#This is my memoirs

[wirebrother]

A story about being a fourteen year old girl in New York City 

would go something like,

The grown men who hung around Union Square were shady characters. They seemed to live there, though most of them had apartments. My girls and I absolutely did not question their attention. We were their friends. 

One of the men could get us acid. None of us had ever tried it. We were about to take the train uptown to pick it up when

His bald head was shiny with sweat. He was zig-zagging unsteadily through the crowd. The wide sweeping arc of those stone stairs, choked with people. No one even looked his way until he

fell. Then they scattered. 

Heat of summer. Everyone out. Back then it was Whole Foods across the street from the stairs, and Bank of America. Now there’s a Sephora there, too. They moved it from the other side of the park. It used to be next to Petco. 

 When the man fell he left a crater in the crowd. It was just the five of us left standing there. Gwyn was the prettiest. I was her best friend. 

The old man was gasping. There was some kind of device, a medical accessory I had never seen before attached to his arm. It looked like a robot arm, struts for support with a blue round plastic joint. There was a staple on the man’s elbow, and red blood leaking out. 

Our grown-up friends watched us from the shade of the entrance to the subway, smoking cigarettes and letting out long low curse words under the big green dome. 

Brianna called 9-1-1. 

Earlier that day, we had shoplifted some shirts from Forever 21. Tamiris took one of them out of her bag and ripped it up into strips. One of us was pulling the old man into her lap. 

It was me.

His poor half-robot elbow. It was bleeding pretty bad. The staple was doing a pitiful job of holding shut that lenticular window to his slick insides, a red smile laughing across the bent joint. The failing silver staple twinkling, a pupil in an accusing eye. 

The bald head was bleeding, too. He hit it when he fell. 

I froze at first. Really, he wasn’t moving. And neither was anyone else. There was a moment before he hit the ground, which extended, for me, long after the disaster had settled and decisions were being made. Katy snapped into action, and Gwyn. Even timid Tamiris was helping out.

But I kept seeing the high heeled shoes stepping nimbly out of his way, kept forgetting it was really happening 

then remembering again. And the bright thick reality of blood. 

There we were, in the middle of that circus ring. In our short-shorts, our crop tops.

Some passerby offered a bottle of water. Tamiris produced another shirt from her bag and we soaked it in the water, dabbed it on his head, tried to make him drink. 

Brianna was still on the phone with 9-1-1. She had to shout to be heard. You wouldn’t believe how many people were out at Union Square that day. Every day. 

The fold-out tables, crystal sellers, chess-players, musty smelling milk-crates full of books and their shrewd watchful salespeople. Not to mention the bums. Or the constant honking cars. The incense burning. The bicyclists with salubrious death-wishes.

Brianna kept her shit together. Her voice was mighty on the phone. The ambulance’s sirens came wailing from around the back of the park.

We couldn’t think of anything else to do after the shirt thing. His head was on my pale chubby thighs with their million scars. 

I wasn’t sure he was breathing. I started to talk to him. 

Brianna was a gladiator at the edge of the hole in the crowd. She made sure the ambulance knew exactly where to find us. She did everything right. 

But traffic in Manhattan is impossible. To drive in that area is murder. The siren howled a vengeance at us from the corner of East 14th and Broadway for what seemed like hours, caught in a snarl of taxi cabs and the awnings of Halal carts.

Back then I’d pour my heart out to just about anyone. And I really thought the old man might be dead. I was trying to talk him out of it, using my only tool of persuasion, which was an outpouring of love like a taser shock. I guess I thought I could comfort him back to life. I wasn’t thinking clearly.

The world was

                        me, holding the old man in my arms, and Gwyn, holding his hand. The roar of Manhattan diminishing around that knife of sound, the ambulance, not getting any closer. The reason I thought he was dead is because he was so heavy. The old man was clammy and perfectly limp.

In therapy I learned about 4-4-6 breathing. 

I started counting for him, counting,

and crying, for both of us. Then the EMTs broke through 

and I fell backwards, hyperventilating, when he was lifted off of me and 

away. 

Apparently he was just drunk. 

                                                That’s what the paramedic told me. The old man was drunk, then he fell. She came to check on me, too, because it looked like I might have fainted.

   But I was OK. So was the old man. We got to talk to him before they loaded him in. 

His face looked so different when it was alive and smiling. He clasped our hands. He said his name was Stanley Green. He said thank you. We were all pretty much a mess. The paramedics waved goodbye. The ambulance drilled its way back into the clog of traffic, was gone. 

In no time at all everyone went back to walking on the stairs where he fell. I couldn’t understand. To me he was kind of still falling. 

Our Union Square friends hadn’t gone anywhere. They were waiting to take us uptown. We went with them and got the acid. That wasn’t the end of the day. My curfew was eight. I still had six more hours of freedom. 

