Fun fact: Women's sports are segregated not to protect women, but to protect *men* from losing *to* a woman.

Don't believe me? Look up Jackie Mitchell. Struck out Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. Then suddenly women were unfit to play baseball.

at this point its not just to punish the homeless, its to make us all suffer. They fucking hate us. Sitting down is time spent not shopping.

an artwork by Spindle of the characters Asimov, a half-elf with short white hair, kissing Ottilie, a human with brown hair tight up in a bun. The composition is upside down view of a puddle showing their reflections as they kiss. Thin "light threads" are in the water, emitted from lil glowpads. (lily pads). The weather is rainy and cloudy.

kissing under the rain

IQ is fake, fascist psuedoscience with the exception being Alakazam's 5000 IQ. That one is real.

SLIGHTLY YOUNGER TRANS WOMAN — "Is it AGP to say I would fuck my clone?"

1. - "I don't think you should worry about that typology stuff."
2. - [Esprit de Corps - Medium] "I would also fuck my clone."
3. - [Electrochemistry - Heroic] "I would also fuck your clone."

tessellated,
like endless inlays
pearl-in-ebony near-violet,
tracing each line in
night-milk and moon-blood
sealed,

salved with wounding
dove-on-barb, with
dozen-handed smile,
where saltdark
breaks red on morning,

[Yeah, I have one.] Long fuckin' time ago was an ogre who lived in the mountains. Name of wouldn't you like to know? More purple than myself. Smelled awful. Smelled great. Strong like a shovel. Wise quiet. Had a mouth like chewing through bone and a stomach ready for it. No heroism to her name. No story really. Just shit she did. Feats I guess. Survived impalement. Survived blunt force trauma. Head almost crushed. Not as in near-miss. As in she withstood it. Survived combat. And hard labor. Carved a mountain into her home. Not dead in the way the living are. Living in the way the dead do. Pulls us from trees and weaves us into animation. Someday she might unweave us. I think she wills the winds here. We ask her questions and watch. Her and the surrounds. This is her mountain. This is her river. Those she does not drag out of it she drags into it.

Me, just like her. I wish.

Was gonna write something else. Then I wrote this. Take what you get. Relish. –– A. #poetry #plural

placed at a strategic angel,

congratulations im so happy for you!!! its been exciting seeing you put this together! i cant wait to explore!

DUNGEON GALS by DoricDream A game in which you play as three gals who enter dungeons!

itch: doricdream.itch.io/dungeon-gals

OST: doricdream.bandcamp.com/album/dungeo...

additional links cuz i ran out of space oops

jokes for one person: adrienne riichi

[kaolinite to her sisters] sister when they started chiseling it wasnt clear what was happening distant chunks of you split off i dont know where to dont know when it got close enough to hear and then to feel and felt like sloughing heavy itching and a sloughing when our eyes wormed through we saw blocks and fragments on the ground dismembered carried off and out big blocks becoming voids and little shards sharpening into sheer knives the silhouette of a fine mask like a body and a body like a doll now emerging from the chiseling endless pinlike aspirations screaming

you dear sister seeping out of each along our surface down into the soil winds and winds of seasons weeping inward through my holes a zillion whistlings in me like a brick of grieving wasps i am hollow i am masklike i am porcelain in nature just a doll of hollow porcelain expressing antecedent needs in the speckled soil lies the shards and droplets of my sisters i will hands and knees and find you i will dig you up and have you i will piece us back together i will eat a lot of dirt

beatrix, zephyr, celeste. in any order

fig. 1 obsidian
fig. 2 porcelain
fig. 3 lacrima
fig. 4 earth

–– b.

