Latest Posts by libraryidealist - Page 12

I had to read this one book for school and after I'd finished I sat down and just. Seethed. I'd just spent multiple hours reading when I didn't want to. I wrote essays that weren't 30% as heartfelt as the average Tumblr post about how excited we are about a new episode of smth. Because I was being judged on it and criticised on it and why would I be vulnerable.

It was a good book. That's what made me so angry. It was a good book and I'd have enjoyed it if it weren't eternally connected to an unfair German teacher and tense hours reading as fast as I could now.

"It's okay if you don't want to read the classics" okay but you should try. Books hit different when you're not being forced to read them.

Blood family

I think that whoever, or whatever, created human kind

They really, really, really,

really

wanted to force the point across that we're meant to socialize on a broad scale. To interact.

And I don't mean that in an emotional, "I saw a stranger on the bus and suddenly I remembered what we're here for" way (I do those too, but not today). I mean it in the barest, most fascinatingly clinical way.

Blood family.

Blood connects you to the most ABSTRUSE kinds of people! They can be such, such fundamentally different people to who you are yourself. Would you have ANYTHING to do your uncle if he weren't blood? Your aunt? It gets real great when you get close to each other in age. Would you have anything to say to your cousin if you met them in school?

It's bizarre. It's fascinating. It's a small but ridiculous. We are born, we are forced to interact with people completely different from ourselves. You choose friends. You don't choose blood family.

It seems so... stoic. Clumsy, brutal. There is no way you can escape the horrid, lovely, interesting, deeply uncomfortable ties to society. Not your society, not the one you create for yourself with friends, but the general one. You are born forced to confront the fact that humanity is as varied as snowflakes, to use a clichéd metaphor.

Do with that what you will. It's a fact. Not a single person can escape it. You always grow up with some kind of family that you're forced to spend time with. An orphanage, a traditional family, a single parent maybe.

Connection. For better or for worse.

Yesterday was a bad day, my apartment was too quiet. Too empty. There was nothing, nothing.

Then suddenly I was turning on lights and they were the perfect shade of yellow and the music from my little speaker hit me so hard I almost cried in the kitchen and those socks I bought kept my feet warm and my warmed-up tortellini were so good with the scrapes of my mom's pesto.

I listened to Billie Eilish and Hozier and The Neighborhood and suddenly they were just people.

Sometimes I lay in bed terrified that I'll stop feeling. Yesterday was not that day.

I'm an intern and my job is to enter addresses from hand-written letters into the database and did you know that Joshua Neumann from Hermannstreet 4, Cologne, has a life too

Oh

He's a principal in a small town. I googled it.

A mid-50s couple donated 100 dollars to our cause and I said that's very generous of you and he shrugged and said is it really

Oh

I guess it isn't really. Not for us.

When I came back after New Year the woman I've been working a lot with saw me in the office kitchen and hugged me.

I googled a scrawled address to decipher it and the town was so pretty I'm going to go there on a day trip with some friends. By train. Like we did 2 years ago.

You know what I'm saying, you know it.

@the-crow-goddix-abode

You told me you saw bats at sunset today and I confessed I'd never seen bats before and now I'm going to spend the hottest months of the year in a city in a country I've never visited before because I want you to show me.

When your literal existance makes ME wanna think and want to explore more places in the world. Nerd.

I'm an intern and my job is to enter addresses from hand-written letters into the database and did you know that Joshua Neumann from Hermannstreet 4, Cologne, has a life too

Oh

He's a principal in a small town. I googled it.

A mid-50s couple donated 100 dollars to our cause and I said that's very generous of you and he shrugged and said is it really

Oh

I guess it isn't really. Not for us.

When I came back after New Year the woman I've been working a lot with saw me in the office kitchen and hugged me.

I googled a scrawled address to decipher it and the town was so pretty I'm going to go there on a day trip with some friends. By train. Like we did 2 years ago.

You know what I'm saying, you know it.

I'm an intern and my job is to enter addresses from hand-written letters into the database and did you know that Joshua Neumann from Hermannstreet 4, Cologne, has a life too

Oh

He's a principal in a small town. I googled it.

A mid-50s couple donated 100 dollars to our cause and I said that's very generous of you and he shrugged and said is it really

Oh

I guess it isn't really. Not for us.

When I came back after New Year the woman I've been working a lot with saw me in the office kitchen and hugged me.

I googled a scrawled address to decipher it and the town was so pretty I'm going to go there on a day trip with some friends. By train. Like we did 2 years ago.

You know what I'm saying, you know it.

Hm, eternity

Or: gods speak

A definitive factor of being human is not seeing the big picture.

