God took you home 46 years ago today, but I know one day I'll see you in Heaven, face-to-face, and it will be more beautiful than I can imagine. It's difficult not to be sad today, but I know you wouldn't want me to cry. In fact, I can picture you saying, "Don't cry, Honey." I also feel at peace this morning knowing you are where you want to be, and now you are finally with your little girl again.

The last few days, you have appeared to me, singing to me outside my bedroom window. This morning I woke up and again, I heard you singing your song. To feel your presence brings me such comfort and I feel so incredibly blessed.

When I visited you, the feel of your presence was the greatest gift I could have ever received. I will carry you in my heart always. I don't know why God placed you in my life, Elvis, but I thank him every day for you.

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Remember Me

"I'd like to be remembered when I'm gone from this Earthly life, for my efforts to bring joy, happiness and a time of freedom from everyday cares to other human beings... Just think of me as the redbird, in a winter worn bush on a snowy day — a bit of color in a sometimes dreary world." -Unknown

EPISODE TWO KURT’S BRAIN - INTERIOR

Kurt’s obsession with fashion went back a long way. It was part of a more general appreciation of beautiful and material things, which he’d had since he was a child.

Kurt suspected that this early aesthetic education was responsible for the direction of his own tastes. Things were beautiful to him in inverse proportion to their accessibility: a logic which struck him as childish for its fetishisation of impotence. But the 90s were about not growing up. The pages of the music and celebrity magazines that didn’t have Kurt’s face on them were filled with images of manufactured adolescence: teeny bopper twinks dressed in virginal white, A-listers doused with slime in studios resembling kindergartens, and an ageing parade of actors fresh out of high school drag.

He might seem like a kid to an industry obsessed with youth and its prophecies, but he was a grown up with a kid of his own. Even in earlier relationships he’d wanted the house with the picket fence. Tobi Vail used to say it was because of his parents’ divorce; they’d get into screaming arguments about his attachment to what she called the ‘bourgeois and patriarchal trap of success’. Kurt was hurt, but he did agree that he wanted these things as signs that he had made it. Not to the American dream that Vail despised him for, but to some indefinable sense of a future, and this was the only one he could imagine.

Such feelings were deeply unfashionable, and got in the way of the punk recklessness that had first attracted Vail, and which she held at arms’ length, an accessory to complete her image. Not that he minded them not interrogating these desires together. Kurt couldn’t put it more eloquently than this, but it felt both good and bad to dangle from her arm. To be used the way a man might use a beautiful woman. No one had read any Judith Butler yet, so Kurt could only say: Tobi’s riot grrl feminism made him feel like a woman, but it also made him know he wasn’t one. He was part of a group of people who obstructed people like Tobi, who’s desires stood in the way of her liberation. These wants stood for his involvement in patriarchy; women only wanted these things because men wanted them for them.

But Kurt didn’t care, he dreamed of being turned into an image, into an adornment for the grrls, the gyrls, the gworls of the future. He dreamt that his name would become a secret call passed between women in chokers at parties in lofts and warehouses in metropolitan areas of the United States. He dreamt of a teenage starlet gaining fame in a tv show where she wore his dirty bob for an audience too young to remember his music. He dreamt of the expansion of the internet and forums on which users would share photos of him and argue about what he wore and what he said.

He didn’t tell anyone these dreams. Unlike the house and family, these were just for him.

—Francis Whorrall-Campbell, from "[Digital Poetics 4.7] A Fragment on Kurt Cobain’s Transgender Ideas from ‘In Utero’" (The Hythe)

why is it that most lesbians I’ve seen on here are either rudefams(I’m not calling them rad or fem they don’t deserve that) or exclusionists like….come on I thought y’all were better then that

the amount of people that can’t get over their hate for Ronda and not actually enjoy that match 😬

god i love my friends. shout out to people who love their friends. this is a post for friend lovers

PSA: Tumblr/Wordpress is preparing to start selling our user data to Midjourney and OpenAI.

you have to MANUALLY opt out of it as well.

to opt out on desktop, click your blog ➡️ blog settings ➡️ scroll til you see visibility options and it’ll be the last option to toggle.

to opt out on mobile, click your blog ➡️ scroll then click visibility ➡️ toggle opt out option.

