#Harold Norse

[linsaad]

Es lunes, sí. Pero es un lunes que no volverá nunca. Así que sonríe y da igual donde te pille, siente cada minuto, ten un buen gesto con alguien, positividad, habla las cosas, y, sobre todo, vive.

#Rubio José.

[tongue-in-cheek]

American idiom

a fire in my brain burns the slag & trash deposits of my century

(more)

[6peaches]

Harold Norse - Breathing the strong smell

breathing the strong smell of each other I want it to last forever it is never enough warming the coldness of the heart

we stood holding each other two men locking eyes and lips then your mind cut the flow and it was abruptly over

yet I felt curiously healed as if life were about to begin

[antiquariaunt]

Sometimes I forget that Scottish author Sir Walter Scott wrote a long poem about a gay viking in exile who is so very clearly in love with his transgender page who gets outed by Odin himself. What a legend.

[whencyclopedia]

The Danish Conquest of England

The Danish conquest of England was not a singular event, but a series of large Viking invasions of England between 1013 and 1016, which eventually overthrew the native English dynasty. As a result, four kings from the House of Denmark ruled England between 1013 and 1042.

The North Sea Empire of Cnut the Great, 1016 - 1035

Simeon Netchev (CC BY-NC-ND)

The Danish king Sweyn Forkbeard (also spelt Swein, r. 986-1014) initially conquered England in 1013, driving out the English king, Aethelred the Unready (r. 978-1013 and 1014-1016). Upon Sweyn's death in 1014, though, Aethelred returned with a show of force and temporarily reversed the Danish conquest. Sweyn's son, Cnut the Great (r. 1016-1035), fought against Aethelred and his successor, Edmund Ironside (r. 1016), from 1014-1016. After decisively defeating Edmund at the Battle of Assandun on 18 October 1016 – and Edmund's death a few weeks later – Cnut became England's second Danish king. At the height of his power in the late 1020s, Cnut ruled England, Denmark, and Norway and was heavily involved in wider European politics.

After Cnut's death, his sons, Harold Harefoot (r. 1035-1040) and Harthacnut (r. 1040-1042) ruled in England for seven more years. The dynasty reached a dead end upon Harthacnut's death in 1042, and Aethelred's line was restored to power under Edward the Confessor (r. 1042-1066). However, the Danish conquest continued to affect English politics after Harthacnut's death, as Scandinavian claimants threatened the kingdom during and after the events of the Norman conquest of England.

The Vikings: No Strangers to Britain

Although Vikings are most prominently associated with Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, Norse influence stretched across northern Europe and into North America by the time of the Danish conquest. After the legendary settlement of Iceland, the Vikings in Iceland established settlements, Viking Age Greenland was thriving, and Vinland (Newfoundland) was explored by the Vikings by the early 11th century. Dublin was controlled by the Vikings in Ireland, and Strathclyde and the Isle of Man were also Scandinavian-influenced areas.

Much like the rest of northern Europe, the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms had dealt with Viking raids in Britain since the end of the 8th century. A particularly fierce struggle took place during the reign of the West Saxon king Alfred the Great in the late 9th century, while the northern kingdom of York was frequently under Norse rule. Only in the 10th century did something resembling 'England' emerge as one entity, and its mid-10th-century kings frequently saw their kingdom break apart at the hands of rulers from Ireland and Scandinavia. A lull in Viking activity in England in the 960s and 970s allowed the kingdom some time to stabilize. In the 980s, small raids began again in England, but it is unlikely that these minor incursions were from Scandinavia itself or had any connection with the Danish conquest that would follow decades later.

Continue reading...

[filmnoirsbian]

Things read & watched in February

Articles & Essays:

I’m Willing To Throw People Under The Bus If It Means Pretending To Relive My Childhood

Reading is precious--which is why I've been giving away my books

In the shallow world of BookTok, being ‘a reader’ is more important than actually reading

My Book Blew Up on Instagram. Why isn't TikTok for Me?

Before Nirvana or Pearl Jam, there was Tina Bell, the godmother of grunge.

