Poem by Leslie J Anderson.

don't give up

makes me just think of this poem by Caitlin Seida

Thinking about how wild it is that enshittification starts as a way for the rich to squeeze the populace for more money but ends up infecting everything so even luxury products decline in quality. They’ve got more money than fucking God now and for what? Literally they can’t even buy fun nice stuff for themselves because they killed craft.

Anyway this post is about Dhaka muslin but it’s also about everything.

guess it's time to post agha shahid ali's poem about dhaka muslin

An annotated list of fucks I do not give

1. Right now there are maybe seven billion people in the world, and no doubt there is a lot of leeway in the estimates we could make, but let us say that a hundred million of those people are fucking. That is a lot of fucks. I do not give any of those fucks.

2. Consider also the bears, doing in the woods what bears have done in woods since time immemorial, which is to say fucking. Or the squirrels, or the wolves, or those little brown fuzzy creatures that live in holes, or anything else for that matter that has got down to it in the cosy, pine-scented dusk. I do not give their fucks either.

3. You know when you see fucking dragonflies float past, happily oblivious to the world? Also not those.

4. In fact the sum total of insect fucks are fucks I do not give. Chitinous beetlefucks? Nope. Fluttering butterflyfucks? Nope. Double-dotted ladybirdfucks? Nope. There are insects in the world undiscovered by humanity whose fucks I do not give.

5. They say that in the city you are never more than ten metres from fucking rats. The quiet, homely fucks of these rats in their rat-niches are also fucks that I do not give.

6. This fuck, that fuck and the other and so on. These happy fucks that I will keep in my memory and treasure, taking them out from time to time to admire. These fucks are mine and I am definitely not giving them.

7. The slowest, loudest, most zoo-patron-embarrassing tortoisefuck.

8. Alien fucks, all across the Universe, comprising: oddly mundane fucks beneath triple stars; the fucking of beings identical to humans but for their oddly lumpy faces; those of a nature tentacular, spectacular and strange; fucks barely comprehendable; those romping through ammonia oceans in the sixteenth dimension; the void-spanning fuckery of intergalactic space narwhals; and others.

9. Then there are various fucks of a metaphorical nature, for example: the fucking of the populace by politicians; the fucking of the planet by humanity; the fucking of humanity by fate. I do not give any of those fucks either.

10. And also all other fucks. Which means, alas, that I am all out of fucks to give.

we have to write sonnets again for class, and I panicked and chose one of the only topics I know about

to this day i still think my best 3 poems are still doggone, salmon running, and that untitled fridge magnet poem

im still chasing these highs

Guy who has wandered through the halls and corridors of your body not with any special kind of love but with the untold intimacy of a contractor assessing the damages and potentials voice: right, so the main issue here is that the body is currently a temple, okay, and what we want is for it to be a home, cause temples are pretty and all and occasionally nice to be in if you're into that sort of thing but very few people would actually want to live in one. So what we're gonna do first is you're gonna take a look at what's here, the carrying walls and windows and all that, and you're going to come up with something you'd actually like to be alive inside of, and it's going to be a lot of work and it's going to feel strange and stupid and embarrassing but you're still gonna do it, because otherwise this construction site is fucked. And maybe what you want to live in is a skatepark or an anime-themed cat cafe or an esoteric library that has a dildo section for some reason, so it might feel like it's a downgrade from a temple, but it's actually the opposite cause the main customer for a body is you and the main customer for a temple are templegoers and maybe higher powers of some kind, - i wouldn't know about those, they never hired me, - not the temple itself, which is what you are, right, cause the body/mind/soul separation doesn't actually do anything, so what you're gonna do is look at the current layout and dig out whatever hope and ability to want you have and come up with a blueprint, and then my boys can actually get to work. Oh, and you have got to change the windows, it's drafty as fuck in here.

if you are lucky you will love someone and their hair will thin and their breasts will sag and you will kiss them everywhere over and over again

I was having a conversation with someone who was lamenting over how to maintain attraction to our partners as their bodies change and age and feeling self conscious herself about that process and I was like. we should be so lucky as to see them through these many years as we are seen ourselves. Hope that helps u understand

reminds me of this quote i love

Glasses // Jonathan Coulton

[x]

