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Please help! Local disaster trans would prefer not to be evicted

I'm so sick of begging on the internet.

We have until Monday to make our rent current. The moratorium on evictions ends after this month. So we could be homeless if this doesn't work out.

I'm disabled. My partner is dealing with chronic illness and works as much as he can doing things like food delivery, Lyft/Uber, etc. But the work is pretty sporadic, and it's gotten worse in recent days.

So, this month's rent has yet to be paid. August's will be due on the first. With late fees, that's about $2000 total.

I'm angry, I'm afraid, I'm tired as hell, and my nerves are shot. Also, last time I did this, my account was deleted. Temporarily, but still. I think it was a flub of the algorithm, but on the off-chance humans were involved: please don't try to get me banned. I'm just trying to survive.

Please donate and boost if you can!

Paypal: nikhartsfield@protonmail.com Venmo: @Nik-Hartsfield Cashapp: $nbvalkyrie89 Zelle: 352-226-7347

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Shop , Patreon , Books and Cards , Mailing List

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Please stop trigger tagging with #epilepsy tw/cw/warning/etc.

I need every single person to understand how horrible tumblr’s tagging system is

I go into the tag for epilepsy and its all flashing lights. We can’t use our own tag because people without epilepsy fill it up with improper warnings.

Use ‘flashing’ in place of ‘epilepsy’ in your tags. You aren’t warning people of epileptics, you’re warning us of flashing lights. Please please tag properly. Epileptics say this endlessly and constantly and it’s ignored. You are risking lives by doing this.

Here’s proof of what I mean:

THIS POST IS 100% OKAY TO REBLOG, I ENCOURAGE PEOPLE WITHOUT EPILEPSY TO ESPECIALLY DO SO!

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It is painful to encounter stupidity as well as malice; but such is the fate of all who attempt to reform an abuse, to urge on humanity to nobler heights, and illumine the world with a new truth.

Frederick Douglass, “Woman Suffrage Movement (1870)” (via philosophybits)

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Do you know any lines/quotes/words about wanting to be someone else/being jealous of someone?

“A thing trapped, you move wounded, you are hurt, you hurt, you want to get out, you want to tear yourself out”  — Margaret Atwood, from Power Politics.

“I want to be destroyed in you, that is, I want to be you. But you are no longer in yourself; you are already entirely in me.”  — Marina Tsvetaeva, from Eathly Signs; Moscow Diaries.

“She felt like somebody else, not herself, a new person, quite glad. But she new it was fragile, and she dreaded it.”  — D.H. Lawrence, from The Rainbow.

“Identity is what we bequeath, not what we inherit, what we invent, not what we remember. Identity is the distorted image in the mirror that we must break the minute we grow fond of it”.  — Mahmoud Darwish, from A River Dies of Thirst.

“I am an image now, again, born in the eyes of others. I am the being that is born wrongly in human eyes. I had always seen and named myself as I was told to”.  — Alice Notley, from Certain Magical Acts.

“How much can you change before and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?”  — Richard Siken, from War of the Foxes.

“They gave me a name and alienated me from myself”.  — Clarice Lispector, from A Breath of Life.

“Can I never escape this interminable mourning for myself?”  — Susan Sontag, from Reborn; Journals and Notebooks 1947-1964.

“Often I would let my own name glide past me though I craved its protection”.   — Louise Glück, from Descending Figure.

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A Goldfinch/steglits munching away on cornflower seeds.

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The pleasure we derive from any department of knowledge is largely due to the glimpse which it gives us of our own nature.

Frederick Douglass, “Self-Made Men (1872)” (via philosophybits)

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S e l a It’s been a while. #OC https://www.instagram.com/p/CQOklUkDqNz/?utm_medium=tumblr

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If I’m honest, I don’t know what idols to keep and what blood oaths to break—I don’t love anything enough to forget its birth.

William Evans, “Inheritance,” from We Inherit What the Fires Left (via bostonpoetryslam)

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Selected Poems, Marina Tsvetaeva

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Do you ever think about how many of the items now considered priceless artifacts were once commonplace items? The coins we now marvel at from behind the glass at a museum were once tossed around, stepped on, and traded around. The pottery painstakingly pieced back together was somebody’s favorite wine jug. The decorative pin now rusted and bent once held together the shoulder of someone’s chiton. History is simply a trail of ordinary people going about their day, and I think there’s an odd sort of beauty in that.

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in nineteen-forty by anna akhmatova

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Let it be enough. Have faith that you will be here, recognizable to yourself, again tomorrow.

Michael Cunningham, The Hours (via deadpoetsmusings)

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My big project is to ask, “What happens if we took language into our own hands or own mouths?” And asked an idiosyncratic question, instead of, “‘How are you?’ ‘Good, good, good.’ ‘Bye.’” The danger is that we go through our whole life talking, but never finding out who we are to one another. It’s okay at Starbucks. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to know everything about you here, drinking a cappuccino.” That’s enough for now, but what about our friends? Our loved ones? What happens when we do want to build that connection, that submersion, and all we have is, “How are you?” A lot of times, we do feel that’s all we have. Just a little tweak in the language opens up so much, “‘When was the last time you saw somebody that make you happy? Are you joyful today? It’s okay if you’re not.’” You say that to someone, and at first, they go, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” It’s like, “No, no, no. I just want to know.” When we do that, the person relaxes, “Oh.” We give each other permission to go there. All the times we say, “Not at the dinner table. Not now. Don’t talk about that,” and we move through silences as people, we lose sight of one another. That’s how the resentment comes.

Ocean Vuong, in conversation with Amy Rose Spiegel for The Creative Independent (via deadpoetsmusings)

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all the snow melts— everywhere the fragrance of wild plum blossoms

Tagami Kikusha, from Far Beyond The Field: Haiku By Japanese Women [translated by Ueda Makoto] (via adrasteiax)