Texting Isn't Enough, I Need To Take Her To A Bookstore.

Share your book wishlist for Xmas!!

It's a very long list, so here's my wishlist:

https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/3ND356F5F22S4?ref_=wl_share

Any recommendations are welcome.

I usually have a good bowl of cornmeal and some cheese toasties with coffee.

If I ask nicely will people reblog this and tell me what their most common breakfast is? Not your favorite necessarily, just what you have for breakfast most frequently? 🙏🏽

I pray the next book you pick up & begin reading, engulfs you in the best way possible

Showing restraint by only ordering 2 books when I want to order 7

forever floored by folks who refuse to read anything not tradpub when it comes to queer books cause let me tell you there is so much in indie or smaller publishers being written that would blow your socks off AND theyre not beholden to censorship of tradpub as they try to "keep things nice for their image" (which is ironic considering the kinds of cishet romances that get put out)

here are some queer indie books that ive been reading that yall should check out

The Verge

Amazon’s killing a feature that let you download and backup Kindle books

It’s bad if you like to keep ebook backup copies.

you've got till feb 26

more information and discussion of what this means in this video

Wow... It's 7 am... I don't think I needed this.

If zombies were real, you wouldn't first be warned by the approaching horde by their smell, by their groans, not even a cloud of smoke of the dust they raise coming closer from the horizon. It would be the flies. Hordes and hordes of insects, corpse-flies laying eggs on the carcasses of people who still walk, eating the eyeballs from their sockets, climbing across their unfeeling leathery skin. And the buzzing. The inescapable, deafening buzzing. Everywhere. Like you did not just kick a hornet's nest, but the very ground you walk on was a hornet nest, and each step caused another explosion of insects.

Insects, corpse flies, the buzzing. Their swarms blacken the skies, more horrifying than their migrating meals. The deafening cacophony of constant buzzing, the horrid noise of the living who feast on the dead who feast on the living. The buzzing.

The endless, inescapable buzzing.