them with my bare hands.
But that desire is distinct from my politics. I can want something without having to reverse-engineer a political justification for it. I can want something and choose not to pursue it, if I want something else even more—in this case, an anarchist revolution that is not based in revenge. I don’t judge other people for wanting revenge, especially if they have been through worse than I have. But I also don’t confuse that desire with a proposal for liberation.
“…so don’t tell me how love will rescue me, I was carnivorous about love, I ate love to the ankles my thighs are gnawed with love still and yet I cannot have loved, since living was all I could do…”
-Dionne Brand, Ossuaries
*
“My flight’s not until nine,” Robin says. She’s sitting on the counter, legs dangling over the edge and hands wrapped around a gray mug with the Emerson crest on it, which she hasn’t sipped from once. “We could do something today. If you’re up for it.”
In the hour she’s been awake, Nancy has determined that it must the Monday of Robin’s impromptu visit, the day she’d missed the first time around. For the first twenty minutes after she’d awoken, she’d carefully looked for clues while Robin clutched the pillow to her face and refused to get up. There are no signs that this is some second visit that she hadn’t known about. Everything right down to the calendar is accurate.
It feels disjointed, to be back here after so much else has happened, but Nancy does her best not to let her agitation show. When she’d noticed her hands shaking a few minutes ago, she’d wrapped them around her mug so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. She takes a careful sip from it, now. Robin was right. The instant coffee really does taste bad.
She can’t stop staring at Robin.
anyone online and want to spitball about Nancy Wheeler w me?
you would not believe the yellows this generous world gives us
okay after 127 years I am pleased to report that chapter 14 of SNF is drafted, which means that in another 100 years I'll have revised it for posting. or maybe within a week or so who knows. time is meaningless (as Nancy has also learned)
