You are askinge chatgpt questions. Ich am wavinge a cheerye hello to the local crowes. We are not the same.

May the spawn of a muskrat wipe boogers on your desk

Stonewall National Monument (U.S. National Park Service) Before the 1960s, almost everything about living openly as a lesbian, gay, bisexual (LGB) person was illegal. The Stonewall Uprising on June 28, 1969 is a milestone in the quest for LGB civil rights a...

This is where you go to tell the National Park Service to restore the word "transgender" in its entry on the Stonewall monument.

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That’s great. They are one of my favorite recent finds. And the newer work of Alice Bag—Jack and I were watching the Decline of Western Civilization and saw Bags. Check out her bio; she’s pretty amazing.

I really liked Fetch the Bolt Cutters!

Alice Bag.

“Under the Table” by Fiona Apple.

Lambrini Girls.

“It’s Okay (to punch Nazis)” by Cheap Perfume

Fea.

“Joan of Arc” by Veronica Grim.

Finally, to mellow out a bit, “Beat Your Ass to Death” by Dan Spencer is a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

Enjoy ;)

What if his navel has its own center of gravity, making all the upper flesh gradually slide down toward his trunks? Or belt? You know, that space wizard girdly thing with polka dots where his shorts should be . . .

Second thought, these things are not for this mortal mind to comprehend.

Oh nice! I remember loving that cover, but I didn’t put it together. Hanks was an original . . . Gotta love the sheer inventiveness of it all (and whatever was happening with Stardust’s pecs here)

Fantomah!

“In 150 characters or less” by @nikitagill.bsky.social

Oh wow. She is amazing. Thank you so much for posting this.

I think of times like those as "Oscar Wilde Comma" days.

Rain, New Year's Eve By Maggie Smith The rain is a broken piano, playing the same note over and over. My five-year-old said that. Already she knows loving the world means loving the wobbles you can't shim, the creaks you can't oil silent—the jerry-rigged parts, MacGyvered with twine and chewing gum. Let me love the cold rain's plinking. Let me love the world the way I love my young son, not only when he cups my face in his sticky hands, but when, roughhousing, he accidentally splits my lip. Let me love the world like a mother. Let me be tender when it lets me down. Let me listen to the rain's one note and hear a beginner's song.

It’s NYE & raining here. I wrote this poem in 2013, so the five-year-old is now sixteen.

Even when it’s hard to love the world unconditionally, and it’s never not hard, here’s to imagining what might be possible and what we can make so.

Love from here on a rainy Tuesday.

The holidays can be hard even during the best of times. Please be gentle with yourself; seek out the joy in caring for others, in being cared for, or in creating the most beautiful and generous solitude for yourself. 🖤

This has driven me crazy forever. See also: token from dead girl has magical evil-repelling powers! (But girl is still dead. Didn't do any good for her, did it? Gotta die to help Our Hero . . .)

A poem about an absolute shitshow of a funeral

A few corn stalks growing randomly by the side of the road

Selu returns to the empty Food City lot.