#THIS IS HOW IT WORKS FOR ME

[catofthecanals289]

all the lights

a maxiel drabble for my beloved @lilyrizzy Happy Birthday, the world is suhc a wonderful place simply for having you in it. I love you so much. (contains medical stuff and mpreg [sort of, it’s complicated])

The answer is no. It was ’no’ twenty minutes ago and it’s still a no now.

Daniel doesn’t want to leave. He is not going to leave, that’s what he told them when they asked for the first time, the second time, but the third –

“Sir,” the nurse or midwife or doctor, Daniel doesn’t know, doesn’t care says, having sat down on the chair next to him. “Surgery will take a bit longer still, you are not missing anything by going up to the unit. But you are missing something by stay here. Please, consider.”

What’s there to consider? Daniel doesn’t ask.

He presses his lips together, tilts his face away, fixing his eyes on a spot on the floor. His leg keeps bouncing, his hands clam and sweaty, grasping each other. His heart hasn’t stopped hammering against his ribs for hours. Not since he woke up to Max’s panicked voice, finding blood between his legs.

Days have passed since that moment, but according to the clock, it’s not even been two hours.

“Sir,” the woman says again, brows drawn together when Daniel glances at her.

“Max’s here. So I’m here,” he says tightly, voice feeling rough, unused.

Has he spoken since they took Max from him? Since they wheeled him into the operating room? Since he called Max’s name, desperate, and Max turned his head, skin pale, eyes wide. He’d opened his mouth but the door had shut before he could.

“And your daughters are upstairs,” the woman pushes.

Daniel –grimacing, eyes squeezed shut- nods. “Yeah, well.”

“They need you.”

“Right.”

He shakes his head, lips pinched together.

“They do.”

“For what?” he looks at her again and he can tell she’s taken aback by his cutting tone, but-

She puts her hand on his shoulder, a small, cautious smile on her lips, eyes almost pleading. “You’re their dad. They need you.”

“I’m- Right, yeah. No. I-” He shakes his head again, leg bouncing, heart racing. He can’t fucking look at her. She must think he’s a terrible person and maybe he is. Maybe he’s been a terrible person throughout this entire pregnancy but- “I need to be here. I need – Max.”

He gestures in the direction of the operating room.

They weren’t ready. This wasn’t supposed to happen. So soon. And not like this.

32 weeks, that was the goal. 32 weeks so the babies would be big enough to not- So they’d be stronger. Their lungs, and- And so much. Daniel listened to the doctors, he swears he’d listened, but- They have a calendar at home at the fridge and just the day before yesterday Daniel crossed off the 28 week mark. They only just-

Max had watched from the bed, directing Daniel, handing him the marker, hand on his bump and he’d told Daniel, when Daniel had counted the weeks that were left and only gotten paler, that everything would be okay. That he was excited to meet them. Their girls. And wasn’t Daniel?

But Daniel is a terrible fucking person and all he wanted, all he wants now, is for Max to be okay.

“We can make a new one,” he’d told Max when they first found out, terrified and confused beyond anything. “We just- Max. Max, c’mon. Please.”

He’d wanted an abortion. They’d told them it was safest. That Max- Max’s body wasn’t made for this. He had the parts, yes and none of them fucking knew until- But his body wasn’t fucking meant to do this. It was dangerous. He could die. None of the do doctors, none, none of the experts and specialist-

But Max had wanted to try, hadn’t wanted to make a new baby through surrogacy, or have one by adoption. He’d wanted this. Their miracle baby, growing inside his body against all odds and logic. And Daniel had nodded and said “okay,” and there were moments where he’d thought he could do this, could be a dad. But he was wrong. He was so fucking wrong. He can’t do any of this. There is still blood on his hands and if Max dies-

“Wouldn’t Max want you to at least go see them?” the woman asks voice even gentler now, and fuck, Daniel has to wipe at his eyes again. “When he gets out of surgery, he’ll want to hear how they are doing.”

“You can tell him,” Daniel croaks, tasting salt on his lips.

He doesn’t know shit anyway. Even if he went to see the girls, he- What does he know? Jack shit. He doesn’t- They don’t even have names yet. They couldn’t decide and now-

“He’ll want to hear it from you,” she insists, and she’s right, but-

“He might fucking die,” he says, trying and failing to smile. “He might not ever hear anything I tell him ever fucking again, so-”

“So all the more reason to,” she cuts him off. “Sir, there really is nothing you can do here right now. But you can do this.”

