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Uninstalling tumblr, idk when I'll be back but... yeah

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DNI lists on this website are fucking insane

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i haaate when ppl are talking abt mammal colouration and they bring up mandrills but not vervet monkeys.... fake fans

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im at disbelief at the fact that a lot of folks are simply over palestine. like protests are dwindling down. people are not very interested in news related to gaza. some are simply over it.

israel hasn't let aid in gaza in 70 days. gaza has been starving for 70 days. the condition of people there is horrendous.

i find it distressing to think about children in gaza. how does one continue to have a childhood in a genocide? they don't have school. they don't have safety. they don't have food.

despite all this, the kids will be alright. they'll be alright once the genocide stops and they get back to 'normal'. till then, can we please try to support them however we can?

this fundraiser (verified) helps feed a family which includes two young children. please consider helping their mother take care of them.

donate here

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able bodied allies of disabled people when your disability genuinely has no secret upside and makes you useless to a late stage capitalist society

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also hey can we talk about violent psychosis for a sec. cause i really appreciate all the talk surrounding psychosis positivity and stuff but a lot of it is "we're not all violent! sometimes hallucinations can be positive!" like sorry mine are not. im scary psychotic.

im "cant have anything that even remotely could be used as a weapon in the house" psychotic. im "if i miss my meds one day i have to go to the hospital for homicidal and suicidal thoughts that literally aren't my own thoughts but theyre controlling my actions" psychotic. im "im seeing horrors you cant even imagine to the point where i dont exist in the same world as you anymore" psychotic.

im not going to hurt you, i just need help. when im rocking in the corner talking to myself at 3am, remember that i am in a state of terror. im afraid for my life. i either genuinely believe everything is trying to kill me, and i only know one way to deal with it; or something is telling me to be violent or else it will kill me; or i have dissociated so hard that i autopilot myself to violence to try and wake myself up.

some of us are violent, and that's okay, because it has to be, because it's the truth. just get us help.

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this pic is unbelievable

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good read for teachers.

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the thing if it was made in chile

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In Gaza 🍉 even the queues have disappeared You no longer see the lines of people stretching out at the doors of the takayas or in front of the bakeries Not because hunger has ended, but because the food has run out The flour has disappeared and the bakeries have closed and with it disappeared the last remnants of hope in a loaf of bread to relieve families of the pain of hunger, the pain of accumulated hunger More than 2 million and 4 thousand people are exposed to systematic starvation A complete crime carried out by the occupation through a comprehensive siege and the closure of the crossings for more than 83 days and preventing the entry of food, medicine and fuel 42 days without bread, without ovens, without what satisfies their hunger This is not a shortage, a weapon of starvation and systematic pressure to strangle Gaza until the last breath The queues have not ended, but have turned into silence screaming in the face of the world Save Gaza

Donate for my children and my family so that they may survive 🙏

Donate here:

GoFundMe:Click here

PayPal:Click here

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #591 )✅️

Hospital Security Cameras Captured the Unthinkable. Civilians were thrown into the air from the place or buried inside the missile crater.

And now, orders have been issued to evacuate all hospitals, universities, and schools in Gaza.

This is not war. This is extermination. They are erasing every trace of life, every pillar of society, every safe space and the world is still silent.

If you can help, even a small donation could mean food, water, To my family in Gaza.

Donate here:

GoFundMe: Click here

PayPal: Click here

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #591 )✅️

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My brother. Abd must leave for treatment. The crossings have been opened for humanitarian cases. Save my brother before he becomes paralyzed. Please donate, even if it is $5, it will make a big difference.

Gaza must be evacuated for treatment

Vetted

Save my brother before it's too late 🥺🙏

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When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anyway.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could knit me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

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Remember when AOC said this. The elitism is so explicit with identifying political conviction and academia too

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The thing that annoys me about "transandrophobia" as a discussion point is that there is a rich history of marginalized men discussing how the expectations and role of manhood are shaped by their marginalization, what people expect from them as men, what parts of "manhood" they're denied access to... So why would we need to rely on the argument that men have it worse than women or even the rhetoric that trans men will essentially never be "real" men and that's why we're discriminated against