Cody Stetzel

@bearable.bsky.social

401 Followers 368 Following

[They/Him] I write about laughter, joy, and what foot-forward community embracing looks like. Love your love. Poems, bear scholar, and all around person who cares. riantly.substack.com

The masked Cody Stetzel in an emergency room waiting room.
The poet Cody and one of their cats Hazelnut striking such cunty poses in their luscious fits of calico fur and orange crochet hat + neon frog cardigan.
Jane Wong, Yanyi, and Quenton Baker sit in front of an Open Books shelf reading poems
Unable to be myself without Cricket
Jellyfish upside down in a cerulean blue water, she is pink, she is cunty, she is brat.
A virtual certificate with text "Celebrating 10M users on Bluesky, #353,645, Cody Stetzel ‪@bearable.bsky.social‬, joined on Jul 24, 2023"
A green background share of Cody's post "Ramblings #10" with a quote on it saying, "A falling rock, for instance - although, is the rock that is 317 feet in the air the same as the rock that is 316 feet in the air?"
Carolina Essas and Allison A. deFreese reading from Winter Season!
View of Parisian sunrise behind curtain
Cody sitting on a couch arm with arms outstretched mild gargoyle vibes. Like gargoyle but make them gay. Gargoyle but they went through a phase listening to the Cure and tried out anal play. Gargoyle but instead of lurking and protecting capitalist assets they squat in blanket forests. Gargoyle but they weren’t sculpted very symmetrically.
Screenshot of a spam instagram comment tag notification looking for dog models for dog gear
Cricket the lays blissfully across the green couch, back paws tucked and front paws lopping. He lays on a soft, grqy blanket, one of his favorites, and keeps his tongue lightly out because of a (suspected) deviated septum he received when he was an alley cat. The boy has certainly grown into his domestic life. From barely tolerating a human in the same room as him, let alone a pet, to now dutifully following us around the house, chirping when we talk to him. He will lay on anything remotely seeming like a bed, and will play with anything that rolls on the floor. His new favorite game is to bring his toys to the top of the stairs and swat them down, satisfied by listening to the pliant smack of plastic against wooden floors drop after drop. Do his dreams convey the world of love that surrounds him? I could only hope. All possible realities ones of joy.