i got up and had a nice yet contemplative morning w/ franklin and then got home and made ice cream (white chocolate + rose) to share with friends (i made a signal thread for bestowing baked goods and/or treats onto local pals) and called my grandma. i’m thinking about a lot of things. my hands hurt always these days. i want to tattoo. i want to try some new things. i learned a banjo song (easy version of cumberland gap but i’m trying to practice memorizing things) and then got sucked into lockpicking for hours. really quick hour-or-so trip to the antique mall, where i looked at many treasures but i didn’t buy anything. halliwell played very hard this weekend and he’s sore and tired, i’m not sure a walk would be good for him so i might have to go alone. my life feels full and vivid but there’s something in the center of me that feels like a deep dark cave. i need to place what it is that i’m missing 

Me today at 6pm BST:

i wake up thirsty and i think of palestine. i go to the doctor’s office and i think of palestine. a sign in the corner of the waiting room says ‘this is a place of healing, disruptive behavior will not be tolerated’ and i think of palestine. they probably weren’t thinking of bombs and snipers and mass graves in parking lots. i call my parents and i think of palestine. i drive to the grocery store and i think of palestine. i look at the clear blue sky and i think of palestine. i put the dishes away and i think of palestine. i feed my cat and i think of palestine. i listen to music and i think of palestine. i read poetry and i think of palestine. i text my friends and i think of palestine. i think of palestine and i think of palestine and i think of palestine

I'm reading about how Israel, in the immediate aftermath of the 1948 Nakba, deliberately replaced olive trees and other indigenous flora with European plants. This ecological disaster, which is now proudly hailed under the banner of 'making the desert bloom,' was done to 'de-Arabize' the landscape, and to cover up - often with fast-growing European pine trees -the ruins of Palestinian villages that were destroyed by Zionists forces.

And I just need everyone to read this passage from Pappé, because the symbolism of what happened to those European pine trees in the desert speaks for itself:

The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine, by Ilan Pappé (2006, p. 227-228.)

Broke: adopt a child

Woke: borrow your boyfriend's

SALTBURN (dir. Emerald Fennell, 2023)

“If you have time to be on social media, you also have time for…” “If you have time to watch Netflix, you also have time for…” Yeah, but do I have the energy for it? Do I have the emotional and mental capacity for it? Am I pain-free enough for it? Can I focus on it? Can I do it without leaving my bed? Can I safely do it without risk of (physically or emotionally) injuring myself by pushing past my boundaries?

cast | Oliver on Instagram in response to the reactions to the bi Buck reveal

When I was young, I never really understood my parents insistence to only use olive oil imported from Palestine. It took a long time and a great distance in a process that was neither cheap nor convenient. The oil came in old beat-up containers that did not look appealing to me at all. In my head, if they wanted to support distant family back home, they could just send them money and save us and them a big hassle. We could just use the nice looking olive oil containers from the nearby store. Yet, this was never an option in our household. The only olive oil we used at home was from Palestine.

‎As I grew up and started a student part-time job, I worked with olive oil a little. I knew all about olive oil imported from Spain, Italy, and other countries. I knew which ones were better and more expensive. I also learned to tell, based on the pungent taste, which ones were extra virgin. I was tempted to use my employee discount to bring home one of the fancy bottles and use at our kitchen. I could not get myself to do it, and I did not exactly know why. I felt like it would be disrespectful to my parents even if it didn’t make sense to me. It did not feel right. It was not an option.

‎After living in Palestine for a year during the olive picking season, something changed. The olive picking season in Palestine is holy.

‎Palestinians relate to the weather based on how it would benefit or harm the olives. There is well-known unspoken rule about treating olive trees with respect. There is a day off from work just to pick olives. On public transportation, it is not unusual to hear someone on the phone telling their friend to stop by for their share of this year’s olive oil stored in what used to be a Coca-Cola or a liquor bottle. A driver will stop in the middle of the way to give his brother- in- law a jar of olives that are so close to one another that they start to crush showing their insides.

‎In Nablus, the owner of the Nabulsi soap factory takes pride in how picky he is about getting his olive oil. He insists on filling a cup to let me smell how authentic it is and smirks as he sees my diasporic facial expressions transform in appreciation of its strong smell running through all of my brain cells.

‎I started noticing how olive oil is an essential part of so many dishes. “Palestinians drink more olive oil than water” I would jokingly say and they would laugh in agreement. Olive oil is truly an everyday ritual.

‎They fantasize about its color when it’s fresh and remind me that it starts to change as it reacts with oxygen over time. They dip their bread into olive oil, just like that and without any additions, and enjoy it more than the sweetest of all foods. I can guarantee that every lunch invitation (عزومة) I received during the olive-picking season was a chance for my hosts to share their olive oil using Msakhan (a traditional Palestinian dish).

‎I now have a deeper understanding of the psychology behind the burning of olive trees by Israeli soldiers and why farmers moan at the scene as if they lost a loved one.

‎Wherever you are, if it’s accessible to you, make sure your olive oil is Palestinian. Your ancestors would want that.

- Dima Seelawi

shoutout to whatever staff member has this bumper sticker at my school

There will be Palestinian futures on Palestinian land.

for those who would like to support Palestinian olive farmers, equal exchange has Palestine-sourced olive oil! they're an amazing worker owned co-op that works closely with local farmers to support sustainability and pay fair wages.

i frankly cannot afford it, but i know some folks can and would like to get some. it comes in packs of 6 bottles, so if you can get 6 friends together, each person can pay for one bottle!

they also have some of the most delicious coffee and hot cocoa mixes that i've ever gotten, and the same approach applies. given how horrific farming and labor practices are in both of those industries, i highly recommend supporting them and getting some amazing products in return if you can afford it.

Mary Oliver, from Long Life: Essays And Other Writings originally published in 2004

fyi your dad is a whor—

Oliver Stark I'm in love with you (x)