#astrologer in Boston

[gayathridevisblog]

Uses of Horoscope Reading

Horoscopes have long been a source of fascination for many individuals, providing insights into their personal lives, personalities, and even offering guidance. While some may dismiss astrology as mere superstition, the fact remains that a significant number of people find comfort and solace in reading their horoscopes.

The appeal of horoscope reading lies in its ability to offer a sense of direction and understanding in an uncertain world. By exploring the alignment of celestial bodies at the time of one's birth, horoscopes can provide valuable insights into personality traits, potential challenges, and opportunities for growth.

Whether you're a firm believer in astrology or simply curious about what the stars have to say, there's no denying the enduring popularity and intrigue surrounding horoscope readings. So why not delve into this ancient practice and see what revelations it may hold for you?

For many believers in astrology, reading their horoscope becomes a daily ritual that brings them comfort and reassurance. It offers a sense of guidance in navigating life's challenges and decisions. Whether it's seeking validation or finding hope in uncertain times, horoscopes provide a unique perspective that resonates with those who embrace this ancient practice.

If your are seeking best Horoscore Reader in Boston , then look no further than Gayathri Devi. She is the best Indian astrologer in Boston.

[samanthasgone]

Credit: sportsforthegirls

[timmurleyart]

The magical moon. 🌙

[ryanhamiltonwalsh]

Teenage Jonathan and Boston's "Spiritual Sparkplug"

If you’re reading this, chances are you know how much I love and am interested in the overlap of the Velvet Underground and Jonathan Richman in Boston in the late 60′s. For the AW68 book, I interviewed Jonathan (slowly) via snail mail but have only recently met him; I’ll talk about that eventually when it’s time. If you need a refresher on the gist of what we’re talking about, just listen to J.R. recount the first time he met Lou Reed, randomly, as both were walking through Harvard Square; it’s an undeniable delight.

Last month, when a new interview with Richman appeared, I was really surprised to see something new about that time period included; it popped up when the interviewer asked him about meditation. His answer:

Yes, I have a meditation practice and this started when I was 17. As I was searching Boston’s music scene for an entryway into I knew not-exactly-what, the janitor and carpenter at the rock ballroom where the Velvet Underground played asked me if my parents would maybe permit me to come to a meditation group he was a part of. They did permit and I found a home in the world. I also found a silence-among the two dozen other souls each striving for peace inwardly – that was of a different sort from any sort I’d been a part of before. Even my earlier recorded music borrows some of this from that group.

This is interesting in itself, I think, but because I can fill in some of the blanks here which, for me, help paint a picture of the intersection of creativity and spirituality, both in Richman’s work and beyond. Firstly, the janitor he’s speaking about is Mitch Blake, the spiritual de facto fix-it man at the original Boston Tea Party, the fella who could really get Lou talking about occult topics backstage, and someone I interviewed with great interest for the book.

First Mitch, from AW68:

The fact that it’s Mitch Blake to whom Jonathan’s referencing here means the meditation group they both belonged to was Isabel Hickey’s. And Isabel Hickey is...very interesting. Both Blake and Rob Norris (a brief member of the last-gasp Yule-led Velvets) both spoke to me about enthusiastically attending astrologer and spiritual teacher Isabel Hickey’s “Friday Night Fix” meditation sessions. In Boston, Hickey was known as the “spiritual sparkplug” and her followers skewed towards the young side, despite already being in her mix-sixties at the time. Like Ram Dass, people noted the unusual quality of someone with such a “broad Bostonian accent” delivering such far-out wisdom (Watch Ram Dass comment on his accent here).

Hickey follower Brian Clark recalled, “Issie’s regular teachings and meditations on those Friday evenings were a boon to many who would come to hear about the ‘real self’ behind the personality, how we create our inner condition, and how, in order to change our life, we must change our attitude. These conscious-raising ideas appear simple now, many having been recycled into mindfulness exercises, but back then they mesmerized Issie’s audience.” Mitch Blake also spoke of how ahead of certain mainstream trends the Fix was: “Many of the musicians at that time were meditating a lot, becoming very spiritually oriented, and doing the kinds of things that have become mainstreamed now. It was pretty intense.”

