III

btw if you ever see me wearing a ram's skull and holding a knife covered in blood up to the elbows don't even worry about it

🦔

This is Charles. He wants to go on a journey around tumblr. could you show him around?

To be a submarine

I often wonder what life would be like if a different choice was taken. Whole universes resting on left or right, effort or slack, grace or ignorance. It is an often enough thought that people have - brighter bulbs have puffed their pollen upon the winds of the universe on this exercise. In my illness, it is a daily one. I used to live in Indiana. I moved there for love and was courageous enough to find it twice. I say courageous because I do not believe in luck. You have to make your own luck in this world; granted some folk are graced with coincidence and random generosity -  happy little accidents in the evolutionary algorithm. Luck is putting yourself in the right place, and working to find the perfect opportunity. I often wonder that too - if it was love that my partners saw or opportunity. Indiana saw me pressed to the edge - broke, desperate, hungry, heartbroken. Still I thrived and made things work. I too had broken down, had bared my soul, had looked into the abyss that dwells within every heart - still I rode with chin high and eyes clear. The knife’s edge that forms the barrier between our worlds is that I chose. I chose to hollow myself out in that personal hell. I was a robot, surviving any pressure simply because I was not allowed to feel it. I could not think, nor thrive, but I could survive. Now I eye warily the seemingly countless gauges, diving deeper to examine every shipwreck and artifact commissioned to the sea. Sweat beads as my mind creaks and wails; still the hands hold course. I wonder if it would be wiser to send unfeeling metal to discover. Or if the bravery of venturing into uncharted waters is the point.

Blessed Mabon Everyone 🌛🌝🌜

Y’all look at the cute yeast dough Pumpkins I made as part of this years celebration.

Recipe below 👇🏻

You’ll need: (for the amount in the picture)

Yeast 15g

Flour 250g

1 medium egg

100 ml milk

4 tablespoons sugar

Butter

pinch of salt

Vanilla extract or dried vanilla

ground Cinnamon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warm up milk (not to hot)

crumble yeast into milk and stir until dissolved

add the egg

mix all dry ingredients together then combine with milk yeast mixture

Stir and knead until you got a non sticking dough (carefully add more flour if the dough is to sticky)

Place dough back into bowl and cover with a kitchen cloth

take a second bowl and fill with warm water

Place dough bowl into second bowl (yeast dough likes to rest under cozy temperature)

Let Rest for 1 hour

Pre heat oven to 200°

Shape to your liking

melt butter and apply to your dough creations

mix sugar and ground cinnamon

sprinkle onto buttered dough

Backe in the oven until golden brown (keep a close eye to your baked goods. They don’t need long in the oven! ~10minutes)

Enjoy and blessed be 🌛♥️

breathtaking

one of my best friends is a cat. animals don't abandon you, but people usually seem to. you pour a bowl of food or refill their water dish and they think you're the greatest thing in the world when all you really are is another piece of trash in a dumpster painted up to disguise its grotesque interior.

they climb into bed with you in search of affection and in return, give you their's. and when you wake up the next day, they're waiting, calling to you like they know nothing of the sins you commit each and every day. they love you all the same, they look forward to you despite your mistakes. truth is, they probably don't know what and who you really are, just what you've been to them. and god, please be good to them; not because of what they can give to you, but because it's what they deserve. there will come a day where you will look over and see them older, see the end draw near.

but 14 years is a long time to have something love you and you love it. i know i should be greatful for the time i have had, but instead im filled with greed, for even a decade and a half seems too short for a creature so unlike myself. so pure, so innocent.

- "i feel like i'm losing the only pieces of myself i like"

I know a lot is going on in the world right now but this kind of loss of art is breaking my heart in two.

The Valentino’s Costume Group in Hollywood has lost everything after the death of their co-founder, the pandemic, strikes, etc. and is now being forced to do a very quick liquidation sale before having to send all of their years of hard work to be turned into rags. (Yes this is a real thing)

These people have crafted thousands of costumes over 20 years to rent to everyone and anyone who needed one. They’re sex worker and queer friendly. They’re also being accused of being “fast fashion” while being one of the few places in this world actively working against fast fashion with their work. They don’t want to have to turn their hard work into rags. It’s the only option for them with the enormous amount of costumes/fabrics they have to remove from the building very quickly.

So, Californians and anyone willing to travel to Hollywood: YOU can save a costume! (or two?) YOU can save someone’s art from being destroyed! YOU can own pieces of Hollywood! YOU can save so much sewing supplies and fabrics!

Where: 5535 CAHUENGA BLVD, N. HOLLYWOOD

Phone: 818-427-5248

Special hours for Influencers: May 20-30th 9:30am-4:30pm MON-SUN

What: Vintage, designer, menswear, historical, specialty, children’s, shoes, jewelry, vintage hats, show packages, racks, fabric, etc!

