epicene-street-light:

i could have dressed up as a man to seduce a young girl in 15th century Italy, live a scandalous lesbian life & write poetry sitting under an olive tree but instead i gotta work a meaningless job bc we’re trapped inside the unforgiving system that is capitalism smh

epicene-street-light:

Me: my darling boy i love you and respect your life choices but i need you to understand i can’t spent the whole day playing fetch with an old hairband

My cat: i Refuse to Acknowledge any of this information Here Is The Most Prized Hairband throw it again

epicene-writing:

Here
comes the Dyke, from night to night,

A neon light,

A smoke.

*

Here
comes the Dyke, and her footsteps

Are
glued with spit,

Are
marked with teeth;

*

She
seeps from darker walls,

Standing
still, or walks

Or
disappears into the depths

Of
a silent subway.

*

Her
face? you ask

Her
clothes?

Thicker
than silk,

Smoother
than wool

That’s
all you need to know.

*

Here
comes the Dyke,

Alone,
and so

That
her shadow’s thinking

Of leaving for good

*

And
in the Dyke’s shadow

Raise,
and fall

A
sobbing girl

Huddled
on the floor

Under
a tapestry –

*

The
moon’s absent,

No
lamp is lit at the window

And
trains are passing by:

*

Here
goes the Dyke, who knows

That
her shadow won’t leave for now.

prokopetz:

Just as the phrase “what the entire fuck” implies the existence of fractional fucks, the phrase “what the absolute fuck” implies the existence of both positive and negative fucks (or else there would be no need for an absolute value operation). Taken together with the phrase “what the actual fuck” (which implies the existence of imaginary fucks), we may thus conclude that fuckery is isomorphic with the complex field.

moshgoblin:

moshgoblin:

wanna be Tumblr famous but don’t want to put in the effort to make good posts so I peddle my mediocre wares at the side of the road

I stand at the side of a muddy road with my peasant garb, hollering “posts? funny posts, sir? a good chuckle for your madame?”

sir slimetony rolls by in his gleaming armor and calls me a peon and a cuck before having his big horse stamp my market stall into the ground