Knowing that Richman was receiving this kind of messaging from Hickey on a weekly basis at such a young age goes a long way in explaining his initial blossoming as an artist and almost immediate, drastic reinvention of that artistry in which booming amplifiers and distortion were put away forever. I wrote about this change in the book, but just listen to Richman’s most recent recorded music to hear how he’s still pursuing this line of thought, arguably more explicitly than ever before:

“The heart's enough! That's it!

Where the heavens put me, that's good enough!

What shape they put my body in, that's good enough!

Where I am, that's where I'm supposed to be

Follow the heart!

If they want me to know it

If the heavens want me to know it then I'll know

I'll do no other thing

Do no other thing”

— And Do No Other Thing

In 2020, the BBC described Richman’s entire career as embodying something they called “radical positivity.”

“A lot of people ask where we are and what we ‘re doing and why?,” Mitch Blake explained to me back in 2017. “Which generally can be answered fairly simply but it's not an answer that most people are very satisfied with, so they keep looking. Everybody keeps looking.“ A few minutes later, he let me know what he believed the answer is:

“We're all in a one to one relationship with the rest of the entire universe. We all reflect each other. All we have to do is be thankful for where we are. Enjoy it. And express it.”

Isabel Hickey self-published books throughout the 1970′s including Astrology: A Cosmic Science and It is ALL Right, in which she imparted her knowledge about how to “gain inner peace,” “transmute negativity,” and “evolve beyond appearances.” She passed away at her home in New Hampshire—which she referred to as Harmony Hill—in the summer of 1980. (more Hickey info here)

It turns out Mitch Blake was going to open for Jonathan Richman at a concert this past summer in Nantucket, MA, where Blake has lived for many decades. Before becoming the Tea Party’s janitor, it turns out, Blake used to perform folk music at various Boston coffee houses. I kicked myself for having missed the chance to see that unique bill, but when I checked in with Mitch, he told me that at the last minute he decided that the night should be all about Jonathan. Who would give up an opening slot for Jonathan Richman?, I thought to myself. Then I got the sense that Blake’s life-defining beliefs that we all reflect one another, and expressing gratitude for simply being here, manifested themselves in every decision he made, including ceding the spotlight to an old friend who used to sit alongside him for their Friday Night Fix in Boston in another century.

[martianastrology3]

NBA & MLB

Sports Astrology Predictions! June 1, 2023 Check us out every day for 1-2 sports astrology predictions. When it comes to sports people use many different methods to determine the winner. At Martian Astrology, a team of astrologers utilize the stars to determine the outcome of which team will win. Analyzing a chart through different methods can simply show us who will win, and sometimes the…

[childsearchpsychic]

Satan is Dave Reid of The Boston Bruins he won't tell you because he survives on the torturing of your souls

Pope Francis said "Jesus reveal yourself" Satan is a whimp!AstrologersTarotCardreaders Dave Reid of The Boston Bruins May 15 1964 is Satan. I Robert Lindblad August 26 1962 am Jesus Christ. Satan won't tell you who he is. I have to ruin his infinite torture surprise party https://childsearchpsychic.tripod.com/mypsychicautobiographybyrobertlindblad https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLAueU3X67NUdZlaYBIgOF69WuGz4-XF23 https://youtu.be/Q5rQGGhqxxk

[masterrudra]

https://famousastrologycentre.com/best-indian-astrologer-in-boston/

Best Indian Astrologer in Boston is extremely Famous Psychic Reader among the people provides best results with permanent solutions.Top Vashikaran Specialist

[suchananewsblog]

Zodiac signs by the slice: What pie are you, as per an astrologer?