In the shuffle, Gwyn was left holding on to Stanley’s eyeglasses. They were maroonish, square. Sensible, plastic frames. She solemnly vowed to visit him in the hospital and return them.

But obviously we never saw Stanley Green again.

Maybe Gwyn still has the glasses. Keeping them seems like something she would do. But I would have no way of knowing. I haven’t talked to her in years.

#This is my memoirs #True story

[happyheidi]

don’t invite me unless these are the plans

#I need a knitting ghost in my life #cottagecore #moomin #moominpappas memoirs #moominpappa #moominvalley #cartoon #ghost #cute #kids shows #knitting #90s #tanoshii moomin ikka #anime aesthetic #nostalgia #nostalgiacore

[romansmartini]

ever since i was a little girl i knew i wanted to speculate about the sexual and romantic undertones of celebrities’ professional relationships

#thinking about the larry thing again. all my life i’ve been a believer 🙏 #obviously many times of misguided beliefs were there before i like. learned how the world works. now i practice rpf discernment #but quite frankly there’s nothing like the drug of looking at star wars ot promo and being like man. #carrie fisher and harrison ford definitely fucked didn’t they. #and then for carrie fisher to drop the princess diarist and be like yeah me and harrison had the most torrid 70s affair #you can possibly imagine. #VINDICATIONNNNN #quite frankly they are the reason i still believe something similar happened with gillovny. we just need the memoir drop #rpf quiz

[petitelappin]

Happy pride month from some fancier-than-my-usual corner of the 1770s!

#my art #digital art #history #pride #lesbian #hell yeah lets see if giving this pretty general tags gets it more notes who knows #heavily inspired by a few different sources but esp 1910s-1930s illustrations of casanova's memoirs #and also legal cases against Female Husbands

[kjscottwrites]

And, importantly, share some recs!

#poll #tumblr polls #writeblr #bookblr #poetry #short story #comic #graphic novel #screenplay #stageplay #non-fiction #news #journalism #new media #text based game #fanfiction #oh and if you're not sure: #stuff like cookbooks or memoirs or wikipedia all would fall under nonfiction in my opinion #and stuff like homestuck or scp or creepypasta those would all be new media! #and manga of course counts as comics!

[prettycoolducks]

6 word assignment for class. I'm in that weird phase between moving out and living at home and nostalgia and wanting to make a life for myself, so this piece is about that.

#art #my art #art of duck #gouache #oil pastel #6 word memoir #this makes it seem a lot more dramatic than it is lol #i painted this and drew on it with oil pastel but do not be fooled i messed with it a lot digitally #mixed media

[midonart]

Patiently waiting for the next chapter of Vanitas no Carte

#vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vanitas no shuki #vnc vanitas #noe archiviste #vanoe #case study of vanitas #les memoires de vanitas #digital fanart #fanart #my fanart #awesome art

[cherrirui-official]

"You know... You didn't have to take that with you."

"But I promised him I'd take him out to see the ocean one day."

#for context uhmm how do i explain this #so around a few weeks after Jd arrives Bruce is like “Hey... where are the others?” #and Jd is like “ooooh 🤪🤪 he doesnt know...” #Since at this time JD believes that the entire tribe is dead. including his brothers and grandma #so Jd has to take Bruce to the now abandoned troll tree and give him the bad news #Bruce doesnt believe it at first. even if the tree is abandoned they cant be dead? right?? they cant be #so he rushes over to their grandma's pod. thinking that theyre just in hiding and waiting for them to return #and all Bruce is able to find in the empty pod is Branch's old stuffed toy Croco #which solidifies to Bruce that everyone is dead. their friends their family. everyone #Bruce is obviously devastated by the news. he doesnt show it a lot but he doesnt take it too well #he ends up bringing Croco with him back to Vacay Island and patches Croco up #since Croco is a bit worn out due to being left in the pod for years #and since then Bruce always keeps Croco hidden in his hair. both as a memoir of his baby brother #and also a reminder of how he failed as an older brother... ouch #ofc the others arent dead. its just that now both Jd AND Bruce believe that the rest of the trolls are dead #also King Trollex is there bc i wanted to put him there. I like Trollex :] #a knee ways more bb au art i promise the next bb au art will be lighthearted #tho now im gonna work on the next violet gijinka batch bc ive been starving my friendlocke audience for too long #sorry friendlocke fans ill feed u next dw #cherris canvas #trolls #trolls band together #trolls john dory #john dory trolls #trolls bruce #bruce trolls #king trollex #beach bros au #sorry for rambling in the tags i hope u dont mind ahaha

[ladycrose]

Dress up games: Haha you must have this clothing item to proceed to the next level!