 He can’t. He really, really can’t. Every step he takes makes him feel more sick. He’s lead through a corridor. A door, another door, another corridor. There are signs and numbers and he can’t read any of them, can’t look at the pictures on the walls a t the people they pass, not that there are many. It’s still- The sun hasn’t even risen yet, it’s not-

“Congratulations, c’mon in,” a woman, smaller than the one before says, kind smile on her lips, paired with her words it feels almost mocking though.

He stares at her and right, they are in front of a door, two names written on colorful cards.

Verstappen 1, Verstappen 2.

“What-” he says, gesturing to the cards.

“Oh, because there weren’t names yet. Or have you picked?” the woman says.

Her name tag ready Hailey, Daniel can’t remember if she told him or when he’s been handed over to her, his head is still spinning and he’s pretty sure he might throw up.

“We- No. We hadn’t- We thought we still had time, I-“

“That’s okay, don’t worry,” she says, offering another smile. “Lots of parents haven’t decided on names yet when it’s baby time. Even if it’s full term pregnancies. Just tell us when you know, yes? Now.” Her smile widens a little. “Would you like to meet your daughters?”

“Just- I need to go back downstairs?” he says, turning to look where- but he doesn’t know. Which direction was he- How is he going to get back? He doesn’t-

There’s the nurses’ station right there, eyes on him, whispers.

“Well, how about we just go in and I introduce you, yeah?” Hailey says, unperturbed. “Now, I need you to take off all jewellery on your arms and hands. Watches, bracelets, rings – that includes wedding rings. Then please wash your hands very thoroughly at the sink and then when your hands are dry disinfect them. This is very important you need to do that every time you come here. No exceptions. We also need to talk quietly. No loud noises in this room please.”

He nods.

She opens the door.

“So, the girls are doing well,” Hailey says, as they walk up to the first of the – the incubators. The lights are dim in the room, but there’s still some sort of blanket over it, but she removes it and then- “This is number 1. She and her sister both need some help breathing still, which is to be expected at 28 weeks. They are also very small for their gestational age, which we assume is due to the conditions, which- Well.”

She smiles, a little awkward now.

The conditions. She means Max’s womb. Max’s hormonal situation. The way the placenta attached, how it couldn’t- Max wasn’t made for this. Or not- Only sort of. Just- It wasn’t ideal. Not for Max or the babies. Just a fucking fuck up from nature and now Daniel is a father and so is Max but Max might die and there is a tiny little creature lying in a plastic box in front of him, stuff strapped to its little face, frail, twig like limbs tucked in close to its body, chest rising and falling so quickly, wires everywhere and-

“So she’s got 725 grams, and her sister is at 680 grams, which-”

“I don’t know what that means, I don’t-” He shakes his head, throat tight, stomach twisting.  

She’s- His- Their girl. She’s- She’s so fucking small, he doesn’t-

“Oh, 25.57 ounces,” Hailey explains. “That’s her. And our little lady over there, she’s got 23.98.”

“That’s-”Again he shakes his head, having to turn around. “That’s too small. That’s not- No. That’s-”

“That is very small, yes,” Hailey allows. “But, sir. Right now they are doing well and we are monitoring them. “They get some help breathing, but thanks to the RDS prophylaxis your- The mo- Your partner received their lungs are doing pretty well. The girls are both breathing on their own. They received surfactant already. No brain bleeds so far, and-”

“Okay, yeah, I- I gotta go back downstairs,” Daniel cuts in. “I’ve got to- Max- My partner, he is still in surgery, so.”

“Oh.” She blinks. “Oh, sure, yes, but, if you- Well, it would be so incredibly beneficial for your babies to get skin to skin contact? It’s- We call it kangaroo care and-”

Daniel laughs, he can’t help it. It’s a shrill, crazy little sound  and before Hailey can say anything there’s a cry.

A tiny, barely there, barely audible cry, coming from behind Daniel. Coming from  - her.

She-

Daniel turns around and there she is, her little miniature face twisted into a grimace, little mouth quivering and the sound she makes- IT shatters his heart-

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, love,” he whispers quickly, desperately, hands flying, helpless in front of the plastic wall. “I’m- Shit. What-  Just- Because I’m Australian, I was-”

He looks at Hailey, terrified. She needs to do something, she needs- His little girl is crying. She’s crying and she’s just so small.