Happy National Pie Day (not to be confused with National Pi Day). In his publish apocalyptic debut novel, “The Gone-Away World,” Nick Harkaway writes, “Pie is . . . ephemeral. From the second it emerges from the oven it begins a steep decline: from too sizzling to edible to chilly to stale to mouldy, and at last to a post-pie state the place solely historical past can let you know that it was as…

[skyreadersworld]

December 22 Prediction

Key transits: Moon opposes mars, Capricorn kazime (venus, mercury, Sun, and Pluto) Sun in Sagittarius squares Jupiter in Aries

Key message: We feel hopeful and positive about our future adventures, the path is as clear as day, but that is a projection; a positive expectation to whatever could happen. It’s best to allow the moon to enter Aries

[whencyclopedia]

Ancient Christianities: The First Five Hundred Years

Paula Fredriksen is an eminent figure in the field of early Christianity and ancient Judaism, and her knowledge of the historical and religious circumstances surrounding these faiths is well-established. Her writings are essential reading for those curious about how religion, history, and culture interacted in the ancient Mediterranean.

Ancient Christianities: The First Five Hundred Years by Paula Fredriksen conveys precisely written ideas from the result of meticulously analyzing a great deal of historical data. Different branches of Christianity emerged simultaneously in reaction to a flourishing Judaism and an established religion that was not dead but was instead referred to as "paganism" by Christians. By delving into the subject of ancient "Christianities," new light is shown on the religious practices of the ancient cultures of the Mediterranean and the Middle East during the latter 200 years of the 1st century CE. Christian, Pagan, and Jewish faiths are discussed. The book itself contributes significantly to the history of Christianity and explores aspects of other religions.

Paula Fredriksen is a historian of early Christianity and William Goodwin Aurelio Professor of Scripture at Boston University. Early in her career, Fredriksen published writing on topics such as Christian antisemitism, Judaism, and Christianity. Now, in Ancient Christianities, Fredriksen traces the history of Christianity in the ancient Mediterranean from its nativity up to the 5th century. Throughout history, many people believed in the figure of Jesus transforming countries into monotheistic societies, and Fredriksen provides incalculable depth and insight into this process.

From its beginnings as a messianic sect within Second Temple Judaism to its ultimate inclusion into the late Roman imperial government and rise to prominence in the Western world following Roman rule, Fredriksen emphasizes the whole historical trajectory of Christianity from the 1st through 7th centuries. She ties together the intricate network of interactions among supernatural beings, the celestial bodies, spirits, and prophetic forces existing in the ancient "flat-disced" Earth and geocentric universe as well as the many ways in which the Pagan, Jewish, and Christian occupants of the Mediterranean interacted with these beings.

Fredriksen imparts her profound understanding of the history of Christianity and how the doctrines of the Abrahamic faiths have evolved through the ages in clear and understandable writing. In her view, the history of ancient “Christianities” is more deep and nuanced than previously thought, and she intends to "introduce the reader to the complexities and ambiguities, the ironies and surprises and the twists and turns" to reveal this. If you ask Fredriksen, the Christian faith does not have its roots just in Jesus, there is more to the origin story. Through her writing, she hopes to convey the idea that a "large cast of characters" is responsible for shaping modern religion.

According to her, the narrative and development of "Christianities" encompasses a wide range of characters, including aristocratic patrons, eccentric ascetics, gods, devils, angels, magicians, astrologers, and regular folks. The author examines the gradual conversion of numerous non-monotheistic faiths to monotheism over several centuries, drawing parallels and differences across various ethnic and theological traditions.

Theology, Israel, the impact of social factors including diversity, the necessity for governmental control, and persecutions on the development of Christianity are all covered in depth in the chapters that follow. Further discussions touch on the various regions impacted by the Second Temple Matrix, the connections between Jews and pagans, and the incorporation of Jewish people and culture into Greco-Roman civilization.