Important note: Please be kind and patient with the folks managing this sale. There’s maybe 2-3 people working at the most, and they all just suffered the death of someone close to them and the loss of their dream.

Please, please signal boost this. Their hard work should not go to waste and this terrible loss is already hard enough on them.

Help a Jewish Community Buy Back Its Own Damn Synagogue!

Firsty, thank you for reading this, and I hope you’ll get through it and give us the honor of a donation, firstly, and a reblog, secondly. Maybe even a note to any friends you have outside of tumblr! 

If you don’t care about the history, skip to the bold at the end! 

This is Temple Emanu-El, in Helena, Montana. At the time it was built, it was the only synagogue between Minneapolis, Minnesota, and Portland, Oregon. It was built with the hard work of the Jewish community that had come west to seek their fortune and stability, having heard that people were more willing to do business with Jews in the West, a place where social strictures were slightly relaxed. This turned out to be true, and the community thrived. 

This picture resolves small on tumblr, but you can see the love and care they put into it. It’s modeled after the great synagogues of Europe, with heavy stonework, onion domes, and intricate stained glass. The president of the congregation cried at its opening and dedication. 

As the years went on, the West became more settled, and for a series of socio-political reasons of which my History of the American West major ass is well aware but are ultimately unimportant to the issue at hand, Jewish communities left much of the interior west for metropolitan areas. By the 1930s, the Jewish community was so small that they could not justify the large and lavish worship center. 

They sold it to the city for one dollar. 

The promise made to them was that it would be used for the public good. The state readied the former temple for its new function as offices for Social and Rehabilitation Services, sandblasting of the Hebrew inscription, “Gate to the Eternal,” above the entry and removing the star-studded, painted domes.. The copper was stripped from the building and likely reused to re-clad the State Capitol’s dome at about the same time. 

That lasted all of 40 years, when the State of Montana decided to let it sit idle and decay, so they could justify the sale of the building, sold for a pittance to the public good, to the Helena Catholic Diocese for $83,000  (this is an opinion of mine, though it is not an uneducated one, and I do firmly believe it. I do not, however, represent that they allowed it to fall into disrepair to justify the sale as objective fact.) 

This is the building now

In a twist of fate, the diocese can no longer afford to maintain the building. They are selling it, and the Jewish community of Helena is trying to buy it. 

The Montana Jewish Project is being far far far nicer and more politic about this than I would be, but in fairness, they actually how to get Nice Goyim to donate, and I don’t, so. The Diocese is spinning this as selling the building for much less than its worth, which may be true, but if you bought it for $83,000, that would be $280,000 now. 

They are selling it for $925,000. And we have to have 70% of the purchase price by February 28th. Easy terms, right? 

Here’s where you come in! If the idea of Montana’s Jews getting back the building that was sold to the Diocese in spite of the original agreement appeals to you, you can and should donate to their capital campaign. They even have an option for your donation where if we don’t get Emanu-El back, your money will be returned to you instead of being used for other MJP protects and repairs. 

This place won’t just be used for the Jewish community, though I think that would be enough. They want it to be used as a museum and center for the community as well, to teach about Jewish life in Montana, with Jewish cooking classes, and social programs, and teaching non-Jews about Jewish customs and culture. 

I just want to get the cross off the top.

Donate here

Avoir un coup de foudre, encore

I had not seen you for such a long time. The sun has caressed your body, tanning your curves that your new style clings to as lovers at the edge of ecstasy. Gravity itself tips in your direction, heads turning, eyes feasting as you stride to the dance floor, the gold in the chandelier losing luster compared to your sheen. Even from the sides I can smell your perfume, wrenching myself away from the scenes playing behind my eyes as siren song to Odysseus. My soul calls to hart, to bound away before this predator could sense our gaze, but your claws slide over my shoulder sending me stock still, the crowd calling that I know the dances you seek. Your voice purrs and hums in my ears, and I am clay under your exquisite hands, guided to first position with our fingers interlocked. The first dance I am shaky, nervous and at a nadir of confidence; it has been too long, I am too eager, I am too much in my head. Unsure sounds escape your throat, even a yelp with my trip - still your smile would refocus me, your eyes laughing and playful. The second was rote but easy, neither of us straining, yet neither of us bored. The third dance, we are alone again. My fingers trace your throat as your laugh knows you have won. The song is difficult, the moves igniting fires in our limbs; still we twirl about each other, your voice clear, perfect, sweet, as I grow hotter, enamored with you all over again. Then it is over, both of us trembling within a mist of applause. You are led away to your case, your strings being loosened, the rosin tapped and wiped off. I lay a hand on your shoulder, silently promising that soon, we shall play again.

polish government has opened a website for ukrainians seeking safety and trying to cross the ukrainian-polish border:

ua.gov.pl

as of 13:10 polish time, it has been said as many people as possible will be let through the borders. they are also supposed to let through children who do not have passports, as to not divide families.