osmpranboogie

[osmpranboogie]

[osmpranboogie]

damn people rly hate type 2 diabetics don't they

[osmpranboogie]

sorry bro I didn't hear your bit I got a little distracted reflecting upon my inadequacies

[osmpranboogie]

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.

[osmpranboogie]

[osmpranboogie]

having anti punitive justice morals sucks because you want to say "man that guy sucks he should get hit with hammers until he dies" but you also want to make it clear you don't think anyone should be put in charge of the 'hit people with hammers until they die" machine.

[osmpranboogie]

“im not gonna say i clocked you with this one…”

“we’re answering these about each other”

guys what the fuck

[osmpranboogie]

They should invent a method of asking for reassurance that nobody secretly hates you that doesn't make people secretly hate you.

[osmpranboogie]

[osmpranboogie]

you really can reach a point with transgender enlightenment wherein you can attribute any bodily feature silhouette and detail to any gender regardless of typical cisgender aesthetic connotations. anything can be a man's body if the person in it is a man. anything can be a woman's body if the person in it is a woman. anything can be a genderless body if the person in it is genderless. and so on. the only thing that matters is the personhood within and whether you are willing to look and know and see it. open your eyes. keep trying until you no longer flinch or turn away in shame or anger or confusion.

[osmpranboogie]

"I don't wanna clock you but.... Topping a twink after they've eaten taco bell" that's ENOUGH! of that. time to put them back in the box until october

[osmpranboogie]

we need more trans men in stem we need more trans men in humanities we need more trans men in the arts we need more trans men in trades we need more trans men everywhere and anywhere and we need to celebrate every single trans man who chooses himself over being a sacrificial lamb for cisfeminist narratives. go make that hrt appointment, boy, you do not fucking need to suffer in silence because you don't want to be "just another man in ___" you are not betraying anyone. cisfeminists betray you when they treat your existence like a symbol instead of a fellow person.

[osmpranboogie]

permission to lib out?

[osmpranboogie]

The sentences "Asexuals can still have sex" and "Aromantics can still date" need to go up on the high shelf for everyone except aces and aros talking about their own experiences. From now on, everyone else has to use the revolutionary new phrase "Asexuals and aromantics can do whatever the fuck they want forever."

[osmpranboogie]

[osmpranboogie]

hate an x reader fic do not put me in a situation

[osmpranboogie]

environmental storytelling