*winnie was here

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a molecular transaction which sparks and ignites so many grains of pure possibility that the narrative substrate of reality undergoes a qualitative change berenexia.itch.io

Five columns listing the character traits of the magical girls in Plastic, Prism, Void by Violet Allen
Thoughts on How to Withstand the Neoconfederate/ Neofascist Power Grab Kali Akuno | Navigating the Storm | February 1, 2022 With an organizational dearth and in a context dominated by misguided and/or haphazard politics by the mainstream left, what can be done? It is my honest assessment that as of this writing we have a little less than two years before the neoconfederates and neofascists are ready to install a reactionary dictatorship by the end of January 2025. In light of my comments regarding this development, many people have been asking, and rightfully so, what should be done to confront the advance of this ultra-reactionary dictatorship over the US empire. What makes this question so hard to answer is the low level of organization existent in the US “left” at present. What further complicates the matter is the degree to which a significant number of forces nominally on the “left,” perhaps even the current majority, have been captured by the reformist ideology and politics of social democracy, which has a less than stellar track record at successfully confronting fascist and ultra-nationalist forces the world over. In the absence of organization and in a context
Four panels featuring simple illustrations of the following: "Supernatural power of the real-life werewolf who devoured 50 women" "The amazing secret of the man who fathered a child at 120" "Men and women who commit weird crimes—on a signal from the moon!" "The ghost ship that saved an American freighter during World War II"
life is a cabaret, old chum
Wiki screenshot from the article on Charnel Grounds In contemporary Western society, the charnel ground might be a prison, a homeless shelter, the welfare roll, or a factory assembly line. The key to its successful support of practice is its desperate, hopeless, or terrifying quality. For that matter, there are environments that appear prosperous and privileged to others but are charnel grounds for their inhabitants – Hollywood, Madison Avenue, Wall Street, Washington, D.C. These are worlds in which extreme competitiveness, speed, and power rule, and the actors in their dramas experience intense emotion, ambition, and fear. The intensity of their dynamics makes all of these situations ripe for the Vajrayana practice of the charnel ground.
gendertrash from hell shipping notification from little littlepuss press
Women Sheer Leopard Print Tops Slim Fitted Long Sleeve See Through Mesh Shirts Going Out Streetwear
I thought I wanted love. But it turns out, I want to abolish the police Smug chihuaha wearing a balaclava
Queerness is something that happens first of all in hindsight. We look back & we think: "Oh, 万 that's what was going on." 万 There is a different kind of curiosity: driven not by the search for knowledge, but on behalf of a certain quality of a heart (off-beat, brightening, playful, kind and, ultimately, unafraid) which greets the world with welcome — all 10,000 things. Questing, we venture forth like the first-person narrator of Baudelaire's poem "Le Voyage" or, in other words, any old fool who can't ever seem to keep both feet on solid ground. We were always a little too much. We had a certain way of speaking, a secret curl of the lip, a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. We learned by getting into trouble. (It hurt quite a lot, actually.) Until, evacuated of all rainbows and any manner of untowardness we could finally remember how to do nothing at all but stare longingly at the horizon.
we keep us safe pride rainbow anti-flag explosion abolish the police 1312
One day all the cars blew away like leaves in early winter. When February came, the interstate highways sighed and gave up their dead. Three months later, the semi-trailer trucks, exhausted, were overrun by thistles and dandelions. And by August, the pillars of the overpasses, arching their backs, had uprooted themselves and begun to wander north.
an illustration from the faggots and their friends between revolutions by Larry Mitchell featuring the line of text, “When you feel pain, fall into your sisters’ arms.” The word “sisters” has been pasted over the original, which said “brothers”
happy girl, sleepy cat
I WRITE WORDS CUT DEEP. HALOGEN CUT-DEEP WORDS WITH CRAGS IN STONE I SEEK (SOMETIMES (NOT ALWAYS) FIND) RIGHT WORDS— BUT IF NOT CANNOT HELP BUT HALIBUT CUT RIGHT TO IT. DEEP WORDS LAST LONG AFTER TIME. NO MEASURE OF DAY NOR MARK OF SHADOW SHALL KEEP YOU FROM ME. A MESSAGE FROM OUTSIDE TIME NO STANZA SHALL TAKE YOU FROM MY GRASP. THIS THIS IS WHAT READING IS. HISTORY: A SPINNING TOP ALWAYS FALLING OVER ON OUR HEADS. LINES MARCH LIKE IDLE PARAGRAPHS FIFTEEN OR SO AT A TIME. GRAMMAR: OBLIGATORY PHYSICS. THE RULES OF STYLE HAVE FORBIDDEN ME FROM ADDRESSING YOU SO PLAINLY— AND YET WELL HERE WE ARE. MEET ME AT THE TITLE PAGE AND READ: DO ME. READ YOU DO ME. YOU DO ME HERE. HERE, DO ME. HERE I AM DO ME. TAKE ME IN THE GUTTER LEFT HAND STREETLIGHT SHADOWS ALL THE LIVELONG HERE INSIDE THE PAGE WE ARE OUT OF TIME WHICH IS TO SAY WE ARE DEAD AS INK ON PAPER OR WHO KNOWS MAYBE IT’S OVER MAYBE BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS I‘LL BE GONE FISHING AND WE WILL HAVE ALREADY WON. SELAH
vexillologically terrifying banner in which the progress flag explodes in all directions with "no pigs" emojis in the corners—signifying in fact the very thing mr sullivan fears: a queerness which abolishes all cops and borders forever
The Faggots And Their Friends Between Revolutions - p. 102
Trees in front of my house at twilight
A wok filled with stirfried tofu, Swiss chard and other veggies
A photo of the Nightboat Books edition of ‘Sun of Consciousness’ by Édouard Glissant, translated by Nathanaël