Anthony Bourdain's Last Interview

Fugging hell: tired of mockery, Austrian village changes name

Why I Was Never A Riot Grrrl

My Insider Experience as a Seatfiller at the Grammys

“Jackass” Made Me the Trans Woman I Am

The Essential Judy Blume

Fall of the Progressive Boy King

Creatures That Don't Conform

An Interview with Franny Choi

Our Enduring LGBTQ Symbols

World's First Anime AMV Creator Has Passed Away

This Is What Netflix Thinks Your Family Is

The article removed from Forbes, “Why White Evangelicalism Is So Cruel”

Why Do We Let “Genius” Directors Get Away With Abusive Behavior?

Colour & Shape: Using Computer Vision to Explore the Science Museum Group Collection

Poetry:

Edge of the Wild by Leah Umansky

A DEATH MASK IS A WAY TO PERPETUATE THE TRANSITORY by Chuck Carlise

Song For The Old Ones by Maya Angelou

People by D. H. Lawrence

Rain, First Morning by Joanna Klink

The Almost Love Poem of Eloise and Kofi by Brian Gyamfi

Let Him Rest by George Abraham

Two Shabbats with Paul Celan by Miller Oberman

Flesh by Deborah Landau

Harold Norse says, “Poetry meant being a sissy and worse. A fairy. A friend of mine once asked me why all poets were fairies. Well, I answered, that’s because they can fly.” by Tyler Raso

Books:

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

Reading 'Lolita' in Tehran by Azar Nafisi

Devotions by Mary Oliver

Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente

Films:

[balladofthewhitehorse]

I think England experiences moments of terror. All of them do, one way or another, but I am focusing on England (surprise, surprise). I think - undoubtedly - that England has moments of abject paranoia and terror, accrued from centuries of being the war-beaten and the war-driven mutt that he is. He would pace the cliffs of Dover, with a haunted look in his eyes, muttering that 'the damn Dutch are going about, plotting to invade' - despite the fact that Netherlands and he get along quite well, now they're not at one another's throats. He was a born and bred guard dog. An attack dog. Those teeth still remember the taste of iron; That's never going to go away for him. I think this is particularly acute by the sea - a bitter irony, as England adores the seaside and adores the things that come with it. He's an incredibly proud individual when it comes to his coastline, and will happily brag about it to the likes of Spain, Portugal, France and Italy and all those mediterranean countries with their gorgeous beaches. Nothing like pebbles, England insists. Or the North Sea. That aside, his moments of dread can come on at any time - but it is the sea that invokes the purest, keenest dread that England has ever felt. A familiar one. A constant companion since he were a bawling, a mewling kid clinging to Wales' side like a burr, with fat knuckles and a wild-look in his eyes. One might even assume that it is the sea that is scaring him - that it is nothing more than a fear of the deep waters. Were it so simple. He is not afraid of the sea. He is afraid of what might come over it. He's seen enemies come over the horizon before. It is always from a distance, the peek of a sail over the horizon before all Hell breaks. An old ship carrying the rattling swords of Norse soldiers; William's army landing on the shores of England, to taunt Harold into battle; Pride is broken beneath the white-glare of England's cliffs, and he hates it. He hates knowing that he can be weak. He hates that he is reliant on the Sea for its protection; And yet, it is not entirely infalliable. Burden on both his pride and sense of security, England will be as if frozen. It will be an uncanny quiet, England stone-faced as he stares out... An unnerving sight, England will be silent and still; For his siblings, this is a bit of a familiar thing. In the past, England was very much a quiet, cunning sort - efficient and smart in battle, only losing his temper when face to face with Scotland, or any other Nation. He remembers what it is like to be weak, and England hates it. For his siblings, his quietness is a warning sign - and they struggle sometimes, to break through this stillness. Wales is usually better at it, than Scotland is.

[kinderartifact4]

A list of my Total Drama AUs because I love them all wholeheartedly, feel free to ask questions about any of them.

