Kieran Culkin The Man That You Are

kendalling in oil

Tom would be a they/he if he was born 30 years later, this is not up for debate

“I think cows are underrated. Just look at that lil face!” 

(Source)

Look, the only way out of this is to build a movement capable of stopping our politicians from funding genocide (through strikes, direct action, etc). This is currently possible. But here’s the important thing: it will not remain possible if trump is elected. the dude has openly said that he will “root out the communists, marxists, and the radical left thugs that live like vermin within the confines of our country”. He’s talked about killing his political enemies. It’s not so much a question of choosing between evils as it is ‘do we want to give ourselves some more time to change things, or are we going to lay down and let the fascists take over because the current leader of our imperialist nation is imperialist’. The only ppl who have a leg to stand on in refusing to vote Biden are the ones who’ve gone to jail for conscientious objection, or self-immolated on the capitol steps. The rest of us have an obligation to keep extending the window of hope. A full-on fascist United States is not something the world can recover from

in which "lesser evil" is code for "evil that is less relevant to me" or "evil that is easier for me to ignore"

Let's be intimidating blob with mama

ok but stewy being canonically bi really makes everything about his relationship with kendall so much funnier like imagine being a beautiful bisexual stallion and your fate is to become best friends with and develop a 30 year crush on logan ‘homophobia’ roy’s prodigal son like. imagine having to do deal with kendall’s ‘no homo but my tongue is down your throat’ repressed bullshit for 30 years whilst also dodging the beam of mixed flavor racism homophobia his father directs at you every time he sees you within 5 feet of said prodigal son but also you feel a strange solidarity with this old man because he at least has also accurately clocked and acknowledges that his prodigal son is queer

LET THE LIGHT IN

Me in the shower thinking about my wife: i think one of the big reasons why het culture "wifey/hubby" "his/hers" "tiaras/mustaches" matching sets other than the cis binarism of it all is that it reveals the thought process behind heteropatriarchy wherein ideal love is a product of inversion; two puzzle pieces that fit together but are separate and made functional solely by the utility of their differences. Heteropatriarchal love retroactively redefines a person as a half of a whole, their functions and idiosyncrasies only valuable when curtailed by another's. But more than that, heteropatriarchal love is so divided. My "hers" towel and your "his." Married on a friday because saturdays are for the boys. Your woodsmoke-scented deodorant and my lavender. We cant possibly hope to understand each other and that's what lends our partnership value, somehow. But the love i cherish--the love that nurtures me--is inextricability. Not the teeth of your personality spinning the cogs of mine but the blend and blur of our edges together. The further in the tide rolls the better. The love that nurtures me is accepting everything about you into my life even if i dont feel the same way about it that you do. Its a becoming. Becoming you, becoming myself, becoming us, again and again. There are no puzzle pieces to snap together, and im no more or less of anything with or without you. But no matter what happens i carry you with me now. Even in the small ways like how we wear each others jackets and deodorant and hats. I wear your mannerisms, and your jokes. I have your interests. You have my music taste. We subsume and consume one another. We explore each other by exploring ourselves and vice versa. The process of loving you is a mapping of a vast expanse and it is the creation itself of that expanse, ad infinitum. Loving you is a fluidity of the self. I try out new ways of living through you. I see through your eyes. My life doubles by virture of sharing it with you. We finish each others sentences and joke that were the same person but its truer than we have the language to describe. My selfhood blurs into yours; Im not half of a whole, but together we are a whole. You could draw a straight line from one end of me to the other end of you, no breaks. And why shouldnt we travel that line? Step inside my head and get comfy. Mi casa es su casa. Youre me and im you.

What comes out of my mouth when she walks into the room: id let you wear my skin if i could