“It’s okay, you just startled her,” Hailey says softly. “The loud noise. It’s okay. We’ll just- You know she is still adapting. She’s not- We always say they need a little bit, to truly arrive, you know? To the world? Everything is so much for them. The noise, the light, everything. So we try our best to shield them, but positive stimulation is just as important as shielding them from negative one. And part of that is skin to skin. It’s- She needs you, sir. They both do.”

She’s still crying. It’s a pitiful little sound, not like the baby cries Daniel remembers form Isaac or Izzy or Leo.

“But Max-”

“Labor and delivery will call us,” Hailey says. “They’ll inform us and we’ll inform you. I promise. Now, please. It’s really, really so important for your babies. ”

 She tells him to take off his shirt. She puts him in a chair that reminds Daniel of a sun lounger except he’s not getting a tan. His heart is beating out of his chest. He’s lying there shirtless and terrified and Hailey and another nurse who introduced herself as Abby hand him tubes and wires and then- then There’s first one baby on his chest and then another. Two tiny little creatures. They tell him to hold him. Put his hands on their backs as they sort out the wires and tubes and everything and his fucking- One of his finger is bigger and longer than each of their legs and their hands-

“Are they- Is this-” This can’t be right. This can’t be- They are too small for him to hold, to lie on his chest and be covered by towels. They fucking- There’s a heating lamp, they need- “Shouldn’t they go back in the boxes?”

„The incubators?“ Abby asks, frowning. “Oh, no, not his is best for them. Skin to skin. With mom. Or dad. It’s the best for them really. Helps them stabilize their temperature and heartrate, breathing, everything.”

“Yeah, but-”

Daniel feels so helpless, useless. He’s just- He’s nothing, no one. He just- They don’t even know him. They grew inside Max, they know him, his heartbeat, his voice, Daniel just-

“They know your voice too,” Hailey says, almost like she’s read his mind. “So you can talk to them quietly. Sooth them if they need it.”

But they don’t. They are both quiet now. Both just there where the nurses put them on Daniel’s chest, bellies down, heads tilted towards each other, little hands on Daniel’s skin, it’s- It might be the most surreal thing Daniel has ever experienced. Three hours ago it was just him and Max in bed together and now he’s alone in a hospital room with their daughters and Max-

“Can you call?” he asks, keeping his voice low, despite its tremble. “Down to- Ask how he’s doing? Max? He-”

“Of course.”

 Two hours pass before the door opens again and it’s not just Hailey or Abby, but both of them as well as two other people in scrubs and a bed. A bed with Max inside and a number of things attached. IV pumps and stuff, Daniel thinks, but he has no eyes for any of that. Just Max. Max who seems to barely be able to tilt his head, looking around, looking for-

“Max,” Daniel croaks and on his chest one of the babies splays her fingers, almost making him choke up again. “Maxy, hey. Hi. How-”

“I’m okay,” Max croaks, voice hoarse and barely there, probably because of the tube they had shoved down his throat for surgery.

“He lost a lot of blood,” someone Daniel doesn’t know says. “And we are admitting him to the ICU so this is just for ten minutes tops, I’m sorry, but-”

“Let’s just sort this,” Hailey cuts in, smile on her face.

There’s a flurry of motion then, pushing around of equipment, adjusting tubes, wires, everything and it seems like a whole lot of work but Daniel doesn’t care because by the end of it they have somehow managed to fit Max’s bed next to the chair Daniel is in, the tubes of baby 2 sort of half under Max’s pillow who looks even paler than before, exhausted and only half awake.

“Hi,” he says, and his hand-

“I can’t,” Daniel whispers. It kills him not to reach out, not to take Max’s hand, but. “I got-”

“Oh,” May blinks and then Abby leans over pulling back the towels a bit so Max can see the girls. “They are so little.”

“Yeah.” Daniel nods, but he manages half a smile, tears gathering in his eyes again. “They are. and they’d really like names, I think. And meet their papa.”

“Oh,” Max says again. “Hi, babies. It is your papa.”

[noctilin]

Oh my gosh aaa youre one of my favorite artists !! Theres so much life and vibrancy to your works it still makes me feel so warm inside after all these years and I want the same kind of vibe to my works. May I ask where you get tend your ideas from..? I'm having such a hard time thinking of fun concepts for my own favorite pairings and you have all sorts of ideas that inspire me so much!! ;;-;; Youre so good with fluff!!