Historians, theologians, and anyone interested in the origins of one of the world's largest religious groups would benefit from reading this book, which focuses on the transition of Israel and the Jewish message of the end of time to the emergence of different gentile Christianities. With her unconventional viewpoint and extensive knowledge of the subject, Fredriksen offers readers an opportunity to learn something new. Fredriksen has been an excellent resource for scholars of global religions for decades, and her work is truly unique and rich in history; as a result, this is a recommended book. For further reading materials, readers would find Bart D. Ehrman's The Triumph of Christianity: How a Forbidden Religion Swept the World (2018) and Diarmaid MacCulloch's Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (2009) to be suitable companion reads.

Continue reading...

[teyvatairconditioningco]

Fuck it, the Avisos boys as cucumbers

Beelzebub is a Marketmore 76, the quintessential cucumber. You acquire a whole bunch of them aaaaand they're gone (to mold).

Bael is a Boston pickling cucumber, very crisp, takes spices very well. Also has several flavors of psychological trauma.

Naberius is an Armenian yard-long cucumber. Knows the secrets of the universe, easily digestible (those two things are unrelated).

Stolas is a Richmond green apple cucumber. He's just a little guy. Just a little war criminal. Bit thin-skinned. Vibes of a Cancer (astrological).

And finally, Amon is a lemon cucumber. Kinda wanna throw him, kinda wanna shove him in my mouth whole. Would confuse the shit out of your grandmother. Probably tastes great if you can find one.

All of them when they see [you]

[atinylittlepain]

Sweetness - A Joel Miller Story

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

Joel masterlist

Joel has done his best to forget about his birthday, and for good reason. Ellie, however, has other plans in mind. When she recruits their pretty neighbor in Jackson to put together a surprise for him, Joel is thrown for a real loop.

warnings | 18+ angst, that's pretty much it, this is just real fluffy

Joel does his best not to think about his birthday, for a plethora of reasons. September twenty-sixth, the day that everything came crumbling down all those years ago. The day he lost his babygirl.

All those years on the road, and then in the Boston QZ, it had been easy to keep it to himself, usually spending that wretched day drinking until he couldn’t think straight. Every year, the only gift he got was that of pure, blissful oblivion, and a pounding headache the next morning.

Since settling in Jackson, it’s been harder to keep this information under wraps. Ellie somehow managed to needle out of Tommy when his birthday was, and had declared that Joel needed to pick a new birthday after realizing how depressing that date truly is. When Joel refused to comply with her demand, Ellie designated it herself as April second. She had found an astrology book on the road and had firmly decided that Joel was an aries, whatever that meant. 

That had been a few months ago, and Joel has just been hoping his annoyingly persistent companion has forgotten about her declaration. But when he meets his brother the morning of April second for their usual patrol shift, he quickly realizes he will not be so lucky.

“So, I’m under strict orders to wish you happy birthday, brother.” Joel thinks briefly that he’d like to smack the shit-eating grin off Tommy’s face, instead settling for a scowl and a huff.

“Goddamnit, was hoping she’d forgotten about that.” Tommy snorts, slapping Joel hard on the back.

“You should know by now, Joel. That one’s just about as stubborn as you.” 

… 

When he gets back to town after his shift, the rest of the afternoon is spent painfully responding to awkward birthday wishes, all said with the caveat that Ellie had told them to do it. Joel could throttle the kid by the time he gets home.

As he goes to open the door, however, it’s immediately slammed shut in his face, Ellie huffing on the other side.

“You can’t come in yet, old man! Just hold your horses!” Joel scrubs a hand down his face. 

“Ellie! I’m really not in the mood for this shit.”

“I don’t care! It’s your birthday and what I say goes! Now sit down on the porch, I’ll let you in when we’re ready.” He can’t believe this kid, but he’s a little too worn down to not heed her instructions. Besides, he tried the door again, and it seemed that she had slid a chair under the handle to keep it from budging. He settles into the rocking chair on the porch, closing his eyes for a spell, even dozing off in the cooling Spring night. 

