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The Felidae

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Enough Goncharov. I want to see more discussion of revolutionary 1928 film The Dancing Cavalier starring Don Lockwood and Lina Lamont (and the uncredited voice of Katherine Selden)

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Boomerang Valentine

I’m sitting on my friends’ couch several months into being intentionally single and celibate for the first time since I was 20 years old 20 years old: when I believed sex had to involve a dude and the word “screw” I’m telling my friend about the psychic who said I’m going to meet the love of my life by the end of January It’s January 10th and I’m so far from ready for cupid, that naked little shit, to fire anything sharp my way

So far from ready for that kind of insane only love makes me My friend musters every bit of new age jargon she can fit into her tongue and says, “What if you are the love of your life?” I think, “Oh my god, I hope that’s not true, because I am absolutely not my type”

But, let’s say for a moment, I am Let’s say I am my dream girl… And boy. And I am standing on my front step Ringing my own doorbell Waiting for me to answer, so I can hand myself a mason jar full of water lilies I have rescued from a millionaire’s Monet Let’s say, I am so charmed by the radiance of my own anarchy I invite myself in for tea And when I’m not looking, I sneak the steam from the kettle into my pocket, so that the next time I am missing the coast of Maine, I can gift myself the fog

Let’s say I’m not just running my mouth around an old cliché that says we gotta love ourselves; we don’t I know that I can keep getting down on myself ‘til I’m tucked into the grave Looking up at my name, carved into stone, wondering why I never knew I’d been cast the lead in my own life

Y'all, when it comes to love, the only thing I’m certain of is you are the best thing that has ever happened to you.. Whoever you are- You’re a quitter? Great, there is plenty worth quitting A sore loser? Who isn’t? You got no discipline? Maybe discipline is for body builders and closeted gay monks Picture a magician so attached to being perfect that he cuts off his own legs just to pull off the trick

Picture the 738 selfies I deleted before I took one that I was willing to show to the world Picture me wishing I could have all of them back My so called “flaws” in stacks, like baseball cards I know will be worth something someday Like, compassion Like, tenderness Like, my capacity to think myself a catch just because I have never seen a chandler I didn’t want to swing from because I would maybe go to space just to know if railroad tracks look like zippers from the moon

On days I have hard time keeping warm in my own weather- I imagine what the first flower said to the first human, trying to name half its flower petals “love me not’s”

No that is not how anything grows Of all the violence I have known in my life, I have not known violence like the way I have spoken to myself

And I have seen almost everyone around me hold that same belt to their own backs Then, looking for someone outside of themselves to come clean that treason up If I were to ask myself out of that cycle, I might say, Listen, I am still going through a growth spurt. I am still yet to get my worst tattoo I am still clearing the smoke from burning the toast I wrote for my own wedding day I am still trying to get rid of my mirror face Look myself, dead in the eye

I know Facebook is a lousy mortician, desperately trying to make us all look more alive I know there are things I haven’t survived I know there are people in this world who have had to work really hard to survive Me, I don’t ever want to take that lightly. But, I want the heavy to anchor me brave to anchor me loving to anchor me in something that will absolutely hold me to my word When I tell cupid I intend to keep walking out to the tip of his arrow To bend it back towards myself To aim for my goodness; until the muscle in my chest tears from the stretching of becoming When I came here to be a lover of whatever got covered up by the airbrush The truth of me: That beauty of a beast

Chewing through the leash 'Til I get a mason jar full of water lilies I got a kettle full of sea And my whole life, y'all, my whole life is just a boomerang valentine; coming right back at me

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is that garnets hair

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hi trans people i hope you get to live. i hope you get to laugh so fucking loud and revel in how the wind blows through your hair and i hope you get to dress the way you like and i hope you get complimented on it. i hope you get to kiss someone or hug someone or hold hands with someone or be told how wonderful you are. i hope you get to dance to weird music and i hope you go swimming with no concerns other than how much sunscreen to put on and i hope you sing bad karaoke with your friends. i hope a kid spots you from across the road and realizes they don't have to live one way forever. i hope we all live

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Remember: the more difficult you make it for them to realize a report is false, the more useless you make the portal.

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Never walk into a cage willingly. If you're already in one: break out.

Digital faux linocut.

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If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.

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Art Nouveau revival-style custom bathroom sink & mirror design by glass artist Lyn Hovey & woodworker Jamie Robertson (1980s)

Scanned from the book, 'Contemporary Crafts for the Home' (1990)

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lost in the moss

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The Emperor’s New … Apprentice? 

I’ve been sitting on these images for a long time now and finally decided to finish them up. It’s just a great combo. 

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Wee Forest Folk: Lighting the Menorah

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Can you believe Clifford the big red dog and Biscuit are Jewish? Icons.