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every single gay couple I know got married opened up their relationship and then instantly got divorced….in every instance all of this took less time than it would take you to get a bachelor’s degree in psychology

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Waiting for a change

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Hayden and Lana forget your feud and combine your lapsed Protestant/Catholic slut power to laser attack Alex Warren in whatever megachurch basement he’s requisitioned for his lair

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Reading a story you wrote when you were 13 is something that makes you realise that there was always something weird and lonely about you. Mostly weird.

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We are switching from calling "actually I do dream of labor" a cottage core-ass sentiment to calling "I don't dream of labor" a treatlerite sentiment. No one has actually changed their political positions or their jobs, but we have decided to shake up the rules, as it were, to keep things interesting and to keep you on your toes. Happy posting to all who are logged in at their work desks!

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It’s so unfair the way that men who are like 5 foot 5 can go to the gym for two weeks and look jacked

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Eros is an issue of boundaries. He exists because certain boundaries do. In the interval between reach and grasp, between glance and counterglance, between ‘I love you’ and ‘I love you too,’ the absent presence of desire comes alive. But the boundaries of time and glance and I love you are only aftershocks of the main, inevitable boundary that creates Eros: the boundary of flesh and self between you and me. And it is only, suddenly, at the moment when I would dissolve that boundary, I realize I never can.

Anne Carson, Eros the Bittersweet

Le sens dernier de l'érotisme est la fusion, la suppression de la limite. En son premier mouvement, l'érotisme n'en est pas moins signifié par la position d'un l'objet du désir.

The extreme meaning of eroticism is fusion, the suppression of the boundary. In its first movement, eroticism is nonetheless signified by the position of an object of desire.

Georges Bataille, Œuvres complètes X: L'Èrotisme, Le Proces de Gilles de Rais, Les Larmes D'Èros (translation by me)

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Tim, 1990

Philip-Lorca diCorcia

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Oh you mean 85% of this website's user base?

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didn’t even get to do anything sinisterly lgbt at the county fair but I did take this picture of sheep in clothes so I guess I didn’t get nothing from the experience

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what a lot of people don't understand, and what leads to them falling for conspiracy(-like) pizzagate style narratives even if they think they're above that due to not being lowly right wing qanoners, is that buying underage kids for sex is not difficult or expensive. at all. i say this brutally because it is brutal.

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Commercial I would produce as an advertising executive:

Mr. Clean is trade, but not the scary kind. Not the kind you blow in the backseat of a Ford parked behind the Saint Paul Episcopal at four in the morning. It's been a long time since you were seventeen trawling Craigslist in your shoplifted Target dress. You're a grown woman now. You’re not that girl, and he's not that guy.

He doesn't try to get you to put out on the first date, or the second. Not even the third or fourth. But the fifth? Well, now you’ve gotta have him. You slip up and call him ‘daddy’ but he just rolls with it, real smooth. “Dirty girl,” he growls, and now you’re digging your acrylics in his shoulder. He can take it. “That’s my dirty fuckin’ girl.”

He’s ex-Navy, blue collar, not rich but he’s got his shit together. Stays at the trailer park down Dryer Street. It’s nice inside, cozy and neat. Man’s got better taste than all the other bachelors in their mid-forties you’ve tangled with. Bi, which is fine. Not exactly out and proud, but he never treats you like a secret. You wake up in his sheets and here he comes in that tight white T-shirt with a plate of bacon and eggs and a glass of OJ just for you. Tells you he’s got his VFW buddies coming over later to shoot the shit over some beers but it’s just a matter of fact, doesn’t have the ‘so you better get going’ sting to it. But you go home anyway, ‘cause it sure as shit doesn’t sound like fun. He gives you a ride and mom doesn’t think to ask where the hell you’ve been the past two days.

So you’ve been seeing him the past couple months now. The man’s so easygoing when you’re with him you feel like you can let your guard down for the first time in Christ only knows how long. Soon enough you’re tangled in his big arms every Friday and Saturday and you’ve got him watching Survivor and I Love New York with a big bowl of popcorn, a glass of wine for you and a can of Miller for him. You don’t need to watch how you laugh with him, or the way you cough or clear your throat. He doesn’t give a shit how you sound. Maybe he’s too good to be true, but you don’t care. He just makes you feel so safe.

‘Til one night you drive to the Love’s down the road, the one where you pick up Marlboro Lights for yourself and Pall Malls for mom. This time there’s a new guy at the register. “You a dude, or what?”, he says, right when he rings you up. Fuckin’ hick asshole. It’s been a minute since you got any of that bullshit and it puts you in a funk for the rest of the week. A real bad funk.

And now you’re damn near black-out drunk in his bathroom, puking your guts out, crying ‘til your eyes sting. You feel disgusting. Ugly. Damaged goods. Just a fuckin’ tranny. That’s all you’ll ever be.

But all you can choke out between the heaves is, “I’m a mess, I’m such a fuckin’ mess.”

"Messy’s fine, babygirl. I can handle a mess. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

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these rules for the arcane femslash ship kinktober event featuring a cop have had me speechless all day. where to begin. obligatory three step consent check in is wild for real life much less fanfic. “the characters must show joy and agency” made me laugh hysterically

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i took a 23 and me and it said I was weak of character & predisposed to banditry

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Crinoids

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post-century of humiliation roving bands of american footballers playing their banned sport in the reclaimed grasslands that once were virginia's AI data centers, tended to by secret cheerleaders

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this goes the other way too though bc sometimes I’m hanging out with a fag and I say “oh my gosh perfect perfect” like I do when a child shows me their craft at work

accidentally said fag in front of my boss