He’s rather rudely awakened by Ellie kicking at his boots.

“Hey! Time to come in, old man. Got a real surprise for ya.” Joel groans as he stands from his seat, stiffly getting pulled inside by Ellie who immediately comes behind him on tip toes to cup her hands over his eyes.

“Ellie, would you please–”

“Shut it and walk, old man. It’s a surprise.” He huffs, begrudgingly letting her lead him through the house towards what he guesses is the kitchen. 

When Ellie finally peels her hands away from his face, Joel is shocked to see her standing there. The pretty, young neighbor who Joel sees teaching the kids in the makeshift schoolyard from time to time. They’d only shared passing conversation, he’d catch her sometimes out in the garden in her backyard in the evenings. She always offered him a wide smile when he’d say hello.

She’s holding what Joel realizes is a cake, or he guesses you could call it that. It’s a short, square little thing that they’ve stuck two, lit taper candles in. She’s smiling softly at him and he can’t take his eyes away from hers, a frozen moment of time. Ellie startles him when she shouts in his ear.

“Happy birthday, old man!” Whatever spell had been cast is now broken. Suddenly, Joel feels very overwhelmed and angry. He can’t quite figure out why, so he does the one thing that does make sense to him. He turns heel and stomps straight out the door, heading down the street and ignoring Ellie’s shouts of his name. It’s not his fucking birthday, and he’s sick of all this pretend shit.

…

He winds up down at the bar, and even though it’s not his birthday, he revives his old tradition of trying to drink himself under the table. He doesn’t get far though before his brother is sitting down across from him.

“Now tell me why Ellie showed up on my doorstep in a complete fit because some asshole fled his own damn birthday party.” Joel just sighs, hanging his head.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Nope, that doesn’t work for me. ‘Cause not only did you piss Ellie off, but I’m pretty sure you broke that sweet little thing’s heart.”

“I’d hardly call Ellie a sweet little–” “Fuck, Joel. I’m not talking about Ellie.” He huffs her name, raising his eyebrows at his brother, and Joel’s stomach churns. 

He hadn’t even been thinking about her, that shy smile she shared with him before he ran off. He thinks about the cake she had been balancing in her arms, that she had probably helped Ellie make it, put a lot of time and effort and resources into something he was too chickenshit to even acknowledge. Joel feels terrible, and he knows it’s not the booze talking. He brings his palms over his face, pressing his fingers lightly into his eyes, kneading at a quick-forming headache.

“Joel, no one’s saying you gotta enjoy your birthday. But I’m saying you gotta stop being a dick to people who are trying to care for you, man. Ellie may be a little… enthusiastic. But Christ, Joel, she loves you like a father.” Joel glances at Tommy, sighing.

“And that neighbor of yours. Well, if you can’t see a good thing when it’s right in front of you I’ll smack you around myself, maybe then you’ll see the way she looks at you.” Joel scoffs at that, shaking his head. He figures his brother is just trying to convince him to apologize to her. There’s no way in hell she’s actually been looking at him the way his brother is insinuating. She’s her, lovely and pretty and popular around town. And he’s him. Enough said.

“Alright, Tommy, alright. I’ll apologize to them, both. Just, fuck, get off my ass.” His brother smirks at him as Joel rises from the table. He’s had enough of people for the night.

“You better make it right, brother. And, hey, happy birthday you old shit.” Joel flips off his grinning brother, heading out into the darkening night towards home. 

…

As he nears his home he sees that all the lights are off. Ellie must have stomped off to a friend’s house, too pissed at him to stick around. He’s going to have some serious apologizing to do tomorrow. The glowing ember of a cigarette catches his eye on the porch next door. He can see her silhouette in the faint glow of light coming from her house’s windows. She’s sitting, wrapped in a blanket, taking long drags and letting the smoke wisp out harshly.

