#otherwise

LOGIC:“Nobody should be allowed to stifle free speech. Unless I don’t approve of what they’re saying, in which case they should be crushed.”

I gained an hour of a sleep and yet here I am, still wasting it

janes-archive:

Jane Austen Map

Prayer for My Unborn Niece or Nephew
Ross Gay

Today, November 28th, 2005, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania,
I am staring at my hands in the common pose
of the hungry and penitent. I am studying again
the emptiness of my clasped hands, wherein I see
my sister-in-law days from birthing
the small thing which will erase,
in some sense, the mystery of my father’s departure;
their child will emerge with ten fingers,
and toes, howling, and his mother will hold
his gummy mouth to her breast and the stars
will hang above them and not one bomb
will be heard through that night. And my brother will stir,
waking with his wife the first few days, and he will run
his long fingers along the soft terrain of his child’s skull
and not once will he cover the child’s ears
or throw the two to the ground and cover them
from the blasts. And this child will gaze
into a night which is black and quiet.
She will pull herself up to her feet
standing like a buoy in wind-grooved waters,
falling, and rising again, never shaken
by an explosion. And her grandmother
will watch her stumble through a park or playground,
will watch her sail through the air on swings,
howling with joy, and never once
will she snatch her from the swing and run
for shelter because again, the bombs are falling.
The two will drink cocoa, the beautiful lines
in my mother’s face growing deeper as she smiles
at the beautiful boy flipping the pages of a book
with pictures of dinosaurs, and no bomb
will blast glass into this child’s face, leaving
the one eye useless. No bomb will loosen the roof,
crushing my mother while this child sees
plaster and wood and blood where once his Nana sat.
This child will not sit with his Nana, killed by a bomb,
for hours. I will never drive across two states
to help my brother bury my mother this way. To pray
and weep and beg this child to speak again.
She will go to school with other children,
and some of them will have more food than others,
and some will be the witnesses of great crimes,
and some will describe flavors with colors, and some
will have seizures, and some will read two grade
levels ahead, but none of them will tip their desks
and shield their faces, nor watch as their teacher
falls out of her shoes, clinging to the nearest child.
This child will bleed
and cry and curse his living parents
and slam doors and be hurt and hurt again. And she will feel
clover on her bare feet. Will swim in frigid waters.
Will climb trees and spy cardinal chicks blind
and peeping. And no bomb will kill this child’s parents.
No bomb will kill this child’s grandparents. No bomb
will kill this child’s uncles. And no bomb will kill
this child, who will raise to his mouth
some small morsel of food of which there is more
while bombs fall from the sky like dust
brushed from the hands of a stupid god and children
whose parents named them will become dust
and their parents will drape themselves in black
and dream of the tiny mouths which once reared
to suckle or gasp at some bird sailing by
and their tears will make a mud which will heal nothing,
and today I will speak no word
except the name of that child whose absence
makes the hands of her parents shiver. A name
which had a meaning.

As will yours.

                                             —for Mikayla Grace

==

Also by Ross Gay: A Small Needful Fact.

Today in: 

2020: Vigil, Phillis Levin
2019:Nights in the Neighborhood, Linda Gregg
2018:I Dreamed Again, Anne Michaels
2017:wishes for sons, Lucille Clifton
2016:Told You So, Keetje Kuipers
2015:Accident, Mass. Ave., Jill McDonough
2014:This Hour and What Is Dead, Li-Young Lee
2013:To Myself, Franz Wright
2012:Manet’s Olympia, Margaret Atwood
2011:Three Rivers, Alpay Ulku
2010:Ode to Hangover, Dean Young
2009:We become new, Marge Piercy
2008:The Only Animal, Franz Wright
2007:Dream Song 385, John Berryman
2006:The Quiet World, Jeffrey McDaniel
2005:Man and Wife, Robert Lowell

Poem to My Child, If Ever You Shall Be
Ross Gay

                             —after Steve Scafidi

The way the universe sat waiting to become,
quietly, in the nether of space and time,

you too remain some cellular snuggle
dangling between my legs, curled in the warm

swim of my mostly quietest self. If you come to be—
And who knows?—I wonder, little bubble

of unbudded capillaries, little one ever aswirl
in my vascular galaxies, what would you think

of this world which turns itself steadily
into an oblivion that hurts, and hurts bad?

Would you curse me my careless caressing you
into this world or would you rise up

and, mustering all your strength into that tiny throat
which one day, no doubt, would grow big and strong,

scream and scream and scream until you break the back of one injustice,
or at least get to your knees to kiss back to life

some roadkill? I have so many questions for you,
for you are closer to me than anyone

has ever been, tumbling, as you are, this second,
through my heart’s every chamber, your teeny mouth

singing along with the half-broke workhorse’s steady boom and gasp.
And since we’re talking today I should tell you,

though I know you sneak a peek sometimes
through your father’s eyes, it’s a glorious day,

and there are millions of leaves collecting against the curbs,
and they’re the most delicate shade of gold

we’ve ever seen and must favor the transparent
wings of the angels you’re swimming with, little angel.

