crows use tools and like to slide down snowy hills. today we saw a goose with a hurt foot who was kept safe by his flock - before taking off, they waited for him to catch up. there are colors only butterflies see. reindeer are matriarchical. cows have best friends and 4 stomachs and like jazz music. i watched a video recently of an octopus making himself a door out of a coconut shell.
i am a little soft, okay. but sometimes i can't talk either. the world is like fractal light to me, and passes through my skin in tendrils. i feel certain small things like a catapult; i skirt around the big things and somehow arrive in crisis without ever realizing i'm in pain.
in 5th grade we read The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night-time, which is about a young autistic boy. it is how they introduced us to empathy about neurotypes, which was well-timed: around 10 years old was when i started having my life fully ruined by symptoms. people started noticing.
i wonder if birds can tell if another bird is odd. like the phrase odd duck. i have to believe that all odd ducks are still very much loved by the other normal ducks. i have to believe that, or i will cry.
i remember my 5th grade teacher holding the curious incident up, dazzled by the language written by someone who is neurotypical. my teacher said: "sometimes i want to cut open their mind to know exactly how autistics are thinking. it's just so different! they must see the world so strangely!" later, at 22, in my education classes, we were taught to say a person with autism or a person on the spectrum or neurodivergent. i actually personally kind of like person-first language - it implies the other person is trying to protect me from myself. i know they had to teach themselves that pattern of speech, is all, and it shows they're at least trying. and i was a person first, even if i wasn't good at it.
plants learn information. they must encode data somehow, but where would they store it? when you cut open a sapling, you cannot find the how they think - if they "think" at all. they learn, but do not think. i want to paint that process - i think it would be mostly purple and blue.
the book was not about me, it was about a young boy. his life was patterned into a different set of categories. he did not cry about the tag on his shirt. i remember reading it and saying to myself: i am wrong, and broken, but it isn't in this way. something else is wrong with me instead. later, in that same person-first education class, my teacher would bring up the curious incident and mention that it is now widely panned as being inaccurate and stereotypical. she frowned and said we might not know how a person with autism thinks, but it is unlikely to be expressed in that way. this book was written with the best intentions by a special-ed teacher, but there's some debate as to if somebody who was on the spectrum would be even able to write something like this.
we might not understand it, but crows and ravens have developed their own language. this is also true of whales, dolphins, and many other species. i do not know how a crow thinks, but we do know they can problem solve. (is "thinking" equal to "problem solving"? or is "thinking" data processing? data management?) i do not know how my dog thinks, either, but we "talk" all the same - i know what he is asking for, even if he only asks once.
i am not a dolphin or reindeer or a dog in the nighttime, but i am an odd duck. in the ugly duckling, she grows up and comes home and is beautiful and finds her soulmate. all that ugliness she experienced lives in downy feathers inside of her, staining everything a muted grey. she is beautiful eventually, though, so she is loved. they do not want to cut her open to see how she thinks.
a while ago i got into an argument with a classmate about that weird sia music video about autism. my classmate said she thought it was good to raise awareness. i told her they should have just hired someone else to do it. she said it's not fair to an autistic person to expect them to be able to handle that kind of a thing.
today i saw a goose, and he was limping. i want to be loved like a flock loves a wounded creature: the phrase taken under a wing. which is to say i have always known i am not normal. desperate, mewling - i want to be loved beyond words.
loved beyond thinking.
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this is the stupidest crossover possible but I want Tim to make House his doctor
yes that House
why? He needs someone who is very good, will not give up or send Tim out to a different specialist just because his medical condition is difficult, will not be overly concerned about the danger Tim puts himself in, and will lie on Tim's medical records AND to Batman/Bruce Wayne/all of the Bats without hesitation or fear.
House is and will do all of those things without hesitation. He has no shame, no boundaries, he WILL get into a public fight with Bruce Wayne if it means keeping that man out of his patient's (and House's) business. He will help Tim lie to and gaslight the rest of his family without hesitation.
in exchange, Tim is his favorite patient. Not because they get along, necessarily, Tim is a know-it-all little shit and they constantly bicker and House hates how practically every facet of Tim's existence is a lie (and Tim thinks House is a smug know-it-all jackass who is needlessly cruel and callous bc he thinks the world owes him and never delivers just bc he's in pain, news flash a lot of people are in pain and manage not to be assholes) BUT, 1, Tim brings him really interesting cases and problems, and 2, Tim NEVER lies to House about his medical conditions or what he was doing when they happened.