He doesn’t know why, but his feet carry him over to her house, she tilts her head at him where he stands at the steps of her porch.

“Well, Ellie and I thought you may have skipped town, you looked so upset in that kitchen.” She blows a billow of smoke out the corner of her mouth, watching him carefully. Joel clears his throat.

“Don’t know why you smoke those. S’no good for you.” She scoffs, but stamps out the butt of her cigarette beneath her boot.

“S’that all you came over here to say? My own little public service announcement?” He shakes his head, swallowing hard.

“Want to apologize. For earlier. I just– fuck– I wasn’t expecting that. Didn’t really know how to react.” She sighs looking off just over the top of his head. Joel wishes she’d meet his eyes again.

“It’s ok, Joel. It was stupid, really. Ellie asked for my help, and I like that kid. Wanted to do something nice for you. But I see now that it was silly.” Joel steps up onto the porch, trying to get a better look at her downturned face.

“It wasn’t stupid. I was stupid. What you did was real nice. I just– I’m not used to–” “Not being in constant life-threatening danger?” She quirks an eyebrow at him, he sighs. She scoots over on the bench seat, a silent invitation for him to join her. He does, sitting down with his elbows on his thighs, looking at her over his shoulder.

“I get it, really. I know that may be hard to believe. But I wasn’t always so lucky to be somewhere like Jackson.” She glances at him before looking back down at her hands in her lap.

“I had a little brother. Jack was his name. Back before, well before. He was only two years younger than me, and I never let him forget it. But damn I loved him. And he loved me. Every year, he insisted on being the one to make my birthday cake. And, Christ, they were bad. He’d get our mom to pick up the Betty Crocker mix from the store, you know? And the canned frosting. But he’d always manage to do something real weird to it.” She laughs lightly, but Joel can see the shimmer in her eyes.

“There was one year, he baked gummy worms into the cake. Fuck, it was so gross, the worms sort of melted into the batter so it was this sticky, rainbow mess. I told him it looked like a gnome had vomited on a platter.” Joel feels his mouth pulling up into a smile. She sighs.

“When I lost him… well, every year without him on that stupid day just reminds me that he’s gone.” She clears her throat before harshly swiping under her eyes.

“I don’t know why I told you all that. I guess just to say that I get it. And that I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Just figured it’d be nice for someone to have a good birthday” Joel sits back on the bench, letting his arm rest along the top of the chair behind her. 

“When is yours?” She finally turns and looks at him, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“Your birthday, when is it?” Her face softens.

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?” His mouth quirks at that and he nods.

She leans into his side, cupping her hand over his ear conspiratorially and whispers the date to him. Joel’s breath hitches at the close contact. He hums when she leans back.

“You know, today isn’t my birthday, not really.” Her eyes widen at him, he laughs softly.

“It’s really, uh, September twenty-sixth, you know, the day that everything–” she brings one of her hands to rest on his knee, giving it a light squeeze.

“Yeah, I know. Can’t say I blame you for choosing a new one.” He snorts at that.

“Oh, I didn’t choose it.” She clicks her tongue, nodding and huffing a laugh at that, muttering Ellie’s name under her breath. She gives his knee another squeeze.

“Well, your secret is safe with me so long as mine is safe with you.” He nods, bringing his hand to rest on top of hers. She flips her palm and entwines their fingers. A warmth breaks out in Joel’s chest at the way her thumb strokes the side of his hand.

“C’mon. It’s still your not-birthday and I left that cake in your kitchen. Better not let it go to waste.”

…

That’s how Joel finds himself sitting at his dining room table, on a day that’s not his birthday, as the prettiest lady in Jackson lights candles in the cake she’s put in front of him.

“I’m not gonna sing to you, seeing as it’s not really your birthday. But go ahead and blow out the candles, handsome.” He feels like he’s going to break out in hives under her gaze. He’d be hard pressed to admit that he’s really just blushing at her words. He complies with her order.