-

-

-

Animal Mutant AU 🐾🧬

+this AU was just an excuse to make Noah an owl person

+canon divergence happens shortly after Action/before World Tour

+The mutations are a worldwide phenomenon, it’s happening to everyone and no one knows why

-

-

A Bloodsucker and A Mutt🩸🐺

+Alenoco AU

+Show goes on as normal for the most part

+Noah’s a vampire

+Alejandro’s a werewolf

+Cody’s just there

+made this AU for fun

-

-

Magic AU ✨

+Magical creatures living amongst humans type thing, but it’s my takes on them

+Like we got merfolk, satyrs, angels, demons, elves, harpies, that kinda thing

+It’s like an assimilated society thing, they’re mostly at peace with each other with some mild species specific discrimination mostly courtesy of humans

+mild feels like an understatement

+everything’s got so much lore

+and of course, we got ✨magic✨

+there is a war that happens later on in the AU, so there’s that too

Posts

Assigned Species: Gen 1 Cast, Hosts, Emma & Kitty

Assigned Species: Gen 2 Cast

Assigned Species: Gen 3 Cast

Assigned Species: RR Cast pt.1

Assigned Species: RR Cast pt.2

Assigned Species: Reboot Cast

-

-

Monster Apocalypse AU 🏚

+It’s an apocalypse, but not with zombies, these things are smarter than zombies

+People do die, so warning for that I guess

+Almost nobody is having a good time

Posts:

Duncan’s Group

Emma & Kitty’s Groups

Shawn’s Group

Cody’s Groups

Tyler’s Groups

Gwen’s Group

Fic Snippets

Mike’s Old Group

RR Beginning Groups pt.1

RR Beginning Groups pt.2

Sky & Scarlett’s Groups

Reboot Groups

-

-

Drider! Duncan Dunoah AU🕷

+Sort of a high school AU? Most of them go the same school since a lot are kept human for this)

+Just a clingy drider with abandonment issues and his human bf who doesn’t actually understand how he got here

+definitely more of a self indulgent AU

+I don’t remember why I made this AU but now I can’t get rid of it

-

-

Godly Patron AU ✨🙏✨

+Some of the cast each has a god that has taken a liking to them

+they’re my take on gods because I like having full creativity, so none of the ones people usually know about are here(like greek or norse gods)

+Alejandro is not having a good time

+Noah has the oldest god

+Alejandro’s got a lot more lore than he was originally going to have

+Made this AU because I wanted Cody to have a proper parental figure, then it kinda turned into this along the way

+Aleheather got that “Doomed Love” trope going on

Posts

Assigned Gods pt.1

Assigned Gods pt.2

Fic Snippet

-

-

Wings of Fire AU 🐉

+My favorite book series combined with one of my favorite shows

Posts

Assigned Tribes: Gen 1

Alejandro’s Design | José and Carlos’ Designs

Trent’s Design | Bridgette’s Design

Heather’s Design | Cody’s Design

Tyler’s Design | Justin’s Design

Geoff’s Design | Lightning’s Design

Zoey’s Design | Noah’s Design

Owen’s Design | Fic Snippets

Harold’s Design | Gwen’s Design

DJ’s Design | Izzy’s Design

Cameron’s Design | Lindsay’s Design

Katie & Sadie’s Designs | Duncan’s Design

-

-

Trollhunter Cody AU🧌🗡

+I just thought it’d be fun

+Cody would be the type of guy to say “crispy” wouldn’t he

Posts

The only post I have

-

-

Project Cythraul AU💉

+The whole concept is old, like 2019 old, but it has since then been revamped

+The entire WT cast goes missing like halfway through Egypt, with almost no trace other than what’s on the plane and something left in the sand

+They stay missing for 2 or 3 years before one of them finally shows up again with amnesia

+Main premise of the AU is a secret facility that specializes in DNA manipulation

-

-

Hidden Magic AU 😶‍🌫️✨

+AU is otherwise known as “A group of immortals build a camp in a magic pocket dimensional forest for some reason and end up with a bunch of kids”

+there are other residents but the amount of children that show up there is concerning

+humans are quite irrelevant here, we don’t see them much

+the lore for most of the characters is a bit dark, but hey

Posts

Reassigned Species

About the Burromuertos

-

-

Nivi AU 👽

+This AU was an excuse to give Cody a best friend, and that friend is my OC Nivi!

+Nothing really changes, even though she’s in World Tour

+This AU has since evolved into “Alejandro and his gaggle of idiots™”, ie. Alejandro, Nivi, Cody, Duncan, and Lexi(OC/Nivi’s girlfriend) all share an apartment. It’s an interesting concept.

+I think of this AU often

+During Island and Action, people don’t really think Nivi exists because “Cody couldn’t possibly have actual friends outside the show!”