if you’ve already opted out of showing up in google searches, it’s preselected for you. if you don’t have the option available, update your app or close your browser/refresh a few times. important to note you also have to opt out for each blog you own separately, so if you’d like to prevent AI scraping your blog i’d really recommend taking the time to opt out. (source)

no offence but the reason tumblr is “dying” is, well, yes, of course the cursed like/reblog ratio and the change in user behaviour (because of people being used to how instagram and tiktok work) BUT also the lack of weekly shows. i say it with my whole chest, they don't produce captivating and engaging stupid weekly tv shows anymore because streaming killed that so you have spikes of activity here when Something happens in general fandom or up to three days after a new season of whatever drops and then it's a wasteland. this is obviously an old woman yelling at a cloud missing supernatural and the vampire diaries and pretty little liars and all these other shows type of post but honestly give me back weekly tv shows where i have something to watch for 40 minutes almost every day of the week after work so then i can read and reblog it on tumblr give it back for the sake of my sanity

Remember the 6 year old girl who was surrounded by Israeli tanks and the red crescent couldn't reach her? Her name is Hind Hamadeh. Here you can hear the phone call her 15 year old sister, Layan Hamadeh, made with the medics. She was killed exactly a moment later including all people in the car, except for 6 year old Hind who was stuck in the car with the dead bodies of her family, Israeli tanks and IDF surrounding her, shooting, preventing anybody to reach her.

That was last night (29.1.24). Today, still nothing. The fate of Hind remains unknown.

palestine red crescent ambulance team went to rescue her yesterday evening, but they have not returned as of now. We lost contact with them about 18 hours ago, and we still remain unaware of their fate and whether they succeeded in evacuating her or not.

Please, share Hind's story as much as you can on any platform. We need to know what happened to her. Put yourself in her place, how terrified she must be. Don't scroll past this.

This is Hind.

Crocodile finds a strange stray cat an 11-year old Nico Robin (AU where they met 13 years earlier. Robin's been on the run from the World Government for 3 years. Crocodile's 27 and has not set up base in Alabasta yet)

It seems like I have become possessed. By some sort of demon.

Bonus:

spock’s room decor is actually fucking bonkers. The weapons??? the big red velvet curtain??? like ok phantom of the opera go crazy.

for reference jim’s room has some photos and a plant so we can surmise this is uniquely a spock being a dramatic weirdo thing

faith unshaken.

"A Palestinian family in Tal al-Sultan camp, west of Rafah, decorates its tent in preparation for the month of Ramadan in order to preserve Ramadan customs and bring joy and happiness to the children to alleviate the effects of war." from Belal Khaled, 02/Mar/2024:

I like to think that Vulcans who come to understand that Humans just can’t try to process emotions the same way as them, it’s just healthiest to let it out in harmless ways, decide that venting and stuff should be taken just as seriously as Vulcan’s meditation time, and will encourage the Humans around them to complain about what’s upsetting them

People who are used to aloof Vulcans who avoid Humans at all cost running into one comforting a Human

“-and then they said my cheesecake was subpar, and they didn’t even bring a dish!!!”

“The purpose of this event was that every participant brings a food item of sorts, correct?”

“Yeah!!”

“And they did not follow this rule while insulting dishes that were brought?”

“Mostly just my dish but yeah >:(“

“How illogical”

“That’s what I’m saying!!!”

No you’re not hearing me. It’s the way that entire gala is referencing this panel. He’s canonically cosplaying Viktor Nikiforov. It’s all from the halloween party comic. Are you listening. Do you hear me. They healed them. This panel was the only gumlee moment for like 7 years. Do you understand.

even if you're not a supernatural fan, if you've been on tumblr long enough you are, like, culturally. like cultural christianity in america except it's the cw's supernatural. you may never have watched an episode or set foot inside the tag but your regular life shuts down on their holidays and all of your world news is delivered through that point of view. something to think about

"You'd be living in a castle with food and medicine and trained squirrels to tend to your every need."

bonus ver w/o text and extra doodle:

When my nephew was four, a friend of the family passed away. The man was in his 90s and died of natural causes, and we were going to the funeral. We sat my nephew down and explained who this was, and that he had passed away, and now we were going to a sort of quiet party to celebrate him, and that there he might see the gentleman in the casket, and he might be very still, because he had died, but that everything was alright.

My nephew contemplated this calmly for a few minutes, and then said, "I think he will be very flat."

What.

It turns out that at age four, my nephew's only real context for death was roadkill, which he frequently pointed out while we were driving. He therefore believed that the only way anyone died was getting run over by a car.