#This helps

[segretecose]

every year isreal have their little Europe Approved eurovision appearance and people are like oh but the singer has nothing to do with israel apartheid policies 🥺 it’s just a little song about unicorns 🥺 and then every year without fail a week goes by and said singer is on the cover of some magazine saying how much they LOVED their time in the IDF

[ruminate88]

“Sometimes losing a toxic relationship is not just losing that person you thought you loved but also losing a part of you that’s no good for you. It’s going to be painful but it’s shedding a layer off of you that needs to go.”

[multi-fandom-magic]

Thought this was a really good quote, so here I am sharing it.

[spywhitney]

Glow Up by OSHUN 🔥 Sydney Adamu Song

For fun. And this serves as a stress reliever before for season 3 for me lol.

I listened to this song so many times when I was younger, but it has some very Sydney Adamu-esque lines to me. gif: @songkangsbottomteethcirca2020

"Back to the grind 'cause my name you'll remember". I know that's right. But I'm hopeful she will take a much needed break in season 3 and beyond.

I mean, could this be anymore her?

I'm sure we'll get more insight to Sydney's mum (or mom, as it is for some of you).

These lines! "Understand that my hands were created to heal So watch as I whip and chef every meal". Obvious. "The deals comin' at major velocity I got protection, nobody should be watchin' me". The season 3 trailer strongly implied Sydney will be presented with opportunities beyond The Bear, and they will coming quick. "I can't be touched by the hate or hypocrisy Glow up is comin' with heat and ferocity". If this line isn't a good nod to the Sydney haters I don't know what is lol. And the possible opposition she will receive in the show if she does consider leaving or does leave for better opportunities.

[krist-420]

St Padre Pio

St Padre Pio Quotes

[melancholysherald]

Oil slick oasis glitch on singing asphalt. Chewed meat on rib bones. Itchy crab grass nipping at ankles. Sweet tea suffocating folds, crossed legs on too warm lawn chairs. Cicada scream, blackbird call. Head thrown back, cackling hens. Browning bare skin, bite of bug spray. Burnt ends, crackled flesh. Pam cooking spray in cornbread tins, ambrosia salads. Pig picking. Whole hog.

All of the men gathered round the sow, talking about what a beautiful girl she is. How beautifully her skinned tanned, how fragrant. How well posed. How juicy, how worth the price. Whether worth be weighed in money, effort, or slaughter. Wives in their Sunday best, wiping sticky faces and mending snotty rages. Spats over the skin, who gets the tail. Their wide smiles, smudged pink on bone. Bloodshot eyes, freshly saved legs.

Lipstick on a pig, my mother told me a story the first time I wore her frosty brown lipstick. That during a lecture once in college during the 90s a feminist speaker told the crowd that lipstick reminded men of weeping cunts.

She also told me cunt is the worst word another woman could ever call you, claw her eyes out. Scraped knees, licking melting popsicle off your forearm. Red dyeing a ring around lips, clownish stain. Pretending to have painted mouths like our mothers.

How naive I was back then, to not see the beady eyes stalking me. How I was prey: sticky and sweet. Waiting to be plucked like a honeysuckle blossom in the sweltering heat. Oh how I’d bite and kick, but submit when the nape of my neck was scruffed. Hush puppy. Whole hog.

[lily-lover]

And if for nothing but the smile of your roommate when you surprise them with breakfast, and the bubbles somebody blows on the street, and for the faint piano practicing up two stories above your flat

[koggthryn]

xii. asters & goldenrod

once, we lay with our skin stripped off us in a field, the grass growing up around us two, your jacket bleeding out beneath our bodies. we watched the wind mills turn over, the cattle slide down into valley villages with butchers and cleavers, the aster and the goldenrod root in the heavens above, rotting there. we exhaled exhaust and moaned against our mouths until the sorrow left us. OH OH, OHHHH GOD. we curled together, strong knees and proud chins and jaws, set. AM I HOPELESS? HAVE I DONE THIS TO MYSELF?

xiii. lamprey

she has learned of cain, condemned, and sinned against her own brother with the jawbone of an ass, blood under nails and adolescence brought to an end. she has been taught to unhinge her jaw and grown to shed skin in sunday school, has tasted the real paleo diet—plucked a lash from her eye, pierced a nail in the rind, peeled the flesh from her thigh—her moon-hungry pack of teeth have sunken into the pungent and the spiced, the wet meat smell of memory in a fine china skull.

xiv. final rites

YOU HAVE RETURNED. YOU HAVE RETURNED. they found your skin smoldering out back, where the dog pisses against the fence and motor oil leaks into the yard. they called in every prayer tree over the phone lines, bowed their necks and heads and lives over you, and the preacher didn't shut his eyes—how lustful—didn't even blink. he pleaded for your soul and made sure you knew it. SHE IS RISEN, PRAISE THE LORD.