It's very defining. Humans don't see the big picture. They don't see the celestial game, they don't even know their own nature. With a garden full of secrets on their own planet they haven't even stepped foot in, how could they? They know nothing of the blazing, terrifyingly holy power of a not quite ripe apple. Although they have crafted an entire worship around that particular fruit.

No, they know nothing of true eternity. Or maybe everything. If the unripe apple is holy to them too, does it matter that it's not my kind of holy? Does it matter that it's miniscule? There is no such thing as a smaller infinity, after all.

If I love you like the feeling of atoms assembling into wind gusts and solar flares, a human will love you like the feeling of that wind on their skin.

If I love you like the prayer of a million people to the greatest being they know, a god, a human will love you like the prayer of a child to the greatest being it knows, a mother.

If I love you like two black holes caught in each other's gravity, forcing each other into an unholy dance until they collide, a human loves you like watching two coins circling in a cone. Drawing spirals and spirals until they fall, with a gentle ping, into the hole in the middle.

Humans do not see the big picture.

Perhaps they are redefining holy as we speak.

Perhaps they make their own holy, and yet it is equal to mine.

I have a beautiful friend

I have a beautiful friend. Half a year younger than me, with almond eyes and skin maybe two to three shades darker than caramel. Dusty sunset. It reminds me of spices and the billowing fumes of a barista coffee machine.

She has Columbian heritage, with glossy, thick black hair and long eye lashes. Dark eyes, bright teeth. She laughs big, smiles wide. The slight figure of a doe. She gets excited about everything. She's naive. She's adorable. She wants to explore.

She's beautiful, everyone tells her. She's terrified.

My friend sees the eyes. Of course she does. They're not admiring. They're predatory. She wears who she is on her sleeve, and she's a wondering, easily amazed person. She wants to be happy. Oh, have you ever heard of a better rape victim.

She wants to kiss someone. She wants to be in a relationship, with cuddles and pinky finger promises. She wants to be desired.

We smile. We watch her drink. We make sure she gets home afterwards.

Beauty is a lot of things. But I'd wager to say that no matter if you've carefully cultivated it yourself, were born into it, want it, use it, hate it, are aware of it

Broken down, all social veneers and descriptors stripped away,

It attracts attention.

Oh, Silvia Plath was right.

it is january 2nd and the sun rises a little lighter over a horizon no longer crowded with the haze of a thousand hopes— under a wide-open sky still young and fresh and new without a thousand staring eyes.

it is january 2nd and the air is a little freer without the sacred weight of the untouched loading every trembling motion, without the lofty need for newness clouding every restless moment like a warm puff of breath in the january cold.

it is january 2nd and i relax like a slow exhale at the end of a long breath held two heartbeats too long— a little tight at the edges but not too much, not yet.

it is january 2nd. the year is still young and i have time.

i have time.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry but I want you to be too

I want to look down on you while you gasp and cry and feel the pain you caused me

and I think my therapist would say that that doesn't make me a bad person but I think it does

Because you can articulate the pain I caused you and I can't do that to mine I can just feel it but oh god I caused that hurt and I'm so sorry so sorry so sorry

But I want you to be sorry t—

Is it really sacrilegious if I'm Right?

i have so much rage in me one day i think i will explode. i dont think i know how to forgive as much as i know how to forget

Hello, OP here.

I didn't quite know how to feel about this post ad-on, since I wrote the post in a spur of the second, omg-I'm-so-excited-about-this-show flash. And the Palestine-Israel conflict is one I very much avoid, for a few reasons.

But I do want to say that I very much appreciate how @mo-mode puts an emphasis on seeing things from all sides. The chance that every person you disagree with is a monster is actually very slim, my friends.

I'm just not a friend of the internet and this website's quick hand at polarizing and simplifying complex topics.

THAT BEING SAID

Reblog with your fave illegal streaming website, y'all. Kick Disney where it hurts.

