It is to Madame Justice that I dedicate this concerto, in honor of the holiday that she seems to have taken from these parts, and in recognition of the impostor that stands in her stead.

V FOR VENDETTA 2005 – James McTeigue

i am sentimental today, forgive me, but i think it’s good so many people hate valentine’s day.

in general, i try to enjoy most things unironically. so what about the roses and the pink and the hearts and the candy. i’m sure there are many happy engagements and parties and dinners. 

but it could have been a day about love; you know? it could have been in the middle of winter, a little beautiful bright day. one last day of the holidays, to clean out the winter malaise, to call in spring, to love each other again. we could have spent this day going irresponsibly skinny-dipping, cleaning out our closets, undoing where we went wrong. a day about love as a concept - love as the thaw, as the turn from the cold, as admitting we are getting a-little-stir-crazy. love like a dancing dog, like firewood, like soon-spring-will-come.

and it isn’t. it is a day that has been made by commercialism, and it is a day that survives on the same backbone of the carcass it was made from. valentine’s day is a handmade holiday with no history to breathe life into it; a strange and red box; an amalgam of romantic tokens. it is full of impersonal consumerism; a holiday without the joy or tradition. it is just a checkbox. it feels like a checkbox.

and over and over, i hear - “i hate valentine’s day.” and you should. it’s heteronormative, it’s alienating, it completely misunderstands love. even happily married people will bemoan it - they do it to, like do something, i guess, but they don’t celebrate. many of us find alternatives - we celebrate our friends, we throw anti-valentine’s parties, we celebrate by ourselves.

and this is wonderful.

love cannot be manufactured. love cannot be written into a calendar. it cannot be transcribed into a series of actions, into a placement of gifts, into a hallmark card. love cannot be bought, nor can it be sold, nor can it be reproduced by capitalism. love will know its own name in each of us. love will follow us, dog-tired, until the end of the road, and love will still be behind us in our shadow. love will hold our hand in the shower and love will curl around our broken bones. 

how wonderful, is all. they said - here is when you will show your love for each other, this is the day and the hour and here is how you will move and how you will go.

and we said, one by one - what do you know about love? i have loved this whole winter. i have loved my friends and i have loved the moon and i have loved apple turnovers and i have loved songs and i have loved myself enough to know when i am too far gone. what do you know about love? i have loved the sun and i have loved puddles and i have loved the yawn of a cat. 

we said - i know what love is, when it is mine, and free, and of my whole being. i know what love is, and it will only ever just belong to me, and come from me, and come back to me if i am lucky.

Santa is on strike due to global warming.  All presents this year will be delivered by Sasha the Christmas Tiger.  Milk and cookies may not be sufficient.

“MUST BRING PRESENTS TO GOOD CHILDREN”

“Yes good”

“AND EAT THE BAD ONES”

“Wait no”

“EAT THEM”

“sasha no”

@burstofhope the Christmas tiger is watching

She is making a list

It is not easy with her paws but she is making it

shes almost here

Okay fine this is the ONE Christmas thing I will reblog before Thanksgiving BUT THAT’S IT

SASHA’S BACK ON MY DASH!

Y’all better behave, you have two months

You better watch out

You better watch out

You better watch out

ALL HAIL SANTA CLAWS

Sasha the Tigerrrr

OwO

It is to Madame Justice that I dedicate this concerto, in honor of the holiday that she seems to have taken from these parts, and in recognition of the impostor that stands in her stead.

V FOR VENDETTA 2005 – James McTeigue

september, s.t.

oh, i am finally old enough to know why my parents took so long to grab their coats. why they would ask us to get ready to go only to sit down for another round of coffee. what would i tell myself, at 10 years old? it’s okay. sit down with them too. take in the extra hour with your friend and her family. when you get home, write down every moment in your diary. one day you will be older and you will be waving goodbye to your best friend, and you will turn the key to start your beat up little car engine, and you will look back over your shoulder. her hair will be blowing in the wind and she will be beautiful and you will be, for a moment, struck by all of it. what you will feel is so wide and nameless that it will engulf you. and you will think of being 14 and kicking her under the table in math every time you wanted to whisper something behind the teacher’s back. you will think about how long the days felt, and how you could hold her hand whenever you wished, but you didn’t. and you will think about all of the people you could have lingered with. and you will wish, more than you have ever felt a wish, that the universe just gave you that - more time to linger. more time to say - i love you. i know i need to leave, but i don’t want to leave you. and when i go, i am leaving a piece of my heart that lingers too. 

one more round of coffee. the days are so short, and you are so lovely.

you were young and you said the world was bitter and they said they couldn't taste it so you must be imagining it and you were young so you didn't know better and you were young so you slept with the covers pulled up so you wouldn't cry too loudly and you were young so when you told them the nightmares kept you up they said that was part of being a person

you were young so when you said you weren't eating anymore and all your love was seeping through the floor and the ash of your happiness was settling around you they said well you're young we all get sad sometimes and because you were young they considered the matter settled and would get angry if you brought it up again and would tell you that your attitude was actually the problem and would say - oh come on not this again - which meant that because you were young your words were all weightless and untethered

because you were young you would have nowhere else to go towards except the bright light of your own horrible exposure all knives and wasteland until the brimstone of your selfdirected rage caught everything on fire and you were young so they looked at the mess of your falling star and said you were acting like a monster and chided you for all your faults and begged you to please take more responsibility for how badly you were hurting because you were young so you had to have done this to yourself how else would it have happened how could someone who is young ever be hurt in a real way how could someone who has a roof over their head and food in their bodies ever feel gutted like a fish

and you were young and you understood them because they were suddenly speaking a very clear language and you were young and you realized -

if i survive this, it has to be by my own hand and by my own creation.

there is no final version of yourself. we never stop growing or changing, nor should we. stop beating yourself up for not being ‘there’ yet.

That is the cutest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen

lil word game I’ve been having fun with during the pandemic: putting “and/or” between words that only have “and” between them

Life imitates art

- Rupi Kaur