"She likes books, she likes me.. she likes to be held when the moonlight caresses her dreams. She likes it when I touch her just right, a tickle to be fancied along her thighs at night with a smile just for me to see.. she is like a book, at the least something sweet, maybe a book just for me that only my heart can read. She is confusing, almost as if she is a philosophy.. she likes science, she likes space. She loves it when I kiss her from her neck to her lips, and then drip those kisses between her knees.. spending time with her is like a journey into the chapters of her mind, and I find that I just need a little more time. Between the pages of her thoughts, sometimes hot, sometimes sweet.. but this I tell you, it is so sweet stroking the paragraphs of her needs."
I'm just saying maino.. sometimes things aren't as they seem.. a nightmare can easily become a pretty sweet dream - eUë
[image id: a four-page comic. it is titled "immortality” after the poem by clare harner (more popularly known as “do not stand at my grave and weep”). the first page shows paleontologists digging up fossils at a dig. it reads, “do not stand at my grave and weep. i am not there. i do not sleep.” page two features several prehistoric creatures living in the wild. not featured but notable, each have modern descendants: horses, cetaceans, horsetail plants, and crocodilians. it reads, “i am a thousand winds that blow. i am the diamond glints on snow. i am the sunlight on ripened grain. i am the gentle autumn rain.” the third page shows archaeopteryx in the treetops and the skies, then a modern museum-goer reading the placard on a fossil display. it reads, “when you awaken in the morning’s hush, i am the swift uplifting rush, of quiet birds in circled flight. i am the soft stars that shine at night. do not stand at my grave and cry.” the fourth page shows a chicken in a field. it reads, “i am not there. i did not die” / end id]
a comic i made in about 15 hours for my school’s comic anthology. the theme was “evolution”
look at me. listen to me. bigots and queerphobes don’t know the distinction between a trans person, a gnc cis gay person, and a cisgender heterosexual crossdresser. all of these people are just queer degenerates to them. that is why their anti-drag bills are written so vaguely as to encompass any possible mundane gender nonconformity - so they can target as many of us as possible in one ruling. and that’s why you need to stop trying to put lines between these groups in regards to ‘who’s more oppressed’ and ‘who has the right to talk about gender’ - gender nonconformity and transgenderism are punished in exactly the same way. cut one of us and the other bleeds. our fight is the same.
take the 2024 dostoyevsky-official challenge: every month, learn one poem by heart. it could be in any language, it could be poetry you already know, it could be poetry you're reading for the first time, it could be a sonnet, it could be a ballad: go wild (but for this, i recommend choosing canonical poetry in your chosen language, not poetry in translation, nor something new). above all, poetry, language charged with meaning to the ultimate degree, is meant to be read aloud, to be felt with the tongue. by the end of the year, you'll have a better intuitive understanding of the poet's craft, of the possibility and beauty of language, an improved reading style, and, through the memorization process, a deep knowledge of each chosen poem—and you'll have committed 12 poems to heart, sitting around for any occasion, keeping you company wherever you go
My great grandmother's antiques crowd my parent's house. She passed and they took it all. When I visit now, I notice how much history they hold. Today, I opened a random drawer. Newspaper clippings and postcards. Love letters to him. A love story never ending. She may have believed it was over, that no one would remember or care. But I do. I do.