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you are not a wasteland you just need ibuprofen and a hot bath and a shower and a nutritious meal and some water and some fresh air and to do something productive and to do something creative and to do something that takes physical exertion and to do something social

I got the Top 4.47% on this English Vocabulary test

part two!! i’ve read all three books and am heavily burdened with the knowledge of how it ends.

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bird in cage

IN THE DREAM HOUSE, carmen maria machado

Kim Addonizio, from Lucifer at the Starlite: Poems; “You with the crack running through you”

old paraphrase of Alexandre Cabanel’s The Fallen Angel

tbg quote below

“She was a goddess. She was a monster. She’d nearly destroyed this country.” -The Burning God, page 617

(via the author, at the Ex Bird place)

the need to talk about the characters vs the fear that all of my analysis is just empty prose and surface level understanding

There’s always one show off in the group.

i know we joke about cis artists having the weirdest sense of anatomy, but also even when the anatomy is fine, no one seems to want to draw women doing normal things

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Ain't it crazy how Andrew knows all of Neil because he has an eidetic memory but Neil knows all of Andrew because he paid attention and committed that shit to memory like the information was relevant to his survival even though he'd long since earned the safety of his long long life?

"I can never forget you" they whisper into each other's mouths. One echoes of inability. The other echoes of imperative. Both understand.

nobody's soldier

canon divergence where neil is the one to kill his father and it’s violent and bloody and awful and the last thing nathan does is smile and say that neil truly is his son and it fucks neil up forever

its 12:30 its time post the sad george costanza edit

I Am Somebody by Glenn Ligon, 1991

details, casablanca spring 2022

His Majesty's little meow meows (from La Dame de Monsoreau)

you are 16. you are talking with a gay man in his 50s or 60s, a friend, huge and gentle with a scarf and short fluffy curls of gray hair, who has directed you in two plays staged in your mid-size artsy town. (he has not yet asked you to be in his production of The Laramie Project which will change your life. this conversation will also change your life.)

he is talking about theatre. he is talking about theatre when he was younger. he says, "of course, it was AIDS then." in the pause, you ask him. clumsy and quiet and 16 and "straight," you ask him. what was it like.

he takes a moment in which his face is not like a person's face. "there was a time," he says, "i'm not sure how long, years. when i went to a funeral every weekend." he tells you about two funerals in a day, and choosing between friends when you couldn't make it to both. he does not look at you, he looks at them. his wet grey gaze is so clear that you start to see ghosts. it will be years before you understand why it feels like your grief too. why the ghosts call you family.