+This makes Nivi feel like some kind of cryptid and she loves it.

-

-

“What If?” Mutant AU ☣️

+A small AU I came up with, sort of a “What if?” AU. The what if being “What if other people came into contact with toxic waste?”

+The people who are mutated are the same as canon (Dakota, that one intern, Ezekiel had some toxic waste exposure, it’s just more obvious here).

+Additional mutant individuals include Noah, Duncan, Alejandro, and maybe a couple others but I’m not sure.

+The mutant individuals can’t go back to their families, they don’t want them to see them like this anyways, so Chris keeps them on Pahkitew Island (in the facility for the duration of that season).

+Alejandro is lost at sea for a bit before they finally catch him and put him with the others

-

-

ToA IOTS AU 🔪

+Technically still a TD AU since the AU it’s based off is TD. Idk I’m not making a separate post for my ToA AUs there’s too few of them for that. And this is the only one I’m sharing probably.

-

-

Interdimensional Remnant AU🔚

+Area 51, something went wrong, everything was destroyed. The base, the earth, the galaxy, the universe, everything.

+The gods tried to stop it in time, remove the source. When they realized it was too late, they instead grabbed the thing closest to it.

+Alejandro Burromuerto is the only remaining piece of a dead dimension, and the gods blame him for its destruction.

+Came up with this AU while listening to a song AXOLOTL by bumr, I do love the concept, great angst potential.

+Technically a branch off of the Godly Patron AU in the sense that the gods do exist.

[kvetchlandia]

Uncredited Photographer Beat Poets Allen Ginsberg, Harold Norse, Jack Hirschman, Michael McClure and Bob Kaufman, Caffe Trieste, San Francisco 1975

I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look at the sunset over the box house hills and cry. Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery. The oily water on the river mirrored the red sky, sun sank on top of final Frisco peaks, no fish in that stream, no hermit in those mounts, just ourselves rheumy-eyed and hung-over like old bums on the riverbank, tired and wily. Look at the Sunflower, he said, there was a dead gray shadow against the sky, big as a man, sitting dry on top of a pile of ancient sawdust— —I rushed up enchanted—it was my first sunflower, memories of Blake—my visions—Harlem and Hells of the Eastern rivers, bridges clanking Joes Greasy Sandwiches, dead baby carriages, black treadless tires forgotten and unretreaded, the poem of the riverbank, condoms & pots, steel knives, nothing stainless, only the dank muck and the razor-sharp artifacts passing into the past— and the gray Sunflower poised against the sunset, crackly bleak and dusty with the smut and smog and smoke of olden locomotives in its eye— corolla of bleary spikes pushed down and broken like a battered crown, seeds fallen out of its face, soon-to-be-toothless mouth of sunny air, sunrays obliterated on its hairy head like a dried wire spiderweb, leaves stuck out like arms out of the stem, gestures from the sawdust root, broke pieces of plaster fallen out of the black twigs, a dead fly in its ear, Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then! The grime was no man’s grime but death and human locomotives, all that dress of dust, that veil of darkened railroad skin, that smog of cheek, that eyelid of black mis’ry, that sooty hand or phallus or protuberance of artificial worse-than-dirt—industrial—modern—all that civilization spotting your crazy golden crown— and those blear thoughts of death and dusty loveless eyes and ends and withered roots below, in the home-pile of sand and sawdust, rubber dollar bills, skin of machinery, the guts and innards of the weeping coughing car, the empty lonely tincans with their rusty tongues alack, what more could I name, the smoked ashes of some cock cigar, the cunts of wheelbarrows and the milky breasts of cars, wornout asses out of chairs & sphincters of dynamos—all these entangled in your mummied roots—and you there standing before me in the sunset, all your glory in your form! A perfect beauty of a sunflower! a perfect excellent lovely sunflower existence! a sweet natural eye to the new hip moon, woke up alive and excited grasping in the sunset shadow sunrise golden monthly breeze! How many flies buzzed round you innocent of your grime, while you cursed the heavens of the railroad and your flower soul? Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and shade of a once powerful mad American locomotive? You were never no locomotive, Sunflower, you were a sunflower! And you Locomotive, you are a locomotive, forget me not! So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck it at my side like a scepter, and deliver my sermon to my soul, and Jack’s soul too, and anyone who’ll listen, —We’re not our skin of grime, we’re not dread bleak dusty imageless locomotives, we’re golden sunflowers inside, blessed by our own seed & hairy naked accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our own eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sitdown vision.

