Ada Limón, “To Be Made Whole”, On Being With Krista Tippett

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

and i wake every night

crying, “set me free”

Abbey by Mitski

happy may the fourth!!!

blue door by Kim Addonizio

Anne of Avonlea by L.M. Montgomery feat: Spring Flowers by Albert Émile Artigue

my uncle was somewhat of a rascal. we were hanging out on the roof of his barn when i was ten, and we saw some shooting stars. he told me they were angels carrying messages from god. then he handed me his old hunting rifle and taught me how to nick one out of the sky, even when it was travelling all fast like that, and how to triangulate its location — taking me out in his rusty truck down dirt roads, unerring and unceasing, until we saw that gleaming lantern. he pocketed the note from god and took me down to a pinboard where he was working on deciphering the language with his friend who was a linguistics major but got kicked out of grad school. after they shook hands, they held on for just a bit too long and i started wondering why my aunt doesn’t live with my uncle anymore, but then my uncle took me back up stairs and taught me how to fry the angel up real nice, halo and all. it was tasty

What I love about theater — something one cannot get with movies — is the singularity of the experience and the absence of a final product. The "same" play can never be performed twice. Even if the actors follow the script word for word, letter by letter — even if they enter and exit the stage at precisely the same moment as before — a single breath taken differently will alter the performance.

And what about the audience? You can’t expect to have the same audience for different performances of the "same" play, and you certainly can’t expect everyone to behave exactly as they did in a previous one. A cough, a whisper, or even the disruptive ring of a phone — all of these ripple through the space, shaping not only the audience’s experience, but also the actors’ performance itself. The theater is an exchange, a living, breathing dialogue between those who perform and those who witness. As such, even if you watch the “same” play five times, you are, in truth, watching five distinct performances — five unique creations that will never exist again.

This singularity is not the only wonder of theater. There is also its lack of a fixed, final product. Each play leaves an impression, an aftertaste, a mark, so to speak, on the spectator, but that’s all you are left with. With cinema, the final product is the movie. With theater, there is no such thing. With plays, every minute is the product of itself. Its finality lies in its continuity.

Of course, some might argue that this notion collapses once a performance is recorded. But trying to record a theatrical performance is a futile pursuit; it’s like attempting to capture the moon and its light with an average phone camera. The essence slips through your grasp. The beauty of theater is that every second counts. There is no final creation because each second is a creation, constantly metamorphosing into the next, and the next, until the whole experience dissolves into memory, an aftertaste, a mark. The beauty of theater lies in its immediacy. Every second matters, for every second is a creation in its own right, an act of becoming that dissolves as it unfolds. In this way, theater mirrors life itself.

Both theater and life resist finality. Their "product" is their continuity. This is why theater so often serves as a metaphor for life. Both in theater and in life, every second matters because, at the end of it all, there is no final product. In the end, all that remains is a memory, an aftertaste, a mark left on those we have touched.

Man, don’t I love theater!

musings on theater

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.

Just got transferred to Gotham Police Department from Central City, and it's so...weird?? There was an immediate drug bust, the perps were wearing speedos and joker masks, my partner just subtracted 20% of the cocain as "travelling fees" 'cause we're driving through the east end?? What! is! this place!!

At least rent's low.

To The People I Pass On The Train At Night - Jordan Bolton

My first book ‘Blue Sky Through the Window of a Moving Car’ is now available to pre-order! Get it here - https://smarturl.it/BlueSky