After tireless searching I've finally found an illegal website to stream Percy Jackson over and now I'm making it everyone's problem

This is it. This is my post that brings me so close to the rest of humanity I instinctively try to breathe shallowly.

quick what is everyone doing right now

thank god or the universe or whatever for cycles and seasons though like yeah life right now is unbearable. but every two years the olympics come around again, and every december i have christmas and every year there is an autumn where leaves change and fall and the air is crisp. every year has a halloween, and a national pie day, and my cat's birthday, and national star wars day, and the arbitrary date in february when my family watches the princess bride together, and every fall i watch over the garden wall. next year i'll see my second total solar eclipse. there will be new tomatoes next summer and fresh applesauce the season after that. the sun will come back even when march seems like it will never end. don't go yet. it will be your day off soon. the olympics are next year. it'll be someone's birthday soon. everything changes and everything will come back around again, if you stick around to let it.

you have to be sexy but you have to be sexy in a way that's kind of bloody. you learn this early because you are wearing a ruffled skirt and the snow around your ankles kicks little sand particles against your calves. baby's first catcall. welcome to sexiness! welcome to the eyesore of your own body!

you have to be sexy like high heels. like sculpted eyebrows. like lean stomach and highly treated hair. you have to be sexy like youth is sexy, which means you have to be sexy like boxtox and plastic. a 30 year old can be sexy but she's not going to be bloody, and they like the bloodiness of it. a 30 year old is sexy when she is a whiskey glass and a wooden desk.

but you need to be sexy like an open mouth. you need to be sexy like a bitten apple. like plucked skin and white-knuckling the waxing kit.

so sex is a performance, not an enjoyment. for a while, you just assumed everyone else was also in on the joke - nobody actually likes sex that much, right? like, some men probably do, but why would you? it is like a gender - your gender is sexy. your gender is the performance of sex. you are thigh highs and garter belts. which, to be fair, do make you feel sexy.

part of what does make sex good is that you can tell that other people want you, which means the performance of sexiness is both bloody and wanted, which is good, which means you are winning at having a body. being wanted is the prize. being wanted is the thing you are searching for, not hope. you think you are looking for a soft grave in easy loam, but that is bloody but not sexy. to be sexy you must be bloody like a red open sign. bloody like a handprint. this will make you wanted.

any wanted or unwanted body is subject to supply and demand, which is to say that the more demand, the better you are valued. you must be highly demanded to be valued. this is stated in matter-of-fact by some men. sometimes it is a priest that says it, and sometimes it is a podcaster, and sometimes it is the 45th president of the united states of america.

(if you do not have any experience with being told your value, i want you to grab the nearest bird to you and i want you to crush it into a thin paste in your hand. spit into the center, and then hold your fingers closed tight around it for days and days, long after the rot has set in. feel bones itch inside of your fist. this is only a fraction of what it actually feels like, but it will suffice for a moment.)

good sex feels like you have earned their desperation. you have earned your own value. for a while you operated under the understanding that everyone knew about the power structure, even him. that their desire to take you - the violence of it - means that you must desire to be caught. little prince, guardian fox - you would rather have cut your own arm off. you liked the secret, cunning little voice you keep tucked into a box. you think you are fucking me. i am not even here right now. you are fucking what i conned you into perceiving. this is a painting, not a person. dominion over the body before all things.

so you bend your body like a wheat shaft and learn the steps so perfectly that it almost seems graceful. (if you do not have experience faking your own connection to your body and sexuality, cut each of your articles of clothing just a little bit incorrectly. pour fishbones into each of your meals. this way, you will experience the average noon on a tuesday.)

you have to be sexy like light spilled over a desk, but not desperate. not a noose. you can't be sexy like an electric guitar, you are the acoustic. you have to be on top of the bull but you can't have control over the animal.

okay, okay. the little rabbit of your heart went to sleep so long ago that winter has ravaged your concept of the human soul. there's something very-bad inside you, something that has taken over, a little fetid and rabid animal, angry and hurting and willing to bite first.

oh but even that's a pain that's sexy. open your mouth. be careful not to let the canines show.

thank god or the universe or whatever for cycles and seasons though like yeah life right now is unbearable. but every two years the olympics come around again, and every december i have christmas and every year there is an autumn where leaves change and fall and the air is crisp. every year has a halloween, and a national pie day, and my cat's birthday, and national star wars day, and the arbitrary date in february when my family watches the princess bride together, and every fall i watch over the garden wall. next year i'll see my second total solar eclipse. there will be new tomatoes next summer and fresh applesauce the season after that. the sun will come back even when march seems like it will never end. don't go yet. it will be your day off soon. the olympics are next year. it'll be someone's birthday soon. everything changes and everything will come back around again, if you stick around to let it.

Don't make me find pleasure in the little things

Yes, I almost cried feeling cold air on my face in the morning

It made me so happy when I bought three different spices for my tea yesterday.

But please, don't make me find pleasure in the little things. I need those adventures.

I need love, and life. I need big moments with dresses on fire. I need to know that life is big magic, too. I need real tears of joy and explosions.

I know, you're talking of awe. But it feels like you're extending an aiding hand to stroke my hair.

To make a pastel colour not look so muted.

