#our needs are many

[uncle-fruity]

Furthermore, I actually don't care if you approve or disapprove of the term "transandrophobia." If you aren't a trans man or a transmasc person, your opinion on the words we choose for the specific discrimination we face is not welcome in this conversation. And if you ARE a trans man or transmasc person, you are more than welcome to coin a term or use an existing one that you're more comfortable with. No one is stopping you. Either you care about our problems or you don't, and if a single word you don't agree with is your dealbreaker, then tbh fuck all the way off until you get serious about being a good ally.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[girlfictions]

thinking about this poem by noor hindi today.

(donate to palestine here)

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[forgettable-au]

END OF CHAPTER ONE

FORGETTABLE-AU (Page 65-72)

* Time to put this puzzle together.

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[sunclown]

Looking for comfort in odd places

[clouvu]

Cooking up an older Clervie outfit design so I don't have to keep drawing her looking like her child self but Long

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Have you seen my little lad?

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[uncanny-tranny]

"What if I'm not trans, what if I'm choosing to be trans for [list of reasons]"

I am grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you like a can of soda. If, for whatever reason, you looked within yourself and decided to be trans - you're still trans. We (as trans people) don't need to have an "I always knew" story. We don't need to have the ~magical transsexual gene~. It's incredibly hard for so many of us to figure out why we're trans, and if being trans was always a choice, the reasons for choosing to be trans would be complex. If being trans is always a choice, that doesn't negate that we deserve human dignity and respect for who we are.

It shouldn't matter if you chose your trans identity or not, becayse you still are a person. You breath the same air I do, and you deserve to live how you want, on your terms. You watch the same sunrises and sunsets I do, you are here. I, for one, welcome you no matter what your inner reflections are about your transness. You have a place in this world, you have inherent worth.

[scarland-artbook]

🌸 The Art of Scarland is here!

60+ artists gathered together to conceptualize Scarland as a real theme park. The result is 181 pages full of care and detail, to show appreciation for Scar's passion project. Enjoy!

🔽 Dоwnlоad Link

▶ Do you want this to be a real physical thing in your hands right now? Please let us know by answering our Printing Interest Check form

[saltpepperbeard]

Vico Ortiz + Their Sword

(for @stedebonnets)

[smellroy]

Hi hello if it's alright I have Questions about the Sleeping Terror Lieut art you posted 1. Are Irving and Hodgson restraining Little? Is it on purpose? He's already starfishing, is he a kicker/thrasher without appropriate support? Alternatively, is Little the anchor for the other two? Hodgeson primly holding the crook of his arm and Irving's sleeping cap across his eyes would imply as much. 2. The pillow on the floor. Is it Irvings, who stole Ned's after he pushed his own off? Or is it Ned's, who somehow flung it right off the edge of the bed? 3. Irving and Ned both on top of the blanket, Hodge barely using a corner - do the terror lieutenants sleep hotter than most? 4. Hodgson, rigid, face-up, mask on. Jopson, rigid, face-down, into the pillow. Coincidence?

Y’all are out there asking the hard-hitting questions.. I tried to answer a few but even I don’t have all the answers.

[genderkoolaid]

european italians when italian americans have their own pronunciations & spellings because we are a linguistically isolated diaspora & most of our families spoke regional dialects instead of standard italian when they immigrated anyways:

[bogkeep]

there's something so deeply dystopian to me how tech companies don't understand that a forced convenience is not a convenience at all. i'm sure autocorrect is helpful for many, but a function that forcibly changes my actual written words and punctuation is taking away my language. photo filters can be nice but i need to choose using them myself or else i have lost the ability to take the picture i want. i don't want a machine to draw or write for me. taking away the option for me to do things manually feels like violence!!!! all this talk of endless opportunity, why are you RESTRICTING me

[lilybug-02]

Some Symptoms of ADHD from Someone who is diagnosed:

Forgetfulness that impacts daily life

Difficulty remembering others names and even faces

Hard to stop fidgeting or moving when bored. Difficult to stop even when aware

Hyperfocus

Lack of motivation in tasks, even more so when external motivations are not given

Difficulty in being organized for extended periods of time

[[Symptoms of Adult ADHD]]

[royalarchivist]

Pac: I can't keep doing this, I can't do this– [Laughs] I can't do this anymore— What is this, man?!

If you didn't see Pac suffering in Sims earlier today, here's a (translated & subtitled) compilation of some silly Sims Hideduo moments that made poor Pac look like he was questioning all his life choices.