Lion Equals Square

if they put me in a big pot of soup i would be fine.

foolproof plan

In a proper marriage your spouse is ALWAYS your accomplice.

monks debating whether vows of silence should still allow you to leave emoji reacts on the monastery groupchat

I don't know enough about the spirit behind vows of silence but I *do* love the idea of a guy who's vowed himself to silence but still walks around reacting to shit with his facial expressions

like Brother Malcolm gets caught sneaking mead into the priory and he's watching shit go down like "👀 😬"

*doom music starts to play* I actually kindof like scheduling these kinds of appointments now...

but seriously Fellas, don't forget to schedule a pap smear every couple of years just in case. If you still have a cervix you can still get cervical cancer. ilu

this has been a psa

i've had this as an idea since 2017 btw

damn, tumblr says my art is ass and trans people is eye strain so no blaze for me :\

it'd be a shame if this...

blazed the old fashion way...

I LOVE when children who juuuust barely understand ten percent of something find somebody (a toy or a smaller child, usually) who understands zero percent and they’re like “come hither and I shall take you under my wing and teach you my instant wisdom.”

me: i wish there were some way to signal a footnote, censor profanity, or signify the correction of a typo

the ever-dependable asterisk:

hm. I do not think that is an asterisk. I think that may be An Bugs.

me: jeez there's so many flying insects here in the forests and woodlands of southeastern australia and tasmania, if only there were an apex predator to control their population

the noble hercules robberfly:

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

At the company retreat, one extremely drunk girl asked what my pronouns were. (Eventually, it took her a while to word the question.) After the whole conversation was done, she goes- "YEAHHH GURL, Get on with--with THY bad self! See what I did?? They/them/thy."

I was almost holding back tears from trying not to laugh as I told her yes that's great you nailed it honey. Thank you very much I am feeling the love.

Anyway I've been assigned Thee/Thine at Supportive Drunk Girl

Good news. At work today I heard her and some of the other coworkers recounting the retreat, so I went over and I told her "Just so you know, and I mean this genuinely, sincerely, with all love in my heart and not a negative feeling in my body, asking someone their pronouns while you are drunk as a skunk is the funniest thing I've ever seen."

She had absolutely no memory of the conversation of course, but cracked up upon hearing it. When I told her that "They/them/thy" is branded into my brain forever, she immediately went "Pop OFF, your honor!"

So apparently she is exactly as funny when sober.

this speaking as a cis person. Nothing brings me more joy seeing people find gender euphoria in becoming a mediocre representation of humanity. And I mean that so genuinely. Local boy finds joy and fulfillment wearing a cargo shorts and t-shirt combo. Local girl has transitioned to look like someone's disheveled aunt, has never been happier. Local person experiences gender euphoria rocking the world's worst bowl-cut. Without a scap of irony, this shit makes me see the wonder and whimsy in just, being a human. An average, person going through their day-to-day, is a wondrous thing? That's amazing. And heteronormativity has stripped these experiences of their joy. Like you're right, wearing a basic girlypop skirt should make my heart sing. Why not? Why are these expressions lesser because they're normal? All this to say. Shoutout to all the basic bitches out there. Yes that polo shirt does make you look like a divorced golfer dad. Yes, that too is kind of a slay, now that I think of it.

It's that romantic kind of rain~

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Today I cried a little bit because I remembered that when Beethoven conducted his ninth symphony for the first time he got a standing ovation and one of the sopranos had to turn him around to see the audience. 

I have never recovered from this illustration by Scott Cameron for Barbara Nichol’s “Beethoven Lives Upstairs.”

that's about $32 he did the call for, only takes a tiny push sometimes doesn't it

Hell, sometimes all you need is for someone to triple dog dare you.

Wholesome af

This window cat seat comes with a legend to identify the current occupant.