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When I (M29) was a young boy (M7) my father (M35) took me into the city (X167) to see a marching band (M23, M21, M22, F22, M24, M25, F21, M

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bi slut pigeon

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Even if you’re too shy to fully wear historical clothing out in the real world you can still utilize the magic of big pins. We as a society don’t use big pins nearly as much as we should anymore

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I’m still reeling over the fact when I went with my friend to a renaissance fair, there was a lady who was handing out samples. My friend took a bite of it and all I heard was

“My lord that’s soap”

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this reddit thread of living your silliest life is so so good

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Governor Josh Green has signed legislation boosting the tax on hotel rooms and vacation rentals as Hawaii seeks to raise money to help address the potential ramifications of climate change.

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man, The Character really strikes me as someone who would struggle with Same Problems I Have, for no apparent reason

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daily affirmations:

i am kind

i am in control of my emotions

it does not bother me when someone is in the kitchen while i was planning to be in there alone

everyone in the house has the right to be in the kitchen

i am kind and in control of my emotions even when someone is in the kitchen while i was planning to be in there alone

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I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.

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love when my internet gets bad and im just scrolling the dash looking at the diagonal gradients

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imagine this: it’s saturday afternoon and you’re having a leisurely walk and smoke around your neighborhood. gently stoned, nothing crazy. saturday afternoon shit. been seeing a lot of people walking their dogs, and for some reason they all seem to stop and smile knowingly at you. eventually you cross paths with a kindly older lady walking her dog. she smiles at you, but the cute little black dog has your attention. you wanna pet that thing so bad. as she gets closer, she says, unprompted, “yes, you may”. you pet the dog and go about your day ruefully accepting that you put off palpable desperate to pet a dog vibes. finally, you look down and remember you wore your “CAN I PET YOUR DOG” shirt today

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light of Aurora, Anastasia Trusova, acrylic, 2021

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pablo de pastors

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I took my little brother (autistic, mostly non verbal) out and he was using his voice keyboard to tell me something, and this little boy (maybe 4 or 5?) heard him and asked me "Is he a robot??" I tried to explain to him that no, he isn't a robot, he just communicates differently, but my darling brother was in the background max volume "I am robot I am robot I am robot I am robot"