"There are some things," Susan said, "that a child of your age doesn't know," and they both began to giggle. "Go back to your own bed," Joanne said. The child didn't move. "One time," she said, her voice hollow-sounding in the dark, "I saw this rabbit have rabbits." There was a silence. Then Susan said, "How?" in an indifferent tone and she knew that she had them. She said she wouldn't tell until they told about the you-know-what. Actually she had never seen a rabbit have rabbits but she forgot this as they began to tell what they had seen in the tent. It had been a freak with a particular name but they couldn't remember the name. The tent where it was had been divided into two parts by a black curtain, one side for men and one for women. The freak went from one side to the other, talking first to the men and then to the women, but everyone could hear. The stage ran all the way across the front. The girls heard the freak say to the men, "I'm going to show you this and if you laugh, God may strike you the same way." The freak had a country voice, slow and nasal and neither high nor low, just flat. "God made me thisaway and if you laugh He may strike you the same way. This is the way He wanted me to be and I ain't disputing His way. I'm showing you because I got to make the best of it. I expect you to act like ladies and gentlemen. I never done it to myself nor had a thing to do with it but I'm making the best of it. I don't dispute hit." Then there was a long silence on the other side of the tent and finally the freak left the men and came over onto the women's side and said the same thing The child felt every muscle strained as if she were hearing the answer to a riddle that was more puzzling than the riddle itself. "You mean it had two heads?" she said. "No," Susan said, "it was a man and woman both. It pulled up its dress and showed us. It had on a blue dress." [...]
framed art piece of a sun rendered in negative with the phrase “to oppose is to maintain” written underneath
cat in my lap
a pencil sketch portrait of a girl with bangs, a bridge piercing and flat expression
A floor scattered with index cards, stacks of notebooks, sticky notes, and a laptop. The cards are in a triangular arrangement, converging left to right, and are labeled with the 22 major arcana and corresponding chapter titles. The shot is upside-down, so the text can be read more easily; giving this viewer the impression of a Star Wars opening crawl (or the star destroyer undercarriage opening shot). The chapter titles are: Translator’s Preface In the Beginning Another Tack Spaceship On Assembly Platform The Rainbow Passage Wolf Spiders All Cops are Breadcrumbs Chastity Cage I Write Words Cut Deep Disco Dancing Crystal Ball Petals Pedals Keys What Happened in the Garden This Gleaming / Lama Sabachthani (Autumn 2021) (Spring 2022) < cordon / curtain > Spheres of Angelic Protection A Passion Play in Three Parks Broad Daylight in the Benighted City Jubilee / The Egg Bowl Afterword
twelve months arranged in a circle above a color wheel; the solstices and equinoxes are labeled; a right-pointing equilateral triangle shows TDoRemembrance, TDoVision and TDoJoy indicated on the vertices
a dozen notebook journals of various colors arranged with sticky notes on a hardwood floor
amtrak window view of a new jersey suburb with dark clouds overhead
Photo of an old school purple GameBoy Color playing Pokémon Crystal, at a tutorial screen near the beginning of the game where the old man is telling the player character, “This is the sea, as you can see. “
friendship ended with urgency: now stillness is my best friend
a photo of the bottom of an Adobe Indesign document with the page number “89” circled in red. A visible excerpt reads: “Thus the contents of the taboo faded entirely from my conscious mind and were replaced by a cavernous horror, a negative space whose contours marked the letterbox borders my awareness.”
sunset on my street
a screenshot of an extract from a short story on scp-wiki.wikidot.com (Ara Orun by qntm) in which almost all the text is redacted, except for the phrase “the world is ruined.”
“The new music is already here” —on techno, dancing, the future, and taking what’s ours. DM me for full text
it’s a selfie of me lying stomach-down on my bed, with my cat sitting on my butt looking directly at the camera with an aura of mischievous nonchalance
it’s me and my aunt’s dog cleo
the washington monument at night with two small red lights on top that look like beady little eyes
a painted portrait of Sophie, the musician, based on a still from the music video for “it’s ok to cry,” with an angel’s halo added above her head
a painted self-portrait of a trans woman whose face is cast partially in shadow by her hand against bright sunlight from a window
“The Great Good Time” and “Pieces of Skull,” books by Roz Kaveney, photographed on my sunlit kitchen table
a photo of the revised edition of Jackson Rising by Kali Akuno, sitting in the lap of a beautiful transsexual wearing red plain pajama bottoms
an artwork by sybil lamb depicting a forlorn industrial cityscape with disconnected signs on the buildings spelling out “the girl who was convinced beyond all reason that she could fly.” in the corner, a small figure with arms outstretched soars into the horizon
a sketch of a sleepy-eyed trans woman holding a cup of coffee
I’m not sure which of us saw her first: lankish mop of purple hair hunched over an ornate set of sherbet-green stationery, murmuring audibly as she wrote. We approached the back of her head on tiptoe and she sensed your presence before she sensed mine; or, perhaps she chose to turn to you first out of love. Our respective relationships with her (and with each other, for that matter) are quite different and yet somehow the same kind of thing: Transmothersisterloverfriend. Let me put it this way. You kissed her when saying hello; I didn’t, but I think she might be coming over tomorrow. Last winter I blindfolded her and washed her feet in my bedroom. None of us are dating. “There is no yearning here, officer.” It sounded like the name of an old god.