I want it all

I want the princess blue and the nutcracker red

Is that okay? I'd take both, thank you. Here's the change.

It touches me that this touched something in you

Normal is a memory

Normal is a memory, but time moves so slow, so much like it always has, that no one notices.

No one notices that we don't talk about jam anymore, or how beautiful your dress is.

Because have you seen the news? There are war crimes, beloved.

Your dress? The price of weeks of food thirty years ago

And it tastes like small hands working sowing machines.

The jam? No one has time for home mades anymore, my dear. There are tears to be swallowed.

I wonder if there ever was a normalcy, with Sunday brunches and sadness, not depression. Or if it was always a memory.

Always just a few generations out of our reach.

See, I was wrong.

We do notice.

Precious

The puppy is no longer young but he is still small and fits in the crook of my arm like a sleeping babe all sleep-warm and honey-slow blinking up at me with wide black eyes.

I hold his tiny face in my cupped careful palms press a kiss into the wisp-light fur at the nape of his neck and tell him like a vow: You are so good and so precious and so beloved.

And a soft, gentle thing in the cavern of my chest slowly rises to reply heartbeat-quiet: We are. We are. We are.

- by sylvie (j.p.)

So OPs intent here is to highlight biphobia and gate keeping, which I applaud. I do want to talk about this:

"straight-passing" includes 90% of queer people, unless you really know what youre looking for (hets dont), in which case "straight-passing" only includes about 60% of us instead.

Hello. I disagree with the wording here very much. There is no 90% or 60% of queers passing as straight, because your sexuality is not determined by how you look.

There is no "when you know what to look for". No "hets don't". You might get a feeling for when someone you're meeting might be queer, but can we PLEASE let go of this gatekeeping fuckery. Please don't put down heterosexuals in a side sentence for no reason.

Don't feel bound by how you think a queer person should look.

I know I did, and if someone had told me this when I was 14 it would have spared me a lot of insecurity.

shout-out to the person in the tag last night calling hbomb "straight-passing". what does that mean here? "white-passing" is a useful term because you can usually tell what race someone is visually. "straight-passing" includes 90% of queer people, unless you really know what youre looking for (hets dont), in which case "straight-passing" only includes about 60% of us instead. do you mean he can pass as het by not showing us any male partners? hes a youtuber. are all youtubers straight unless their partners (mandatory both male and female for bisexuals) show up in the background of their shots? or do you mean he never talks about it? because he does. repeatedly. in other videos.

you have 30 seconds to explain how the term "straight-passing" is useful when discussing whether or not hbombs claims are out of his lane before i shove the biphobia L into your hands

Normal is a memory

Normal is a memory, but time moves so slow, so much like it always has, that no one notices.

No one notices that we don't talk about jam anymore, or how beautiful your dress is.

Because have you seen the news? There are war crimes, beloved.

Your dress? The price of weeks of food thirty years ago

And it tastes like small hands working sowing machines.

The jam? No one has time for home mades anymore, my dear. There are tears to be swallowed.

I wonder if there ever was a normalcy, with Sunday brunches and sadness, not depression. Or if it was always a memory.

Always just a few generations out of our reach.

See, I was wrong.

We do notice.

Sometimes I wish we would start calling out the performative radicalism on this site for the poser bullshit it is. "Remember, it's always morally correct to kill a cop!" "Don't forget to firebomb your local government office!" "Wow, it sure would be a shame if these instructions on how to make a molotov cocktail got spread around!"

Okay. But you're not killing cops or firebombing government offices. You are posting on a dying microblogging website to a carefully-curated echo chamber that has radicalized itself into thinking that taking the absolute most extreme position on any subject is praxis but that anyone discussing the most practical way to effect actual change is your sworn enemy. You do not have the street cred OR the activist cred to be talking about killing cops, babe.

You've never heard AnnenMayKantereit soulfully cry about how Love is saying the truth and it being so easy, the easiest words being "no" and "I'm not ready yet" and how she makes every day so simple and the biggest question is what they'll do today and how maybe, just maybe, this time it could work, because she is sweet and compassionate and loves snow in winter and every season and this time, it could work, it would be so beautiful if this time, maybe it could work, maybe- and it shows.

"this is how I reach heaven through violence"

@squeakadeeks

I ate stickly sweet dates out of a plastic bag today. With cold fingers, looking out at a morning sky that'd been cloudy for weeks.

childhood was so crazy. my parents were kind of young. a meal seemed to last forever. i could run for ages. everyone was alive

@januaryhoney // @naynawrites on Instagram // @sunflorally // @geloyconcepcion on Instagram // @lucidloving // @petrichara