Allen Ginsberg, "Sunflower Sutra," 1955

--

my head felt stabbed

by a crown of thorns but I joked and rode the subway

and ducked into school johns and masturbated

and secretly wrote

                                     of teenage hell

because I was “different”

the first and last of my kind

smothering acute sensations

in swimming pools and locker rooms

addict of lips and genitals

mad for buttocks

                                that Whitman and Lorca

and Catullus and Marlowe

                                          and Michelangelo

and Socrates admired

and I wrote: Friends,

if you wish to survive

I would not recommend

Love

-- Harold Norse, "I Would Not Recommend Love" 1973

--

I ran down the street and into the house smelled of oregano and shook Mickey Monaco, said C'mon, Balaban's got a breadloaf climbing over old Gruber's fence, he thinks the mad dogs is doves.

But Mickey grew up in the bed till he was too old and besides Balaban was crazy, he sucked his tongue and got left back twice.

So I ran to Joey Bellino's house but his mother's black stocking said Joey was out early shoe shining. And besides a, that Balaban he's a crazy a kid, he suck a the tongue and Joey says he get lefback three times.

So I banged on Bitsy Beller's window yelled he was near the top, the mad dogs waiting down below he thinks is doves.

But when Bitsy stood up he turned into a stiff cue stick. And didn't want nothing to do with nobody cracked upstairs. And Dickie Miller became a semipro. And Howie Fish a doctor. So I ran down the street full of hope

by myself because I was on fire. But I got there too late for Balaban. Two of them had a stretch of skin between their teeth fighting over it,

and the foam of their mouths and Balaban's blood spattered in such a way, the most the greatest picture looked me straight in the eye, made me sit in the gutter and cry,

and when I got up vow to be Balaban from that day on

-- Jack Hirschman, "Balaban" 1969

--

for Jack Kerouac 

IN LIGHT ROOM IN DARK HELL IN UMBER IN CHROME,

     I sit feeling the swell of the cloud made about by movement

                 of arm leg and tongue. In reflections of gold

           light. Tints and flashes of gold and amber spearing

                     and glinting. Blur glass…blue Glass,

             black telephone. Matchflame of violet and flesh

                 seen in the clear bright light. It is not night

                and night too. In Hell, there are stars outside.

            And long sounds of cars. Brown shadows on walls

                                       in the light

                           of the room. I sit or stand

                 wanting the huge reality of touch and love.

            In the turned room. Remember the long-ago dream

          of stuffed animals (owl, fox) in a dark shop. Wanting

             only the purity of clean colors and new shapes

                                     and feelings.

                 I WOULD CRY FOR THEM USELESSLY

                   I have ten years left to worship my youth

                      Billy the Kid, Rimbaud, Jean Harlow

  IN DARK HELL IN LIGHT ROOM IN UMBER AND CHROME I

                                                                                            feel the swell of

smoke the drain and flow of motion of exhaustion, the long sounds of cars

                                                                                                     the brown shadows

on the wall. I sit or stand. Caught in the net of glints from corner table to

                                                                                                                       dull plane

from knob to floor, angles of flat light, daggers of beams. Staring at love’s face.

      The telephone in cataleptic light. Marchflames of blue and red seen in the

                                                                                                                            clear grain.

I see myself—ourselves—in Hell without radiance. Reflections that we are.

              The long cars make sounds and brown shadows over the wall.

                               I am real as you are real whom I speak to.

                   I raise my head, see over the edge of my nose. Look up

                    and see that nothing is changed. There is no flash

                            to my eyes. No change to the room.

                       Vita Nuova—No! The dead, dead world.

                     The strain of desire is only a heroic gesture.

                       An agony to be so in pain without release

                             when love is a word or kiss.

