Sunshine-units - Sunshine Units

Apparently boomer Democrats are having meltdowns over a gen-z progressive who is primarying an 80 year old Democrat because she "went on trans podcasts" and wore a Charizard kigurumi

I'm half way down with Frankenstein and I swear to god, if they bully my son Creature ONE MORE FUCKING TIME I'm going to kill everyone in this room and then myself

words cannot describe how much this poem means to me. when i first heard it i felt as though the poem grafted itself onto my soul and became an integral part of my being. i feel genuine love for this work.

Traffic

On Sunday, a lambent crevice opened up in the street outside my house. By Tuesday, birds were flying into it.

“I probably won’t miss you,” my mother said. “I’m only interested in the end of the world,” I replied.

Many find it difficult to breathe without the atmosphere, but we knew how; we just stopped breathing.

We’re at the Moonlight All-Night Diner, and they’re serving up fruit from the plants growing out of the waitress. The closed sign whispers, “Please, don’t touch me.”

We watch bodies fall to the ground outside like deep sea creatures surfacing. You turn to me and ask, “Do you ever think about suicide?” I look away from you and close my eyes, eat the raspberries to confuse the blood in my mouth.

Now you’re in the only car in the parking lot at midnight and you’re watching me throw stones at the moon which hangs low in the sky so that he can look into your house. Your sister tried to touch him from her window once, and he flinched.

Now he and the oceans watch her with a quiet concern. The lilac sky is trying to rest her head on his shoulder, all trees gradually growing through her.

A hummingbird whispers to you, “Be careful. Under her dress is her skin,” and then builds his nest in the middle of the highway.

I look back to you, and you close your eyes

-Katherine Ciel

Welcome to Night Vale Episode 20 - "Poetry Week"

Biting killing maiming ect

ITS APRIL 13 YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS

FETCH ME NEIL

(X)

sometimes i feel like i am not a very good poet or artist and i ought to be more realistic and not embarrass myself by sharing my work. then i remind myself that its okay to not be perfect, or to not be as skilled as my role models, or to be learning. because everyone is practicing and learning and improving all the time. and it makes me feel a lot better about myself :-)

on occasion ill feel discouraged by needing to work to form a following and having very few notes on my work then i remember that even 5 notes is 5 different ways my art has been seen and interacted with and thats so mind boggling and beautiful!!

(sees any piece of media about complacency and fear of change) is anyone gonna make that a trans allegory or