#memiors

[artemismatchalatte]

Here is my 2023 tbr shelf! I own copies of these books and these were on the top of my want-to-read.

It's mostly classics, lgbt lit, women's lit, and feminist theory with some nonfiction and other books thrown in. :)

[annasellheim]

next part

[iodinemuncher]

Dose anyone have any fan theories for Moominvalley season 4? I feel like im the only one who has like 7milion theories on it 😭 I REALLY wanna see what everyone else thinks!

Also image of Pinterest being silly!:

[sewer-rat-eats-you]

Kinda half-assed height comparison/eye ref sheet. No idea what I was doing lol.

[frogwhomp]

[the-entity-down-the-street]

Idk how to self promote for shit but I'll tell you Tumblr.Com I'm very excited about my weird little novella that's half-memoir and half cosmic horror comedy and its about the existential dread of overcoming suicidal ideation as an autistic trans bitch but now idk what the fuck to do with my life in this rapidly crumbling capitalistic hellscape

The answer is be loud about existing in spite the statistics, love my friends, and suck goblin dick

[novasjaneway]

Currently reading and bawling my eyes out here and there while also being thoroughly enamored with her writing and her honesty.

Just really ❤️

[elysiamus]

Has anyone read this yet? I’m not far along in it yet but so far it’s good! I mean, it’s just his diary but it’s very interesting nonetheless. 🍂

[antigonenikk]

-to the state fair-

Fandom: The Pacific

Pairing: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge

Summary: the mortar squad adopts a mini-horse as their mascot in the first months of okinawa.

“Instead of replying, afraid he might start screaming, he keeps his silence. Head buried in Myrtle’s side, he lets Snafu rub his dirty hand over the nape of his neck, just like he would with the pony. Tender and with too much force. Like he’s not used to gentleness. The panic inside of him does not pass.”

Warnings: bittersweet, mini-horses, tender homoerotic moments

Burgie is the one to find her. She’s tiny. Maybe the tiniest horse Eugene has ever seen. Her head comes up to Gene’s elbow, and her coat is a silky smooth brown. The color of the deer he used to spy on in the forests near his home as a child. At first, no one knows what to do with her. Burgie looks just as lost as the rest of them, holding her wooden bridle, standing in the middle of a muddy road on patrol. But with no fighting going on in those early days, it was quickly decided that she could be allowed to stay at camp with them.

She grew on them quick. Burgie was prone to reading to her before they had to head to their foxholes for the night. Jay, hesitant at first, was constantly checking her feet for injuries, hovering like a mother-hen over her shoulder the minute she seemed thirsty or hungry or tired.

Snafu, Eugene thought, had taken to her the fastest. He seemed to have a supernatural connection to old Myrtle, as they had lovingly dubbed her. In the morning when they all sat down for chow, Snaf could be found leaning against her hide, whispering french into her ear. Before patrol he would pat her on the nose. Once for good luck. Then run back a second time for a quick kiss. The other’s might have razzed him for it, but Myrtle had become their mascot. And each of them loved her with a fierce devotion you reserved only for the dearest of pets. She wasn’t just sweet, but strong too. She would carry boxes of ammo strapped to her back for the squad, meandering down steep inclines with dogged determination. Eugene had never liked horses in particular. But Myrtle was special. She reminded him of a character from an old Jack London story. Hearty and full of love and hope, navigating a world torn asunder by man’s sickness.

One night, he joined Myrtle and Snafu at the cliffside by their camp. Artillery fire could be heard from halfway across the island. But for now, things were peaceful. The sun was setting, gusts of cool air were blowing through the pine trees and into their faces from the Sea. They took turns feeding her sugar rations, petting her muzzle, and talking about home.

‘My mama took me once, to the State Fair. Had a pony like Myrtle there. Not as brave as our gal o’course. But I remember sitting there for an hour. With the goats and sheep and ponies and all. Everyone else, my brothers, went on to the rides. But me and mama stuck together….”

It was said in a lilting drawl. With stops and starts. As if Shelton was scared Eugene was going to judge him for a simple childhood memory. He could feel those eyes on him. Blue and wide and lovely like a girl’s. He wanted to fidget. Wanted to touch. Wanted to be anywhere else. Wanted to move closer to Shelton’s wiry body, radiating heat.

Eugene had never been to the State Fair. Just the circus. But he can imagine going there with Snafu, the two of them. Eating funnel cakes and riding the Ferris Wheel and letting themselves get trampled by little barnyard animals. The thought makes him so homesick he could cry. He feels a bit like Dante, overlooking the entrance to hell. Nowhere to go but down and down and down. He doubts, deep in his heart, that he’ll ever get to see something as simple as the circus again.

Snafu must be able to tell he’s upset. Because when their hands brush over Myrtle’s coat, almost touching, Snafu moves to place his calloused palm on his wrist. Eugene exhales, inhales the scent of pine again. When he turns to look he sees an expression on his friend’s face he knows all too well. More than affection, less than grief. Something beyond loss or desire. Beyond spoken words.