She offers him a fork before sitting down next to him, and they both dig into the pan. Joel’s pleasantly surprised at his first bite and she grins around her fork at his reaction.

“There’s no sprinkles or frosting, but I’d say Ellie and I did a pretty good job, given the circumstances of course.” Joel hums.

“I can’t believe you went through all that effort. Don’t know the last time I had something like this.” She waves his words away.

“It’s not a big deal. Besides, how else was I supposed to woo you?” Joel chokes on the bite of cake he just swallowed. She giggles as he regains his composure, only slightly.

“Woo me? You’re trying to woo me?” She shrugs, going a little shy in her glances at him.

“I thought I was being obvious. But you don’t exactly make it easy, Joel Miller.” Joel’s dumbstruck at her words. He sits back in his chair.

“Christ– I just– why would you want anything to do with me?” She huffs, setting her fork down and resting her chin in her palm.

“Well, now that you ask, I don’t know. You were kind of an asshole this afternoon.” His face goes slack at that but she just laughs. It makes his heart kick in his chest.

“I’m kidding, Joel. But yeah, I may have been harboring a little crush on you since you moved in here.” Joel’s still speechless, he feels like his brain has been jostled around in his skull. She breaks the silence with a big yawn, checking her watch as she stretches.

“Well, I’ll let you chew on that, in more ways than one. I better head home.” She’s already standing and walking towards his front door and Joel is a bumbling mess as he follows behind her. He keeps trying to start to say something, but all that comes out is a stammered “I– you– uh– well.”

He finally manages to spit something out, “thank you, for the, um, not-birthday cake, and for everything.” Her mouth turns up in a lopsided smile. Joel’s brain finally seems to be back online, and he continues.

“I, um, wouldn’t be opposed to that. To you wooing me.” She crosses her arms over her chest, stepping closer to him.

“Oh, you wouldn’t?” Joel shakes his head.

“No. Uh, consider me wooed.” He’s rewarded with a grin from her and he’s got that warm feeling in his chest again.

“Hmm, well in that case–” She steps in a bit closer, bringing her palms to his chest and lifting up to press a quick kiss to his lips. Joel freezes for a moment, but he snaps out of it quick enough to bring his hands to her hips, dipping in to chase after her lips for a deeper, longer kiss.

She pulls away first, a bubble of laughter, before leaning back in for a chaste peck. He presses his forehead to hers. What she says comes out in a whisper.

“Happy not-really-your-birthday, Joel Miller. I’ll see you later.” She’s slipping out of his grasp and out his front door, not before hollering back at him to save some of the cake for Ellie. Joel stands, staring dumbly at the door, running his fingers over his mouth, searching for remnants of their kiss.

He thinks to himself that this has been the best not-real-birthday he’s had in a very long time.

[homenecromancer]

comic by Tim Kreider; here’s the full text of his Artist’s Statement for this one:

I had already turned in my cartoon Friday afternoon when, Saturday morning, I read the news that Reagan’s health was failing. I began drawing immediately. I have had a rough draft of this cartoon ready for this occasion for years. As the day continued I kept getting e-mails and text messages from friends excitedly anticipating the Gipper’s impending death. Finally Steve, with whom I have planned for over a decade to hold a party on the day of Reagan’s funeral, called me from the track, where he was betting on the Belmont Stakes, to tell me that the old bastard was finally dead. He reported that there had been a perfunctory Moment of Silence, lasting approximately 1.6 seconds, before everyone went back to betting. It was beautiful. As the afternoon went on I got a flood of congratulatory calls from friends around the world—Ben in Boston, Megan and Mike in New York, Berkeley in Baltimore, even Allison in Bulgaria. I e-mailed this cartoon into the City Paper around seven P.M., begging them in the name of our sweet lord and savior Jesus Christ to stop the presses and please run this Wednesday, and then headed down to Baltimore to drink tiny beers and watch The Big Lebowski. The Reagan party will be held at my house this weekend.

