When I Was Growing Up, One of My Brothers Referred to Me as Sir

I just saw The Field Guide to Evil, which is a bunch of shorts from really great film makers from around the globe that were asked to make a film based on folklore or a fairy tale.

Here's the thing.

The last film is Peter Strickland's The Cobbler's Lot and I CAN'T STOP FLIPPING OUT ABOUT HOW GOOD IT IS.

It has everything:

Shoe fetish, men with eyeliner, a woman with a trained raven, a toppy king (also in eyeliner) who pulls the most fucked and amazing toppy death couture I've ever seen in my life, blood on a quasi-wedding dress, jizz, women in these weird body stockings that are supposed to make them look naked, young men kneeling in front of an older man in a throne, two brothers who look like young/weird Robert Smiths, a forest, embroidered stockings, a princess, murder, ghosts...  It is a visual and thematic orgasm. Someone *please go and see this so that we can talk about it*.


(image: Man Ray, Legs)

Fountainhead

If I could tell you anything, I would tell you everything.  It sounds grandiose, I know, but it is as true as the colors of the flecks that are hidden deep within your eyes. 

I see them, you know.

I could draw them for you.  

It would embarrass as much as it would flatter you. 

The other evening, I was walking down the street of a small town I'm not too familiar with.  There was slight ice and the smell of frozen grass.  I wondered what it must have been like for you as a child growing up amidst apple orchards with such rotten parents.

k.
(image via cucarachaa tumblr)

Gentlemen, Turn Out Your Pockets; Ladies, Empty Your Purses: Three Bits of Life as of Late

I.

Today, this September 7th of 2016, was part of something larger that I can't quite articulate.  Do you ever have something that, for years, you feel you'll never be able to let go of and then, one day, while multitasking, you simply let it all fall to the floor and wash away with the rain?

I'm being too sloppily poetic, here.

Let me just say that an event from almost four years ago has been finally put to rest in its understanding and function.  The casket is closed, and the spirits have been raised.

It feels good yet strangely uneventful.

II.

Here's what I know is true as of late. And by late, here, I mean the better part of this entire year thus far:


If you are a person who puts too much stock in riding the coattails of another
If you are a person who needs to be around someone all of the time
If you are a person who is perpetually trying to "save" the nearest shit show you call a friend (or a date, as the case may be)
If you are abusive or unpredictable in the bad way


I will more than likely not be interested in being around you
or investing in a friendship with you.

It is boring.
It is codependent.
It is invasive.
It is utterly uninteresting.


[I am in love with being in this space.  Thank you to people like TS Madison and a duo who will remain nameless who know what it's like to work to become who you are in life - or to even get the chance to.]

III.

As an important aside:

Neurodiversity is a thing, folks.

Just because *you* don't mind applause and small talk doesn't mean that everyone is into it.  Just because you can go on trips with groups of people and want to be around them from sun up until sun down doesn't mean everyone can.  Just because you think someone is rude or too direct doesn't mean that what they're saying isn't 100% on point.

[Also: If people need alone time or a quiet room and you take that personally, you're just a neurotypical asshole.]


be well; be loved,



k.

P.S. I still can't get over how bizarre but interesting but wonderful life is.  I like that my life is one that involves one of my best friends being witness to a living puppet possibly telling me off.  (Fair enough, I say.)

(image via amortentia tumblr)
(title: a quote from the movie Clue)

Protect What You Must

Come here, she said. Let me tell you something:

I will miss you with a good portion of my heart.

I will miss the safety I felt in your hugs, and when I would wear your sweatpants to bed at night.  I will miss your laugh and the way that you drive (even though I hated it). I will not be able to listen to Lana del Rey and not think of you and of road trips. I will not be able to watch the television shows we watched together, nor listen to the radio shows we would listen to.  It was part of our ritual.

I will miss the smell of your various hair products, and the smell of your shampoo that was actually baby wash. I will miss the seriousness of your face when you are researching something- no matter if it is scientific, or pop culture.

I will miss the way you hold your guitar, and they way your fingers move when you play it.  I will miss the crooning slightness of your voice when you sing.

I will miss the pride you have in your body. I will miss the squareness of  your face when you are mad, stressed out, or trying to impress someone. I will miss the scent of your room and even the mysterious smells of your car.

I will not miss the glasses you ultimately decided upon: The other ones were infinitely more flattering on you.

I will miss your awkward stance when you are dressed up, and I will miss the jutting out of your jaw as you overcompensate for it.

I will miss the calmness and confidence that comes over you when you know you have done a good job: In your work, in your art, in your family.

And for now, that's all I can say.

She sat down, picked up a pen, and started writing.

be well; be loved.


k.
(photos: Lara Stone in Get Back! Stay Back! for V #76

Shot by Nick Knight

Styled by Carine Roitfeld via lelaid tumblr)

White Men Unite to Cover Up and Other Stories of Gross Ass Shit

Okay, here's the deal today:

I'm fucking pissed off that Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket) took a big ass racist shit at the National Book Awards last night on a moment that should have been about celebrating Jacqueline Woodson's work and writing.

Is it a surprise that a white, cis, straight man did this? Not at all.  It's the typical racist shit that happens when a black woman is seen as "winning" or having her work/existence applauded. Some white person steps in to do and say a bunch of racist shit and then sends out some bullshit apology later. It happens all the fucking time.  Artie Lang just did it a few weeks back when Cari Champion was about to make her debut on E:60 and Artie takes a big shit by tweeting out sexual fantasies about Cari Champion having to do with slavery.

I'm also pissed off that Neil Gaiman felt it necessary to re-tweet Daniel Handler's bullshit ass apology. Yes, Neil tweeted out saying that he was glad Handler apologized so that we could all get back to celebrating the winners of the night, but he also re-tweeted Handler's apology.  And for what? To help lift the voice of this white dude who is sniffling around an apology after taking a racist dump on a moment that was Woodson's? Fuck that.  It's that shit that white people do when someone does racist shit. "Oh, hey White Person! I'm another White Person!  I'm sorry you got caught being racist and now have to apologize because it may impact you financially in the Capitalist system that we dominate.  Here...let me help you clean this up."

FUCK THAT SHIT. Let the hollow, wah-wah apologies fall to the ground without the wind of white-privilege-invested collaboration.

They will be hearing from me.



k.

(image from Franticl0ve tumblr)