He lies about literally almost everything else under the sun TO everyone else, but he is 100% completely upfront and honest about his medical history and what is going on with him with House.
admittedly it takes a while for House to realize Tim ISN'T lying to him because some of the shit he says is completely insane ("the vigilante thing is pretty obvious but what do you MEAN you got the Apocalypse virus TWICE, AND SURVIVED, AS A FOURTEEN-FIFTEEN YEAR OLD")
but once he realizes Tim doesn't ever lie to him, he becomes House's favorite patient because at least TIM gives him all of the data he needs as best he's able the moment he asks. At least House doesn't have to waste his time following up on bogus information or figuring out the truth, he can just get right into the meat of the medical issue at hand.
also it's so fun to lie directly to Batman's face, know the man knows, and know he can't do anything about it
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I've been doing a lot of reflection as of late, especially after this past class.
This past class was about the Torah and Tanakh in general, and the way the rabbi talked about the commandments (specifically the ten commandments) has made me really reflect on how I interpret them, specifically the fifth commandment, or honoring your mother and father.
This is a commandment I have wrestled with for a long time - in fact, it brought me away from g-d at multiple times. I was severely abused when I was incredibly young by my mother, and I used to feel insulted at the implication that I were to honor her while she got to live a better life. It was hypocritical, in my eyes.
But this rabbi surmised that this particular commandment was because parenthood is an act of creation, something that is like the g-d from which we come from. My realization is this: I don't think we're necessarily meant to take even these commandments literally.
I this particular commandment is more of a call to honor creation - creation is a gift, and like any gift, many people simply will not like it and will discard it. The person who abused me created me, but she did not honor creation. She didn't honor me, but I can still honor it.
I have started to honor creation much more. I'm too young, too unstable, not mature enough to be a father (though I fantasize about it), but I create all the time. I create relationships, I create with my hands through crochet. I create memories, I create my world. And I can honor who I am and where I came from that made me who I am. I've been learning one of the mother tongues of my family (Italian, since part of my family originates there) and it was judaism that inspired me to do this.
I don't think g-d wants me to honor my abuser. I think He wants me to remember the Holy action of creation. When I am a father, that act of creation will be Holy, and indeed, I am already joyful about the thought.
I have seen many people struggle with this particular commandment, but I think this perspective helps me personally. I don't think I ever have to forgive my abusers (plural), and I don't think I am commanded to simply because they happened to be family. I am commanded to recognize the holy, to elevate the mundane. In doing so, I will remember g-d. Through creation, I honor g-d and everything he has done for us, for me, and for our collective people.
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Since it seems everyone is as horny as I am about men cumming quickly, let’s keep talking about it 🤤
The very second your lips touch Bucky’s, you feel how eager he is already. His lips are warm and plump and slick and insistent, gliding against your own with a hunger you can only hope to match.
His hands trail over your body, touching you with an urgency you’re very much enjoying. His fingertips dig in a little, making you feel like he craves you and it’s entirely dizzying.
“This isn’t fair. You get me so worked up.” He’s practically panting through kisses to your neck, nipping and biting his way to your breasts, encased in the pretty lace he picked out for you.
The thick outline of his cock is more than distracting and even in the dim bedroom light, you notice the sheen of precum that has soaked through his thin underwear.
He kisses your breasts tenderly, not removing your bra just yet. He wants to enjoy it; he wants to be able to call on the memory whenever he needs it.
“Fucking perfect.” He moans, letting his hand trail between your thighs, finding you wetter than he could’ve dreamed.
“Not yet.” You tease, removing his hand and sinking to your knees in front of him, pulling his underwear down his toned legs. His hard length bobs in front of your face, the tip wet with his own arousal and your mouth waters at the thought.
“Prove you can handle my pussy. Show me you deserve it.” Your hand wraps around the base of his cock while your tongue flicks against the tip, savouring the taste of him.
You pump your hand in time with your mouth, pausing every now and again to take as much of him as you can.
Your soft moans are nothing compared to his.
Fuck, he’s lost in the feeling of your warm, wet, sinful mouth and the thought of you swallowing his load.
“Babe please, slow down.” You hear him moan and it makes slowing down the last thing on your mind.
“Don’t you dare.” You take just a second to breathe before you’re back to stroking and sucking his faster than before. He’s not going to last. He knows it. So do you. That’s exactly what you want.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groans, desperately trying not to but that’s hard when he’s watching your pretty face and focusing on the way your lips look wrapped around his dick.
It’s a toss up. In your mouth or over your face? It hardly matters when you have him exactly where you want him.
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