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Gem Cities by Neave Bozorgi

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People don't actually grow out of their emo phases. People are forced out of their emo phases by employers who get a raging boner over controlling how their employees dress, cut their hair, whether they mod their bodies and so on

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All it ever does is rain, Christophe Jarcot

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i love you vaccines i love you research i love you reading the book instead of having chatgpt summarize it i love you critically thinking rather than reacting to a headline i love you investigating the source material i love you science i love you math even though you are personally my enemy (math/yn slowburn) i love you writing even though you try to stab me a lot i love you Experts in Your Field i love you Using The Brain

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today alone i dealt with:

-member in ICE detention -workplace racism case -Title IX investigation -worker being denied parental leave -20 separate instances of individuals employers argue don't deserve basic union protections -active misinformation case -grown-ass man throwing a tantrum

and my dudes this is not sustainable

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How do I become more like the moon.

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Googled "how organize when Autistic" and this is helping

"Non-Autistic people generally process new information socially as part of an ongoing dialogue, whereas many Autistics prefer receiving all the relevant facts in a single, linear document they can read and process on their own."

YES. I make these ALL THE TIME and no one reads them but they feel like the single best use of my energy. This is also helping me understand why no one reads my meeting agendas ahead of time, even when they're short.

(This is not a principle specific to organizing, necessarily, but please for the love of the gods, dear everyone everywhere: learn how to run a meeting and make resources.)

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good news: tincture did not kill me, tincture did not kill john either, john liked it so much they asked me if I sell them, winner winner fake chicken dinner.

will this tincture poison me because I made it for a friend but it might have gone off and I don't want to give it to them if so. one way to find out!

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will this tincture poison me because I made it for a friend but it might have gone off and I don't want to give it to them if so. one way to find out!

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Fucking slain in my tracks by this postcard on my friend’s dresser

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This month will be different.

How many poems have started this way: with us standing before a mirror, howling at our dark circles, at everything that sags, pleading, “This month I will rise with the sun. I’ll stretch my body. I’ll have a green juice.” There’s a sadness here, isn’t there? No amount of kale will un-stitch my tension, and celery takes more energy to chew than it gives me back. Where’s the reciprocity? Is it still a relationship if living takes without end.

Look, I want to rest. This month I will go to bed earlier, I tell the mirror, so I can rise with the sun. I forget I am a child of the moon. I forget the way wolves will call to a different sort of light, a different sort of rhythm, nights less mystery than well-worn routine, the dark air a cloak soft enough to beckon tension into itself, away from muscles lax enough to stretch, to be satisfied with motion. I think we want intention, a kind of choice that isn’t up down, up down. Not a reflection of the same plea— this month will be different— but a quiet promise spoken from chin to chest: Everything will loosen.

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imbolc.

Under the ice is a needle of a dream silver-cold and suspended in the silence that comes with the absence of birdsong, with the crucible of waiting to crack yourself open.

Changing, what if I drew myself upward, what if I drew my ghost-breath in graphite on the canvas of the lake, winter running away to the edge.

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Rilke, "Dear Darkening Ground"

Dear darkening ground, you’ve endured so patiently the walls we’ve built,

please give the cities one more hour and grant the churches and cloisters two,

And those that labor — maybe you’ll let their work grip them for another five hours, or seven

before you become forest again, and water, and widening wilderness, in that hour of inconceivable terror when you take back your name from all things.

Just give me a little more time.

I just need a little more time, because I am going to Love the things as no one has thought to love them,

until they’re real and worthy of you.

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so I have recently discovered weed gummies—and look, okay, I knew they existed beforehand but they are legal here and also being a Slow Adopter is a core feature of my personality. anyway edible weed feels like drinking but without the heavy-in-your-body feeling and it is just enough to take the edge off and lighten my head and you know what, I'll take it.

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and:

discomfort is inevitable. it is not an attack.

sitting with it and staying with it is how we learn.

this is a practice that takes practice.

so: practice.

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Let this radicalize you rather than lead you to despair.

Mariame Kaba