xv. trespassing

you're out when you're not supposed to be, tipping your head back, back, back on the church's stoop and looking up. looking, seeking, searching, you find hollow-eyed grief gazing back down, the crucifixion looming over you. the garden angel out back is cracking, paint peeling from its cheeks, from her cheeks, but the wood carving of christ himself, christ almighty himself, doesn't bleed. doesn't cry. and you, you cry: LOOK AWAY LOOK AWAY.

xvi. below

and below us, below us garnets churn, minutes unfurling like leaves. we are still waiting. we are still watching out truck windows, watching our faces grow dark in the side mirrors, watching the statelines and welcome centers and exit signs all blur together.

xvii. not a lover

the story goes like this: she looked away for more, and he went missing instead. right there, quick and quiet. light bends and withers around the hole left in this town, avoiding his empty seat, the road sign at his bus stop, the boots left molding on his front stoop. they'll say her name was carved into his gut or wrist or web page. they'll say you can see her calling for him in the tree line, with the strange eyes of a goat. and when he turns back up, if he turns back up, he's lighting up sheet music and staring through cops, face wretched. calling himself PRAGMA LIBER. updating his status just the one time: ONLY HERE TO PROMOTE A SONG. THIS COMMIE PLATFORM CAN SUCK A MOTHERFUCKING DICK.

xviii. study group

WHAT'S YOUR NAME, AGAIN? she wants to apologize, wants to say KATHRYN LAUREN, but KATHRYN LAUREN sounds like windchimes and rose water, like a mother's hopes and dreams, and she is more of a million spider march down the back of a gas pump. she is houses that look like faces and bitter pine needle tea she steeped as a child, was baptized in as a child. she is wild blackberries and clotted blood, ripped-up psalms and an incisor for the tooth-fairy, a headless doll trailing the undergrowth, hand in hand with her. IT DOESN'T MATTER, she says. IT DOESN'T MATTER. WHAT UNIT SHOULD WE START WITH?

xix. vantage

and besides, you breathe differently down here.

xx. rosary

in a box by the bed, there's some tinny sound. our father, and his father before him, left us their dog tags. DALE LYNN. PROTESTANT. we remember his singing in church. we remember his weeping. PORTER, LEONARD. some rust and rot. a dent in the name. we can wait with them, can count every pearl in the chain, keep the seconds in hand, feel them move through us. the days, the months. this is religious, this careful observation of time. and in a darker place, with dust storms and corpses curling into one another, our father counts the pearls. our father before him counts the pearls.

xxi. questions to ask your mother

mom—the word MOM hides a prayer: PLEASE, LOOK AT ME, AFTER ME, PLEASE LISTEN, LISTEN TO ME, PLEASE, PLEASE STROKE MY HEAD, WASH MY BACK, LET ME STAY IN YOUR HOME TONIGHT, PLEASE FEED ME, FEED ME, FEED ME—and you never stop calling her MOM. when you are her height, when the garden angel fractures its wing and cheekbone in a move and dad shoves his hand in your mouth, index and middle finger in the shape of a gun, when the ambulance comes for you and you change your name for the twelfth time, she'll scream THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT ME in your face. you'll want to break the entire length of your life over her head, want to ask DID YOU BRING PRECIOUS THINGS INTO A HOSTILE PLACE OR HOSTILE THINGS INTO A PRECIOUS ONE, but you'll only scream back WHY WON'T YOU JUST HOLD ME?

xxii. observer

look away, please. look away.

'23 september prompts days 12-22 | @nosebleedclub

[raedroid]

In order to cure my kiss retirement depression, I like to think I saw Kiss three times. One at Toronto in 2019, Dubai in 2020 and now New York in 2023. Thank you for the livestreams boys lol

[bizarrelittlemew]

may I offer you my stiddy gifs in these trying times

thank you these are healing my soul 😌💗💗💗

[painsandconfusion]

In response to your latest post about the hurt/comfort- you don’t owe anyone any explanation as to why you write or don’t write about certain things. I feel whump is a very personal thing so you should be able to write what you get joy or fulfillment from. Im sorry if anything that was said discouraged you or brought up old hurts. Keep writing, keep creating, and we’ll keep loving and supporting.

- 💜

Thank you.

So so much.

[ruminate88]

Songs For Healing Trauma🎶

I have always turned to music for a safe space to speak my heart and be honest with the world and most importantly, myself. I find it hard to lie in my songs. It’s been so helpful to express myself in music and I hope my music can be a source of healing for you too!! Below I have songs posted from Spotify for you ❤️‍🩹

[uaisquizbowl]

You wanna study over the summer?

You have a broad variety of knowledge but nothing in-depth?

Have no extra time but want to add one more thing to your plate?

Try finding something you're vaguely familiar with, researching it more deeply, and writing a question about it (NAQT style)

This, genuinely, helps immensely, as it requires your brain to recall info that'd otherwise be forgotten

[assortedboxes]

Jean has become my muse!