Limerick Template

There once was a [PERSON] from [PLACE] Whose [BODY PART] was [SPECIAL CASE] When [EVENT] would occur It would cause [HIM OR HER] To [BREAK A LAW OF TIME AND SPACE]

remembering that octopus brains are donut shaped cause their esophagus goes thru the middle of their head and sometimes they die from brain damage from meal too big, and saying a long prayer before bed every night that if something like that happens to me i will be able to handle it gracefully

now i lay me down to sleep

i pray the lord my soul to keep

and hope my brain does not explode

from lunch or dinner overload

but if i die from eating good

i know the haters wish they could

and every day i thank my god

i was not born a cephalopod

and as we all know most prayer is silent so while there are no further words it continues for twelve minutes or so

I will be coming back to this concept. We're not done here

Those people who constantly reblog your stuff but you never really talk:

I do notice my regulars. You guys are the best.

“Regulars” makes me feel like a bar-tender…

Wiping down my dash at the end of an evening, I see your read-more, over-hear your rant in the tags, so I pour you a drink.

“…what’s troubling you, kid?”

It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday As the regular crowd tumbls by There’s an old fandom queen blogging next to me And her little gray tags catch my eye

She says tumblr I’m feeling like shit today can you send me some posts for a smile can we talk about slash, can you fill up my dash so I won’t have to think for a while

Laa dahdah didee dah La dahdah didee dah dadum

Fill up my dash, you’re my followers Fill it with pictures and fic Yeah we’re all in the mood for some memery And occasional pictures of dick

Now Jill is a centaur novelist And she writes of her girlfriend and wife She reblogs from Toni, who’s in My Little Pony, And probably will be for life.

As the staff implements wretched changes And we think of how aliens bone We are writing a lot about loneliess: It’s much better than writing alone.

AND sometimes we blog about politics

And sometimes we blog with a beer

And when I proudly boast that I’m older than most, 

They say ‘gross, what are YOU doing here’. 

*wild applause!!

When one of the classics crosses your dash, what can you do…? 😄

I'm waiting on a call from the gutter man so I'm carrying my phone with me everywhere today and it feels weird. Better not leave the room without my Instant Communication Device. I do not like it.

Soon may the gutter man come, to clean out litter and dirt and scum

one day when the gutterin's done he'll take his leave and go

*take some leaves and go

@derinthescarletpescatarian I finished the song, and thought you might enjoy it ^_^

There once was a tree that shed some leaves

On the top of the house where Derin reads

They clogged his drains and the gutters plead

That one day they'll be free

CHORUS

Soon may the gutter man come

To clean out litter and dirt and scum

One day when the gutterin's done

He'll take some leaves and go

The call rang once in Gutter Man's grip

Cause the phone was right on Derin's hip

Appointment made he drove his van

Cause he was the Gutter Man

CHORUS

The man climbed up and saw the tree

And he knew it was the source of leaves

The chainsaw roared and smoke rose up

And down that tree did go

CHORUS

The man's long gone and gutters clear

But the memory feels all too near

As the man walked off he dragged his tree

Said "Write more Aspen Greaves!"

CHORUS

in 2007, a lady named Kristin Sue Lucas filed to legally change her name from “Kristin Sue Lucas” to “Kristin Sue Lucas”. She appeared in front of a judge in california to petition her case. this is the transcript of her court hearing

There are hardly any female werewolves because they break all the classic rules of femininity. They force you to confront female violence, strength, size, grotesqueness and uncontrollability. Historically female shapeshifters always shift into something dangerous (snake) or sleek (cat) or dainty (bird) but female werewolves ignore the masculine gaze completely. They're distorted beasts that have no ulterior motive except to destroy. Nothing about them is nurturing or modest. They're the opposite of what a woman "should be." Their omission from pop culture is not an accident.

I know this is maybe not the point of the post, but this reminded me of this beautiful poem called When My Wife Is A Werewolf by Rosamund Taylor which I really adore so I thought I would share it.

This is taken from a collection of contemporary queer Irish poetry called Queering the Green, which has some truly wonderful work in it and is available from The Lifeboat Press (currently sold out but hopefully available again soon if you're interested).

Omg i fucking love that poem.

(And so help me, might be recording it later.)