And as to your mother—well, I don’t know—
but my guess is that lilac bursts from her throat

and she is both honeybee and wasp and some kind of moan to boot
and probably she dances in the morning—

but who knows? You’ll swim beneath that bridge if it comes.
For now let me tell you about the bush called honeysuckle

that the sad call a weed, and how you could push your little
sun-licked face into the throngs and breathe and breathe.

Sweetness would be your name, and you would wonder why
four of your teeth are so sharp, and the tiny mountain range

of your knuckles so hard. And you would throw back your head
and open your mouth at the cows lowing their human songs

in the field, and the pigs swimming in shit and clover,
and everything on this earth, little dreamer, little dreamer

of the new world, holy, every rain drop and sand grain and blade
of grass worthy of gasp and joy and love, tiny shaman,

tiny blood thrust, tiny trillion cells trilling and trilling,
little dreamer, little hard hat, little heartbeat,

little best of me.

–

Today in: 

2021: Choi Jeong Min, Franny Choi
2020:Earl, Louis Jenkins
2019:Kul, Fatimah Asghar
2018:My Life Was the Size of My Life, Jane Hirshfield
2017:I Would Ask You To Reconsider The Idea That Things Are As Bad As They’ve Ever Been, Hanif Abdurraqib
2016:Tired, Langston Hughes
2015:Democracy, Langston Hughes
2014:Postscript, Seamus Heaney
2013:The Ghost of Frank O’Hara, John Yohe
2012:All Objects Reveal Something About the Body, Catie Rosemurgy
2011:Prayer, Marie Howe
2010:The Talker, Chelsea Rathburn
2009:There Are Many Theories About What Happened, John Gallagher
2008:bon bon il est un pays, Samuel Beckett
2007:Root root root for the home team, Bob Hicok
2006:Fever 103°, Sylvia Plath
2005:King Lear Considers What He’s Wrought, Melissa Kirsch

I saw Emmett Till this week at the grocery store
Eve L. Ewing

looking over the plums, one by one
lifting each to his eyes and
turning it slowly, a little earth,
checking the smooth skin for pockmarks
and rot, or signs of unkind days or people,
then sliding them gently into the plastic.
whistling softly, reaching with a slim, woolen arm
into the cart, he first balanced them over the wire
before realizing the danger of bruising
and lifting them back out, cradling them
in the crook of his elbow until
something harder could take that bottom space.
I knew him from his hat, one of those
fine porkpie numbers they used to sell
on Roosevelt Road. it had lost its feather but
he had carefully folded a dollar bill
and slid it between the ribbon and the felt
and it stood at attention. he wore his money.
upright and strong, he was already to the checkout
by the time I caught up with him. I called out his name
and he spun like a dancer, candy bar in hand,
looked at me quizzically for a moment before
remembering my face. he smiled. well
hello young lady
      hello, so chilly today
      should have worn my warm coat like you
yes so cool for August in Chicago
      how are things going for you
oh he sighed and put the candy on the belt
it goes, it goes.

==

More like this: 
A Small Needful Fact, Ross Gay
The Restoration, Gary Jackson
A Supermarket in California, Allen Ginsberg

Today in …

2020: Day Beginning with Seeing the International Space Station And a Full Moon Over the Gulf of Mexico and All its Invisible Fishes, Jane Hirshfield
2019:Flores Woman, Tracy K. Smith
2018:The Universe as Primal Scream, Tracy K. Smith
2017:Soul, David Ferry
2016:Turkeys, Galway Kinnell
2015:He Said Turn Here, Dean Young
2014:I Don’t Miss It, Tracy K. Smith
2013:Hotel Orpheus, Jason Myers
2012:Emily Dickinson’s To-Do List, Andrea Carlisle
2011:Now That I Am in Madrid and Can Think, Frank O’Hara
2010:The Impossible Marriage, Donald Hall
2009:The Rider, Naomi Shihab Nye
2008:from Homage to Mistress Bradstreet, John Berryman
2007:This Heavy Craft, P.K. Page
2006:Late Ripeness, Czeslaw Milosz
2005:A Martian Sends A Postcard Home, Craig Raine

sprotteswelt:

inthetags:

reblog this and put the year you were born and the first social media you had an account on in the tags

greenauras:

does anyone else completely ignore the queue option on tumblr. i’m here when i’m here

Things I have learned from having Tinder for 24 hours:
1. I thrive off attention
2. I refuse to lead people on
3. These people are generally nice, so all the girls that go on specifically to curve guys are just assholes
4. As long as someone can hold a decent conversation, I’ll totally keep talking to anyone and everyone who wants to talk

lixeenu:

I think it’s Date, I hope it’s Date, I want it to be Date,, I don’t know if it’s Date.

in-defense-of-loki:

littleabriel-blog:

in-defense-of-loki:

littleabriel-blog:

mostlybuckystuff:

lokis-nebby-neighbor:

mostlybuckystuff:

littleabriel-blog:

mostlybuckystuff:

Here is definite proof Tom is also to blame for what they did to Loki. He says Loki was stripped off all things familiar and that its awesome. He helped murdering the character. Just saying for those who still keep hoping.