-- Michael McClure, "The Chamber" 1961

--

I have folded my sorrows into the mantle of summer night, Assigning each brief storm its allotted space in time, Quietly pursuing catastrophic histories buried in my eyes. And yes, the world is not some unplayed Cosmic Game, And the sun is still ninety-three million miles from me, And in the imaginary forest, the shingled hippo becomes the gray unicorn. No, my traffic is not with addled keepers of yesterday’s disasters, Seekers of manifest disembowelment on shafts of yesterday’s pains. Blues come dressed like introspective echoes of a journey. And yes, I have searched the rooms of the moon on cold summer nights. And yes, I have refought those unfinished encounters.       Still, they remain unfinished. And yes, I have at times wished myself something different.

The tragedies are sung nightly at the funerals of the poet; The revisited soul is wrapped in the aura of familiarity. 

-- Bob Kaufman, "I Have Folded My Sorrows" 1965

[aesonas]

I wouldn’t recommend love - Harold Norse

~

and I wrote: Friends,

if you wish to survive

I wouldn’t recommend

Love

[chilope]

"here are some grave finds from pre-christian denmark. many of them indicate that the person they were buried with was a seer who advised king gorm, the last non-christian king of denmark, as his successor was king harold bluetooth, who converted to christianity and marked the beginning of the christianization of the norse people."

"oh but this thing is a triangle! when you think about it, thats basically like the trinity! so maybe she was christian actually!"

[juliehowlin]

Harry Name Day

In Sweden, people called Harry celebrate their name day today.

Harry is a male given name of English, Norse and Germanic origin. A diminutive form of Harold, Harrison or Harvey, it eventually came into use as a name in its own right.

10 famous people called Harry:

[torxnn]

name: Torunn Thorsdottir

name meaning: Torunn is of Old Norse origin and means Thor's Love. Thorsdottir is also Old Norse and means, Daughter of Thor and is her personal surname.

alias/es: Tory, Crown Princess of Asgard, Princess

ethnicity: Asgardian/Norwegian

one picture you like of your character:

three h/cs you never told anyone:

Torunn cannot consume processed foods, fast food and any junk food, without it making feel incredibly ill. She also hates these foods and will avoid them at all costs.

She can sing pretty well, she doesn't do it a lot and prefers to do it when she is alone, to fill the silence.

Her favourite colour is pink and has a bad habit of buying something just because it's the colour pink.

three things your character likes doing in their free time: 

Reading, especially romance and adventure books

Baking, even though she is not actually good at it, she finds it therapeutic

Training, as she is always wanting to improve her technic or find new ways to be able to win against her future opponents.

Eight people your character likes / loves:

Pepper Potts (Legal Guardian) @ppctts

April Parker (Aunt) @spybiote

Thor Odinson (Father)

Sif (Mother)

Frigga (Grandmother)

Scarlett Romanoff Barton (Best Friend) @redheadarcher

Steve Rogers (Uncle)

Harold Hogan (Father Figure) @wormholxtreme

two things your character regrets:

Taking her anger out on people when she has an IED attack

Not being good enough to protect her family and people

two phobias your character has:

Her hair being cut

Losing the people she cares about

tagged by : stole from @multi-royalty Tagging: @ppctts @spybiote @pcraspcra @wormholxtreme @redheadarcher you!

[mosertone]

I’m Not a Man by Harold Norse (July 6, 1916 – June 8, 2009)

I’m not a man, I can’t earn a living, buy new things for my family.

I have acne and a small peter.

I’m not a man. I don’t like football, boxing and cars.

I like to express my feeling. I even like to put an arm

around my friend’s shoulder.

I’m not a man. I won’t play the role assigned to me -- the role created by Madison Avenue, Playboy, Hollywood, and Oliver Cromwell.

Television does not dictate my behavior.

I’m not a man. Once when I shot a squirrel I swore that I would never kill again. I gave up meat. The sight of blood makes me sick. I like flowers.

I’m not a man. I went to prison resisting the draft. I do not fight when real men beat me up and call me queer. I dislike violence.

I’m not a man. I have never raped a woman. I don’t hate blacks. I do not get emotional when the flag is waved. I do not think I should love America or leave it. I think I should laugh at it.

I’m not a man. I have never had the clap.

I’m not a man. Playboy is not my favorite magazine.

I’m not a man. I cry when I’m unhappy.

I’m not a man. I do not feel superior to women.

I’m not a man. I don’t wear a jockstrap.

I’m not a man. I write poetry.