Perhaps it may seem insensitive and unpatriotic to some for me to run such an ugly cartoon at this time of national mourning. To those of you who hold this view, I must respectfully say fuck you. Some of my younger readers may not even remember Ronald Regan’s presidency, and I would not want them to be misled by the onslaught of state propaganda they’ll be subjected to this week. Calling him the Great Communicator is like calling Hitler the Great Negotiator, and if we’re going to credit him with winning the Cold War we may as well credit him with the Challenger disaster and the return of Halley’s Comet. Let me tell you what it was really like:

Even at age twelve I could tell that Jimmy Carter was an honest man trying to address complicated issues and Ronald Reagan was a brilcreemed salesman telling people what they wanted to hear. I secretly wept on the stairs the night he was elected President, because I understood that the kind of shitheads I had to listen to in the cafeteria grew up to become voters, and won. I spent the eight years he was in office living in one of those science-fiction movies where everyone is taken over by aliens—I was appalled by how stupid and mean-spirited and repulsive the world was becoming while everyone else in America seemed to agree that things were finally exactly as they should be. The Washington Press corps was so enamored of his down-to-earth charm that they never checked his facts, but if you watched his face when it was at rest, when he wasn’t performing for anyone, you could see him for what he really was—a black-eyed, slit-mouthed, lizard-faced old son-of-a-bitch. He was a bad actor, an informer for McCarthy, and a hired front man for a gang of Texas oilmen, fundamentalist dingbats, and right-wing psychotics out of Dr. Strangelove. He put a genial face on chauvanism, callousness, and greed, and made people feel good about being bigots again. He likened Central American death squads to our founding fathers and called the Taliban “freedom fighters.” His legacy includes the dismantling of Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal, the final dirty win of Management over Labor, the outsourcing of America’s manufacturing base, the embezzlement of almost all the country's wealth by 1% of its citizens, the scapegoating of the poor and black, the War on Drugs, the eviction of schizophrenics into the streets, AIDS, acid rain, Iran-Contra, and, let’s not forget, the corpses of two hundred forty United States Marines. He moved the center of political discourse in this country to somewhere in between Richard Nixon and Augusto Pinochet. He believed in astrology and Armageddon and didn't know the difference between history and movies; his stories were lies and his jokes were scripted. He was the triumph of image over truth, paving the way for even more vapid spokesmodels like George W. Bush. He was, as everyone agrees, exactly what he appeared to be—nothing. He made me ashamed to be an American. If there was any justice in this world his Presidential Library would contain nothing but boys' adventure books and bad cowboy movies, and the only things named after him would be shopping malls and Potter's Fields. Let the earth where he is buried be seeded with salt.

as of today, Ronald Reagan has been in Hell for twenty years

[hurlumerlu]

lesbian only friends would have been the superior show so let me play with the main characters as wlw for a second

Mew: we all have that one pal who takes astrology a little too seriously. Has read all the foundational feminist texts. Wear neither leather nor pleather because both are bad. If we want a he/him lesbian, Mew's our best candidate.

Boston: I can only think of that friend of mine who has the wildest hookup stories and once mournfully told me she'd "finished tinder in the paris area". Great girl. The reddest lipstick.

Sand: soft butch Sand? soft butch Sand with her band shirts and motorcycle? she can still be played by First Kanaphan it's literally fine. would actually name female artists when listing her favourite musicians so canon Sand should get on her level.

Ray: a third of Ray's outfits would be rich mommy fashion on a woman and I can see how that could cause some confusion but it's not like rich mommies are immune to addiction and/or being a disaster. trust me it still works.

Nick: baby lesbian self-conscious about her lack of experience and her seemingly inescapable hetero-passing, trying out various aesthetics but none of them really fit? I don't know how to resolve that for her but I want to see it.

Top: ???? idk man he's such a dude.