THANK YOU FOR YOUR KIND WORDS!! being a romantic fluff fanartist is very easy in only a few steps! ^_^

find a ship you like

let it possess you and become an obsessed little freak about it

???? (this is you blacking out and not recalling anything else in your life)

congrats the ship's controlling and dictating everything in your life like it's remy from ratatouille and you're linguini

[sylvies-kablooie]

i do unironically think the best artists of our generation are posting to get 20 notes and 3 reblogs btw. that fanfic with like 45 kudos is some of the best stuff ever written. those OCs you carry around have some of the richest backstories and worldbuilding someone has ever seen. please do not think that reaching only a few people when you post means your art isn't worth celebrating.

[ink-the-artist]

Love the contrast between the Americans’ “Apollo” and the Soviets’ “Sputnik.” You got the Americans naming their rocket after a Greek god trying to communicate the grandness and importance of this rocket. And you got the Soviets naming their rocket “fellow traveler.” Like a friend you go on an  adventure with together. This rocket is our little friend lol 

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[fox-mulder-gets-pegged]

I just wanna say bc I KNOW you're somewhere on tumblr, to the teenage girl who attended Take Your Kid To Work Day at an office building in Ontario, Canada circa 2013 and had a conversation with a middle aged woman in which you showed her your Black Veil Brides fanart and fanfics and ship content and told her about different fanfic tropes including a/b/o verse bc she happened to know who Panic! at The Disco and Fallout Boy were and thus you felt the need to show her your bandblr ship art, that was my fucking mother and I had to clarify all that to her including looking my mother in the eye and trying to explain a/b/o verse without sounding like a lunatic.

It's been 10 years and I still regularly sent evil energies in your direction. Since you'd be probably two years younger than me and thus legally an adult now, please know if this post reaches you it's on sight.

[nipuni]

David's BAFTA looks 🥰

[fluent-in-lesbianism]

She probably helped that girl solve her teen sexuality dilemma anyway, because if that were me and I asked an adult for advice only to find out the adult’s not only worse off than me but also the dumbest person alive, I’d accept the lesbianism just to get out of the awkward situation...

[deanpinterester]

i cannot stress this enough: if your reasoning for clowning on the mcu is "they overwork their cg artists and animators" i 1000% guarantee that a show or movie you have been stanning for years also abused their artists and you just haven't heard about it because the production companies aren't in the spotlight like mcu productions are. that cartoon for kids? that incredibly animated movie? that non-marvel superhero movie? i've seen people declare their hatred for the way the mcu treats their workers and then turn around and gush about a show that i know for a fact was hell for the artists attached

and no this is NOT me saying "this means you should stop hating on the mcu uwu" it's me saying you gotta be aware that this shit is an INDUSTRY WIDE PROBLEM. you CANNOT "fix" it by refusing to watch mcu movies and feeling good about it. you have to be aware that it's EVERYWHERE. why do you think so many animation and vfx productions are sourced in canada? in india and the phillipines? we are not unionized.

i know it's hard to face the idea that your favourite show might have been made unethically especially when you've spent so much time hating the mcu for doing the same thing. you don't have to start hating your favourite show. just like...be aware. don't be smarmy about it. don't claim without research that a beautifully animated movie Must mean the animators were not working 16 hour days and weekends. i do think we can fix this 👍 but we can't fix it if 90% of us don't even realize what the problem really is

[herssian]

i don’t know where the notion that if you don’t give big bucks to an artist then you’re not really supporting them came from, but when people say even a tiny bit of monetary support saves an artist, it’s not for the aesthetic or the gesture of it all. i’ve been able to have actual drinking water on days i’ve been incredibly broke simply because someone bought a brush pack for 2 euros. in the most actual, literal way i could possibly convey this: the SMALLEST amount counts. in practice counts. people-get-to-eat-today counts. especially in this age of everyone and their mother being out to deplatform artists. there’s value in the tiniest of ways

[doccywhomst]

tumblr glitch that hath rended my dash asunder:

free shitpost generator??? why isn’t this an official browsing mode. anyway here are my fav screen grabs, all hits no misses:

pure poetry. it’s like trying to tune into a specific radio station but you have giant lobster claws instead of hands

[unforth]

Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.

That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.

That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.

That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.

That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.

That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.

That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.

None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.

I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.

If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.

Celebrate fan work!

To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.

[mroddmod]

everyone be quiet i'm manifesting

[lenaellsi]

doodles from a happier future

[catmask]

with that said there are characters that a fat maybe not canonically but they are spiritually. to me. they may not be drawn that way but i know whats true. ive seen it like a sort of prophet

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.