I’m not a man. I meditate on peace and love.

I’m not a man. I don’t want to destroy you.

San Francisco, 1972

[antiquariaunt]

Harold: Yeah, come on in! Let me present you my spouse!

Guest, probably a god in disguise: You mean your...wife?

Harold: Oh, no, no. My spouse.

Gunnar: Hellooo :)

[justletmeon12]

Books Read in 2023 - If you're curious about any of them, please ask! I love talking about books

Rebecca (Daphne du Maurier)

Introduction to American Deaf Culture (Holcomb)

The Colour of Magic (Pratchett)

The Autistic Trans Guide to Life

Luda (Morrison)

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress

Genderqueer: Voices From Beyond the Sexual Binary

The Mask of Benevolence: Disabling the Deaf Community

Between Two Worlds (Sinclair)

Under the Skin (Faber)

When Time Stopped: A Memoir of My Father’s War and What Remains

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

Portnoy’s Complaint 

Being Heumann: An Unrepentant Memoir of An Disability Rights Activist (Judith Heumann)

Sex at Dawn: The Prehistoric Origins of Modern Sexuality

This is Moscow Speaking (Arzhak/Yuli Markovich Daniel; tr by Stuart Hood, Harold Shukman, John Richardson)

The Call-Girls (Koestler)

The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For

Homintern

A Scanner Darkly

The Trauma of Caste (Soundararajan)

Shards of Honor (Bujold)

The Origin of Virtue

Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers

Dreadnought

Children of the Arbat (Rybakov; tr by Harold Shukman)

The Gay Metropolis: The Landmark History of Gay Life in America

Janissaries (Jerry Pournelle)

The Disability Studies Reader (Davis)

Fat Off, Fat On: A Big Bitch Manifesto

The Book of Dust: The Secret Commonwealth

Inseparable (de Beauvoir)

World’s End (T. Coraghessan Boyle)

American Melancholy (Joyce Carol Oates)

Transgender Children and Youth (Nealy)

Disgrace (Coetzee)

The Light Around the Body (Bly)

The Hangman’s Daughter (Pötzsch)

Encounters: Two Studies in the Sociology of Interaction (Goffman)

The Trouble with Tink (Thorpe)

Gender Advertisements (Goffman)

And the Band Played On

Fairy Dust and the Quest for the Egg

The Trouble with Normal: Sex, Politics, and the Ethics of Queer Life

Old Norse Poems: The Most Important Non-Skaldic Verse Not Included in the Poetic Edda (tr. by Hollander)

Arts of the Possible: Essays and Conversations (Rich)

Ladies Almanack (Barnes)

Over the Hill (Copper)

Fairy Haven and the Quest for the Wand

The Poetic Edda (tr. by Bellows)

Paris Peasant (Aragon, tr. by Taylor)

Open Borders: The Science and Ethics of Immigration

Stigma (Goffman)

Rubyfruit Jungle

Fairies and the Quest for Never Land

Sight Unseen (Kleege)

The Homosexuality of Men and Women (Hirschfeld, tr. by Lombardi-Nash)

Bea Wolf

New Selected Stories (Thomas Mann, tr. by Searls)

Gay Bar (Jeremy Atherton Lin)

Patsy Walker, AKA Hellcat

Treatise on Style (Aragon, tr. by Waters)

Diana (Frederics)

The World I Live In (Keller)

Christopher and His Kind (Isherwood)

Put Out More Flags (Waugh)

Reflections of a Nonpolitical Man (Mann; tr. and introduced by Morris, Lilla, Rainey)

On Our Own (Judi Chamberlin)

All Boys Aren’t Blue

Artemis (Weir)

Goethe und die Demokratie

Dress Codes (Howey)

Mrs. Stevens Hears the Mermaids Singing

Forms of Talk (Goffman)

Sister Gin

The Decameron (Boccaccio; tr. by Musa and Bondanella)

Elric of Melniboné (Moorcock)

Paradiso (tr. by Hollander and Hollander)

My Mistress’ Eyes are Raven Black

Mademoiselle de Maupin (Gautier)

The Magic Mountain (Mann, tr. by Lowe-Porter)

Home to Harlem (McKay)

The Sailor on the Seas of Fate (Moorcock)