Dress up game lore:

#shining nikki #love nikki #tw flashing #miracle nikki #love nikki dress up queen #life makeover #helix waltz #dress up time princess #time princess #Induq #nikkiverse #mobile games #dress up games #twitter meme #mobile dress up games my beloved #dutp queen marie #dutp gotham memoirs #dutp infinite shimmer #dutp swan lake #dutp shadows of london #dutp the apothecary #dutp #post YOUR batshit insane lore from your favorite dress up game

[tubesock86]

steve is a George Michael fan and u know it

#I recently read Andrew ridgeleys memoir and I’m on an INTENSE wham kick #also I can picture steve singing his heart out to everything she wants #wham! #george michael #stranger things #steve harrington #fanart #my art! #tubesock86

[mermazeablaze]

I thought some of my Tumblr mutuals would be interested to see this article.

Viola Ford Fletcher, aged 109, just published a memoir 'Don't Let Them Bury My Story' about her experience during the Greenwood/Tulsa Massacre. It will be available for purchase August 15th.

"Her memoir, “Don’t Let Them Bury My Story,” is a call to action for readers to pursue truth, justice and reconciliation no matter how long it takes. Written with graphic details of the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre that she witnessed at age seven, Fletcher said she hoped to preserve a narrative of events that was nearly lost to a lack of acknowledgement from mainstream historians and political leaders.

The questions I had then remain to this day,” Fletcher writes in the book. “How could you just give a mob of violent, crazed, racist people a bunch of deadly weapons and allow them — no, encourage them — to go out and kill innocent Black folks and demolish a whole community?”

“As it turns out, we were victims of a lie,” she writes.

Fletcher notes in her memoir just how much history she has lived through — from several virus outbreaks preceding the coronavirus pandemic, to the Great Depression of 1929 and the Great Recession of 2008 to every war and international conflict of the last seven decades. She has watched the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. lead the national Civil Rights Movement, seen the historic election of former President Barack Obama and witnessed the rise of the Black Lives Matter movement."

#Tulsa Race Massacre #Tulsa Race Riot #Greenwood #Black Wall Street #1921 #Oklahoma #Viola Ford Fletcher #Don't Let Them Bury My Story #Book #Memoir #Novel #Library #History #Black Lives Matter #BLM

[collarful-clover]

Regardless I still enjoy this dynamic

#tagged post #my art #vanitas #vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #les memoires de vanitas #vnc #vnc vanitas #vnc fanart #vnc noé #noé archiviste #noe archiviste #vnc noe #couldn’t find the jp tag for this. oh well I tried #I love how annoyed Noé looks lmao #remember when I felt like I couldn’t comfortably draw vanitas bc of his complicated outfit. now look at me #(<-don’t be deceived I can barely do it now)

[miranagi]

scribble of the oshun oxtra trio

#i've beel neglecting my moomin followers sorry y'all #myart #moomin #moominvalley #moominpappa #the muddler #muddler #the joxter #joxter #oshun oxtra #moominpappa's memoirs

[akajustmerry]

its truly moving how much grace in this episode was given to the reality of losing a parent who was abusive and how none of the Roys reactions is cut and dry. A huge part of their grief is not just for Logan, but that there is never going to be reconciliation. the possibility of their father apologising, being the dad they needed, has died with him. ken's"i can't forgive you, but i love you" encapsulates so much of that conflict, the cognitive dissonance of loving your parent and being their victim who is never going to get closure. roman tells Logan he's "a monster" so, of course, he'll be okay wherein his frame of reference for his father's strength is his own fear of it. shiv's childish insistence that she can't allow this, as if asserting herself hoping her father will admonish her for it as he always has. it's one thing to know your parent harmed you irrevocably and wish them suffering for that - but it's another thing, "a material event", to lose them and lose the chance, the hope once and for all, that the one person who hurt you more than anyone will make it okay. obviously, it's okay if you lose your abusive parent and feel nothing or feel glad, but i felt so relieved to see this episode give space to the tedious, complicated and painful reality that, even if you don't want to, you can feel grief your abusive parent and the loss of hope that leaves with them.

#succession spoilers #succession #logan roy #roman roy #when jennette mccurdy wrote in her memoir #“I'm glad my mum died. i miss her.” #/

[haveyoureadthispoll]

#polls #book: i'm glad my mom died #author: jeannette mccurdy #genre: non fiction #genre: memoir #year: 2020s

[melodycchi]

Vanitas my beloved you deserve the world 🙏🏻

#art #artists on tumblr #digital art #my art #artwork #illustration #illustrators on tumblr #Vanitas #the case of vanitas #vanitas no carte #les memoires de vanitas #noe archiviste #vanitasxnoe #vannoé #noé archiviste