Eunuch-besties - Hampden College Recruiting Board

considering

Oddly shaped lava formations look like a mass of twisted bodies in Hawaii shot by Laszlo Kestay (1996)

succession scriptbook four // pain scale - eula biss // on fathers - key ballah // let dead dogs lie - silas denver melvin // nimmieamee // calling a wolf a wolf - kaveh akbar, // how to be a dog - andrew kane

i’m gonna be free and i’m gonna be fine……..but maybe not tonight

Me in the shower thinking about my wife: i think one of the big reasons why het culture "wifey/hubby" "his/hers" "tiaras/mustaches" matching sets other than the cis binarism of it all is that it reveals the thought process behind heteropatriarchy wherein ideal love is a product of inversion; two puzzle pieces that fit together but are separate and made functional solely by the utility of their differences. Heteropatriarchal love retroactively redefines a person as a half of a whole, their functions and idiosyncrasies only valuable when curtailed by another's. But more than that, heteropatriarchal love is so divided. My "hers" towel and your "his." Married on a friday because saturdays are for the boys. Your woodsmoke-scented deodorant and my lavender. We cant possibly hope to understand each other and that's what lends our partnership value, somehow. But the love i cherish--the love that nurtures me--is inextricability. Not the teeth of your personality spinning the cogs of mine but the blend and blur of our edges together. The further in the tide rolls the better. The love that nurtures me is accepting everything about you into my life even if i dont feel the same way about it that you do. Its a becoming. Becoming you, becoming myself, becoming us, again and again. There are no puzzle pieces to snap together, and im no more or less of anything with or without you. But no matter what happens i carry you with me now. Even in the small ways like how we wear each others jackets and deodorant and hats. I wear your mannerisms, and your jokes. I have your interests. You have my music taste. We subsume and consume one another. We explore each other by exploring ourselves and vice versa. The process of loving you is a mapping of a vast expanse and it is the creation itself of that expanse, ad infinitum. Loving you is a fluidity of the self. I try out new ways of living through you. I see through your eyes. My life doubles by virture of sharing it with you. We finish each others sentences and joke that were the same person but its truer than we have the language to describe. My selfhood blurs into yours; Im not half of a whole, but together we are a whole. You could draw a straight line from one end of me to the other end of you, no breaks. And why shouldnt we travel that line? Step inside my head and get comfy. Mi casa es su casa. Youre me and im you.

What comes out of my mouth when she walks into the room: id let you wear my skin if i could

FUCK

There's something to the picture that all this season and the release of the first three seasons' scripts have painted of Logan and Caroline's divorce not as one of maternal abandonment, but one of maternal dislocation and suffocating abuse that's ruining me right now.

The way Caroline tried to take her children and flee in the dead of the night to Morocco, the way Logan took meetings with every worth-its-salt law firm in the city to cut off Caroline's access to them, wielding the legal system like an axe to an umbilical cord, the way Caroline's one recourse was to try and keep their position in the company, to keep them with something even if she gave it away later as they rejected her in adulthood. The way she stayed for their adolescence in New York even as Logan froze her out, the way she had to bargain for Christmas even in their adulthood, the way she sat in the pews with the rest of the women Logan loved and hurt and discarded while her children cried, with no tools or ability to comfort them, the way she sat as her son wrote her out of her own motherhood as he gave their father sole credit in creating them, stood opposite her daughter as she told her she wouldn't see it, i'm just gonna do it the family way like it was on Caroline and not their father, that she never got to see them.

Something about the way it feels like Logan trained them how to bark at her scent, to make sure she stayed away from the door.

also a poem from the new, unreleased collection. very possibly my own all-time favourite.

Keith Haring for Sesame Street

“Maybe the desire to make something beautiful/is the piece of God that is inside each of us.”

From ‘Franz Marc’s blue horses’ by Mary Oliver