#poetry #plural

why Putting Claude in charge of reading my notifications and deciding what to do with them was a fantastic idea.

putting claude in charge of fucking my wife and letting it decide when i'm
allowed to jack off

mechanic dog :›

レイダース楽しみ！

i was hoping someone else would front bc im exhausted but. nope!!! at least i slept well

"reverse ableism" is one of those ideas that is like... how the fuck can ANYONE think that exists. wow

a server we have been posting our work to (w/ selfies) got hate-raided so thats cool

ナズーリン

savage deviljoey ♂️

"Acting out", e.g gaming until way late, making impulsive purchases, etc is usually the symptoms of an unmet need. Thinking about it as "how can I Identify and meet this need responsibly" instead of "how do I stop this bad habit" is not only kinder on yourself but also infinitely more useful

#イラスト　#illustration　#OC

ニナ🐚ニナ

the black hole that gorged on our memories surely evolved from the remnants of the russian sun. we name this star prehistory - antediluvian summers, soaked in lazy joy, as green and bright as mythology. wobbly liturgies swell from cheap markers. our cousin nikita spends his blinding days hunting lizards. when we follow, he shows off, claiming they shed their tails if you pull. we do not believe him, but are proven wrong. he takes a captured lizard from their prison (a metal tub filled with leaves, a mark of care). soon enough, he grins - dead limb contorting in his palm for our viewing pleasure. we tortured those animals. some sea slugs of the genus elysia can cast away their bodies, cutting away digestive system, reproductive organs, heart. they do this to expunge internal parasites, performing extreme autotomy over and over again in the lab, beheading themselves and surviving, living on light alone. living on hope alone, i take a new name.

when a dragonfly reaches maturity, it crawls out of its larval husk; adult body congealing over months, years of predation with its mask. snakes discard their skins as they outgrow them, bursting at illusory seams. there is a type of golden orb-weaving spider where the male breaks off his pedipalp as he mates, detached part pumping sperm. this is only to avoid being eaten by his mate, whom he guards with his life if he escapes her successfully. a wolf caught in a trap would sooner chew through bone than abandon the hunt forever.

all this is to say that some human children have adapted to shed the self. as a species, our natural predators wear our faces, the faces of family members. they strike, and the light goes out. twisting like the tail of a lizard in limbo, prehistory recedes into the dark ages - a common era of consumptive fear - and we pray for a miracle, a wild chance to scream, scrambling from captivity into another birth beneath the russian sun's event horizon softening into another eclipse or another theogeny.

extreme autotomy (and other natural processes)
#poetry #plural

[kaolinite to her sisters] sister when they started chiseling it wasnt clear what was happening distant chunks of you split off i dont know where to dont know when it got close enough to hear and then to feel and felt like sloughing heavy itching and a sloughing when our eyes wormed through we saw blocks and fragments on the ground dismembered carried off and out big blocks becoming voids and little shards sharpening into sheer knives the silhouette of a fine mask like a body and a body like a doll now emerging from the chiseling endless pinlike aspirations screaming

you dear sister seeping out of each along our surface down into the soil winds and winds of seasons weeping inward through my holes a zillion whistlings in me like a brick of grieving wasps i am hollow i am masklike i am porcelain in nature just a doll of hollow porcelain expressing antecedent needs in the speckled soil lies the shards and droplets of my sisters i will hands and knees and find you i will dig you up and have you i will piece us back together i will eat a lot of dirt

beatrix, zephyr, celeste. in any order

fig. 1 obsidian
fig. 2 porcelain
fig. 3 lacrima
fig. 4 earth

–– b.

#poetry #plural

#alicesawyart #RabenstArt

[phasing] The children, inside, home from school. Not crying. Not cold. This place, this table, this is not a house. I am. A woman on a terrace stands, vanishes, reappears sitting. In her fingers, a cigarette, possibly. I rub our hands together –– okay, fine, it is a little cold in this house. We share tacos. We share hands holding tacos. We hold hands and watch a bumblebee. Or just a bee.

I feel your hand fall slack, then fall away –– but when? The bumblebee is gone. No, she's there again. Look. Her fuzzy bronze vest. Her wings of frost. She lands upon your golden roses. Or my yellow lily –- the one most open. Your hand, again, then gone. Or not. It isn't clear. It isn't wrong. Us, the winds, tacos, no glass. No poison. The last bite, yours, waiting. Girl, sweet girl, come out. You can come out. You need not hide. You need not fade. He isn't here anymore. None of them are. Just us, your home, our hands. Take them. Dig in.

Sophia on the rim of her bathtub, in Agnes' black jeans and a maroon T-shirt with anthropomorphic animals on it.

(repost) Shared a moment with [her] earlier. Having tacos. Reading Linda Gregg. Bloc Party on the radio. Pleasant weather. –– S. #poetry #plural