The sky is purple, red and pink striations marking out the warmth of Shelton’s skin. Eugene looks down to Myrtle and wishes they could bring her home together.

‘I’ve never been to the State Fair.’

Snafu cracks a grin at his admission.

‘Yeah?’

He nudges Eugene’s shoulder.

‘I could take you, if you like. When all ‘dis is over.’

He chokes on his own tongue. Lets the moment rest. Can’t let it rest.

‘You think we’re going home?’

A look passes over Snafu’s face then. And it makes Eugene regret ever bringing it up in the first place. Myrtle whinnies and Eugene presses his face to her flank, chilled by his own fatalism.

‘You’re going home, Sledgehammer. You’re going home.’

He says it with such conviction that Eugene can’t possibly contradict him. He says it like he knows it’s true. Like he’s willing to do just about anything to make it happen. It doesn’t make him feel less afraid. He doesn’t want to let go of Shelton. He doesn’t know what he would do if the other man died, especially trying to save him. Because that’s what he means. Shelton doesn’t think he’ll make it. Because he’s determined to die to make sure that Eugene does.

Instead of replying, afraid he might start screaming, he keeps his silence. Head buried in Myrtle’s side, he lets Snafu rub his dirty hand over the nape of his neck, just like he would with the pony. Tender and with too much force. Like he’s not used to gentleness. The panic inside of him does not pass.

Two days later Eugene stares Myrtle down, her black eyes wide open and beseeching, full of uncomplicated love. He gives her a single sugar cube ration. And feels himself tearing up. They march out again today. And everyone has agreed. It’s not safe for her anymore. Not with them. The others have gone ahead, each giving her their own private goodbye. Snafu stands waiting for him, machine gun over his shoulder, a living ghost. Eugene pats her once and places his face to hers. If he closes his eyes, with Myrtle in front of him, and Snafu at his rear, he almost feels like he’s home. Like there is hope for the future. Possibility. He imagines the scent of powdered sugar. The sound of children laughing and carnival rides. The flashing neon lights of a game being won. And then he opens his eyes and the moment is over.

He and Snafu walk in silence, down past the cliffside where they sat together what feels like a lifetime ago. Time bends, and snaps, and comes back together. For a moment, Snafu’s pinky hooks together with his own. Then they separate again, and continue marching. Eugene hopes beyond anything, beyond his own will to live, beyond his desire to see Snafu through the war, that that damned little pony doesn’t die. At least not where he can see it.

[horsesarecreatures]

Book review: The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady by Edith Holden

This is a facsimile copy of Edith Holden's nature journal from 1906. It was published posthumously (she sadly drowned in the Thames, supposedly while trying to reach for chestnut branches) . It contains short entries about the fauna and flora she saw while wandering the English countryside, along with beautiful illustrations of them. Interspersed throughout are also facts about the organisms featured and various bits of poetry. It doesn't contain much about her personal life other than the surroundings she observed, but nevertheless it gives a very clear idea about the kind of person she was. I'm glad I bought this at the used bookstore and wish I had a nice coffee table to display it on.

[annasellheim]

Next part- MRI shenanigans

[judgeitbyitscover]

World of Wonders by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Cover art by Fumi Mini Nakamura

Milkweed Editions, September 2020

As a child, Nezhukumatathil called many places home: the grounds of a Kansas mental institution, where her Filipina mother was a doctor; the open skies and tall mountains of Arizona, where she hiked with her Indian father; and the chillier climes of western New York and Ohio. But no matter where she was transplanted—no matter how awkward the fit or forbidding the landscape—she was able to turn to our world’s fierce and funny creatures for guidance. “What the peacock can do,” she tells us, “is remind you of a home you will run away from and run back to all your life.” The axolotl teaches us to smile, even in the face of unkindness; the touch-me-not plant shows us how to shake off unwanted advances; the narwhal demonstrates how to survive in hostile environments. Even in the strange and the unlovely, Nezhukumatathil finds beauty and kinship. For it is this way with wonder: it requires that we are curious enough to look past the distractions in order to fully appreciate the world’s gifts.

[laukrskegg]

Matthew Perry, 1979–2023, aged 54

I grew up with Friends, which I got my sense of humour from Chandler; The Whole Nine Yards was one of my favourite movie in my teenage years. The Odd Couple were good reboot. I have his memoir, haven't read it, now is good time.

[sewer-rat-eats-you]

I started reading The Exploits of Moominpapa impulsively last night and now I can't stop thinking of them even more :3

So here's a bunch of funny little doodles I did in school and Hodgkins and Muddler being cute because I need healthy silly family fellas to heal me lol

[kbldraws]

Ive been putting off posting this but I just gotta do it! Leave a like if you can read my handwriting, and I’ll post some more real soon