Fucking sell out.

Yeah, I said it. Someone had to.

True. Cos nothing else comes to mind. Only 2 things:he is a sellout or forgot who Loki was. Both awful. And I say openly,cant believe Im saying it after years of loving him,but I hate him now. Now I hear or read what he says and my blood boils. Crazy how love can turn to hate in my case @littleabriel-blog

At this point I’ve lost all interest in what Tom has to say about Loki or why he’s saying it. All I know is whatever he was doing in that show was not Loki. It wasn’t great to watch or see him be humiliated, beaten, and told he deserves it by people who were even worse than he ever was. As a longtime fan I wanted so much to see Loki’s story be told, to see his perspective treated with dignity and his identity and trauma acknowledged, and all I got was some lousy Mary Sue.

Amazing tags

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

This this this this.

Yeah, I mean, when Tom was passionate about Loki, it was great. An actor who cared very much about the character he portrayed, like the exact opposite of Hemsworth atp. But I never really had interest in him, it was always Loki. My fixation never attaches to the actor. So while it’s disheartening to hear him go back against statements he made prior, whether he is forced to by corporates or not, it never colored my understanding of the character. And it’s easy just to ignore and dismiss what he says. Agree on those tags, too.

That’s why it always disturbs me when I see fanfic equating Tom and Loki or other people who can’t seem to differentiate the two.

It’s simple: Tom is the actor. Loki is a character he plays. Loki the character has been around since before Tom was born.

Tom the actor, if you read his old social media back when he used it and watch his interviews, is nothing like Loki the character he plays. He’s an actor.It’s his job to literally transform into a completely different person than who he is IRL. Tom isn’t like Loki at all IRL. Where Loki is dark, Tom is fair. Tom was also a big goofball and was widely known as one of the nicest actors in the business (have no idea if this is still true or not, I haven’t paid attention). Tom’s RL personality is completely different from Loki’s.

Which is why the character we saw in that series was not Loki. It resembled Loki somewhat. He had Loki’s name and the same coloration…it was washed out as fuck due to the cheap makeup they used but the coloration was there. But the personality was all Tom. What we saw was basically Tom with a dye job.

Which tells me that he’s just given up and completely phoned it in when it comes to Loki, as has the MCU in general.

Yep. Currently a situation where nobody wins…

I think especially with the fact this is very clearly a filmed and planned out interview; and with a major publisher no less? One thing to keep in mind when watching these since Gagnarok and SM: Homecoming in particular, is that yes he is an actor.. who is also under contract to pitch things in a very specific way. Especially leading up  towards the second season, and the fact they are and have been pushing for the show to bring home some awards.

While that is going on? The PR teams involved are not going to want anyone to call attention to, never mind own up to the massive flaws in the series. They’re going to play up whatever they can and push the actors and other named creators to do the same.

The fact that this interview completely disregards some of his earlier more candid quotes and comments is pretty telling as to how honest it isn’t. Which is not surprising when you see that particular logo top right: even before you get to the plastered on smiles and multiple yes-girl responses from the interviewer herself. Variety is still a big and recognizable name in the industries attached to the business after all.

EDIT: Also and especially tags. yeah.. I did it again.

ober-affen-geil:

randomslasher:

faustandfurious:

faustandfurious:

faustandfurious:

One advantage of not really having a strong sense of gender identity is that you’re very [shrug emoji] about how people gender you. Sometimes people call me by she/her pronouns and sometimes they go with he/him pronouns and on the internet people often default to they/them, and neither option is entirely right but also, fuck if I know what would be right, and I don’t particularly care. Therefore I’m perfectly happy to outsource my gender identity to the people around me who actually need to figure out which box to put me in. I don’t need to talk about myself in third person, so really my pronouns sound like a you problem.

My pronouns are I/me and the rest is for someone else to deal with because I have better things to do.

Very fond of macrolabels, like “queer”, that provide zero extra information. Is it genderqueer? Is it romantic/sexual orientation queer? Is it queer as in “none of your fucking business what’s in my pants and what I do with it and with whom”?

This is actually probably the first time I’ve ever read something that accurately describes my relationship with gender–ie, ‘my gender is me and my pronouns are a you problem’–so thank you for that!

#you cannot gender me in a way that matters