The Implications Of This Poem By Maggie Smith From Her Book Good Bones, Astonishing

i really needed this. it took me years to understand who i am, specifically because of awful men and experiences with men in my life who made me terrified of men and masculinity. i was scared to the point that i violently rejected myself every time i started to feel like maybe i wasn’t a girl because i was so scared of being a man and what that might mean for me as a person. it took meeting and becoming close with some wonderful trans men and a very wonderful and special cis guy for me to finally relax and realize that i didn’t have to be afraid. that being masc isn’t being evil or dangerous. that there are truly beautiful, lovely men out there, some trans and some cis. that despite how dangerous the men of the world can be, there’s good too. and i am fully capable of being part of that good. i’m still working on internalizing it. thank you op <3

Idk what trans man needs to hear this but you're NOT evil or disgusting for being a man. You do NOT have to suffer for the sins of the patriarchy committed by cis dudes. Being a man doesn't invalidate the misogyny you experienced growing up or experience now. Being a man doesn't mean you deserve to be isolated. Being a man doesn't mean you're inherently predatory or scary. You didn't "choose" this, and finding your true self is NOT "betraying the community" because you happen to be a man and/or masculine rather than a woman and/or feminine. You ARE allowed to be upset when people "affirm" your gender by malgendering you.

You DO deserve a community that uplifts you. You DO deserve to experience trans joy. You DO deserve to have your voices heard and your struggles recognized. Wanting the bare minimum of solidarity is NOT "making everything about trans men".

?? on my post with a recording from a decommissioned satellite

which one of u was going to tell me that tea tastes different if u put it in hot water?

i want to re-stuff a plushie but don’t have the money to spend on stuffing right now but i really want to do the project. i have large plush that lives in my closet that i could steal stuffing from but like. that’s his guts. it probably has his soul inside of it. what fucked up monster will i create if i transfer those guts into another skin?

realistically, nothing bad will happen. but my brain is very upset with the idea.

up late thinking about my babadook costume i made in 2022

i still wear it every halloween while making gradual improvements and adjustments, this is the same costume halloween night 2024, with improved fingers and a repainted mask :-D

can you tell that there's something bothering me

And now for something completely different.

This is the ADHD Teapot. I made it in a ceramics class a few years ago. I use it to explain executive dysfunction to people who haven’t come across the term before (and those who think of ADHD mostly as Hyperactive Eight Year Old Boy Syndrome).

So, most people’s brains are like a regular shaped teapot with a single spout. Let’s say that your time, energy, focus etc is the liquid you have in the teapot. Your executive function is the spout, that directs the tea into the specific cup you want to fill-aka the task that you’re meant to be doing. Spills happen occasionally, but generally most of the tea goes in the right cup.

If you have executive dysfunction, (a symptom of ADHD, trauma, autism, schizophrenia etc.) you have multiple spouts going in different directions. You can try pointing one of them at your chosen cup and you will probably get some liquid in there, perhaps you will even fill it right up (finish the task). But meanwhile, tea is also pouring out of several other places and not going where you want it. If you have another container nearby, perhaps some of it will end up in there. But quite a lot of it is going to end up on the floor and accomplish nothing.

And at the end of the day you’ll have filled one or two cups ( or sometimes not even one) compared to the five or six that somebody with the same sized teapot (but only one spout) has filled, and everyone wonders why you’re so bad at getting tea poured, and why you make such a mess in the process.

One day I’d like to spend more time learning pottery and create a really technically good fucked up little adhd teapot. But that’s a long way off since i currently live in the outback and the nearest pottery workshop is some 400km away. But I figure that for now, it might be a useful or interesting metaphor to somebody even in its rough draft form.

This post is the cup I filled instead of cleaning my house btw.

i dont think i ever posted this here but i adore the idea of splicing together bumper stickers

… and now, the weather.

me clicking on a video from the silliest man in the world: teehee what wacky hijinks await me

world renown block clown mumbo Fucking jumbo: you ever think about how old technology seems to live forever in the suspended state of whatever the newest advancements were at the time. how most technology immediately and fundamentally tells you when it was important and when it was left in the dust. it’s suspended in its era forever, and in that it is perfect.

stagnation is a form of death but nostalgia is cruel immortality. still i find myself locked in pursuit of it until i finally stumble across the undeath of the mechanical. as my hard earned improvement truly begins to pay dividends, surrounded by my opus of change, i will freeze myself in eternal utopia. the only way to never die is to preemptively kill whoever you might become. i will not have a grave, i will not be ashes and dust. i will be a perfect, extant machine.

me: Ok. i dont think this will plague me at all actually. like video.

words cannot describe how much this poem means to me. when i first heard it i felt as though the poem grafted itself onto my soul and became an integral part of my being. i feel genuine love for this work.

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On Sunday, a lambent crevice opened up in the street outside my house. By Tuesday, birds were flying into it.

“I probably won’t miss you,” my mother said. “I’m only interested in the end of the world,” I replied.

Many find it difficult to breathe without the atmosphere, but we knew how; we just stopped breathing.

We’re at the Moonlight All-Night Diner, and they’re serving up fruit from the plants growing out of the waitress. The closed sign whispers, “Please, don’t touch me.”

We watch bodies fall to the ground outside like deep sea creatures surfacing. You turn to me and ask, “Do you ever think about suicide?” I look away from you and close my eyes, eat the raspberries to confuse the blood in my mouth.

Now you’re in the only car in the parking lot at midnight and you’re watching me throw stones at the moon which hangs low in the sky so that he can look into your house. Your sister tried to touch him from her window once, and he flinched.

Now he and the oceans watch her with a quiet concern. The lilac sky is trying to rest her head on his shoulder, all trees gradually growing through her.

A hummingbird whispers to you, “Be careful. Under her dress is her skin,” and then builds his nest in the middle of the highway.

I look back to you, and you close your eyes

-Katherine Ciel

Welcome to Night Vale Episode 20 - "Poetry Week"