#and a heart

[cattons]

emerald fennell will get on her zoom and say [posh voice] Nooo no darling the rich people are the worrssstt. You’re supposed to side with the povvo. referring to the 130 minute film she helmed in which a family of prejudiced but loveable aristocrats are murdered and usurped by an upper middle class lunatic

[not-poignant]

As a fellow trans person, thank you for not giving terfs a platform. I follow other writers who answer transphobic questions - not because they themselves are transphobic but because I think they think it's best to just answer whatever question is sent to them - and it's always horrible to come across on my dash. So thank you for not posting whatever that anon sent you.

Much love 💕❤💕

Honestly from a purely selfish perspective, I just get so tired of seeing it. Not just TERF bullshit, but sometimes even the activism and the responses.

Like, I'm existentially tired of the growing amount of hate and I don't want to have it here. I don't want someone scrolling past to see an ask from an anon and get that kneejerk 'oh my god, here too??' and I even thought about not making my PSA but then it was like, no I'll make the PSA, because I think some newcomers don't realise I'm trans.

As far as I'm concerned, I'm never going to let a TERF through unless I have a very very good reason to do so, and I honestly can't think of one right now. They can exhale their toxins in other spaces, they don't get to poison the well here.

Trans people are awesome, we deserve to not have our identities questioned, the language we use questioned etc. by the people who hate and fear us because they are small-minded asshats who want so desperately to feel hurt by things that are ultimately none of their business, while in the process hurting a lot of other people.

Anyway! Tl;dr - You're welcome, I did it for me too, because that shit's painful, and sometimes you do not want to see it every single day, on every single social media site. Would rather just be full of trans support instead.

Besides, I pretty regularly tear transphobes apart on Twitter so

[kd-heart]

“How are you, sis? How have you been keeping?”

[distantsonata]

anyone wanna come over and watch me die in incredibly stupid ways @ dark souls. anyone. hey. c'mon. hey

[lotrmusical]

never let anyone tell you that trawling through mediocre victorian poetry isn't worth it. we just happened upon an absolute BANGER of a worm poem. go read it or else 🪱🪱🪱

[ur-daily-inspiration]

[spooksier]

young artist posting your work online, heed my warning. im holding your face so gently in my hands, you have to stop caring about numbers right now and start caring about making the weirdest and most self-indulgent art you possibly can

[riacte]

not romantic not platonic but a secret third thing [what would happen between earth and the moon if the earth stopped spinning as illustrated by xkcd randall munroe]

[hjarta]

[dee-the-red-witch]

Oh look, just as fast and dirty as any other April 1st gag bit. Matt, Staff, Automattic, etc, FIX YOUR HEARTS. And do some work on the real problem on here.

[skipppppy]

Congrats?

[ca-dmv-bot]

Customer: A'S MAMA, MY KIDS ALL HAVE "A" NAMES. DMV: ASS MAMA Verdict: ACCEPTED

[leiandroid]

"free palestine," he shouted until his last breath. aaron bushnell, we will never forget you.

as much as bushnell's actions has moved us all, please seek other ways to take actionable measures against the injustices we face in the world. none of us wanted him gone, and the least we can do is prevent another such tragedy by supporting each other in our efforts to enact lasting change.

[feluka]

oh god shut up. you didn't even know the damn kid.

"The children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe, and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this may be incapable of morality." — James Baldwin

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[obsob]

i am a being capable of immeasurable love and whimsy