just five friends hangin’ out in a bathroom…
Our season 2 Trailer is up and LIVE! Watch, share, support, repeat. <3 Enjoy TWSSters!
We have a Season 2 Premiere date! December 21! Oh me oh myyyyyy.
Bullet Journal is and analog journaling and note taking system for the digital age
Research for the next year of DIY planner/calendaring. My 300-page planner/everything-notebook is just over half full after 1.5 years. I have a 200-page one on deck. People often think I’m carrying around a bible. In a way, I am.
Which reminds me, I still have no idea where my first everything-notebook is. Still floating around DC? In a landfill?
M.I.A.: I think the whole reason why I even went towards this in the story, is because I’m dealing with all the Tamil people that died during 2009, which is literally a month after my son was born. I was just thinking, “Wow.” One, I’m gonna have to explain this shit to him and be like, “Look, here’s a bunch of people who were disposable on the planet at the time, and everybody watched them die. Everyone thought it was okay.” They were defined by this one word, and this word had so much power that even when you saw a baby die, that word overrode your emotion and your visual reaction.
SBF: What word is that?
Read the whole thing. It is good.
From mexican-korean-disabled-queer artist Caro. Check out some of their new work here.
You can find the rest of this piece in the hard copy of Mixed Up!
*Gasp* that’s right, we’re only giving you PART of this totally awesome piece, talk about a teaser.
I was prepped for this:
to navigate appearing one way, but being another,
an existence of in-betweens.
To sometimes look like an immigrant: “Where are you from? No, really, where are you from?”
To sometimes look like a game: “Don’t tell me… Chinese? Japanese? I’ll get it! Please don’t tell me.”
To sometimes look like a tomboy: “Wait, you’re gay gay? You’re not a femme or butch!”
To sometimes look mixed: “Oh, so you’re half white.”
to not look disabled and being judged by all those above
to not look disabled and carrying a load invisible to all
to look young and healthy when my body has aged to 64
is something I was not prepared for.
This “looking healthy” to pain ratio disconnect has me floored.
Do I tell you
how each morning, when I wake up,
how my foot stays deep in Sandman dreams
pulling me in, bringing my morning into a painful nightmare,
my foot and leg covered in bear traps gnawing
at me at various gauges?