Shida !

Brianna Albers, "The Audre Lorde Questionnaire to Oneself" // Anne Carson, Glass and God // Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood // @iasoup-deactivated20190921 // @puppy__problems on Instagram // p.d., "Rest Achilles, the world will wait" // Lyra Wren // @heartfeltbot on Twitter // Latin phrase translations // Emily Berry, Dear Boy

something i noticed,

israel can kill innocent Palestinians, they can bomb their homes, destroy their cities, tear apart their families, cut off their food and water, and dehumanize them all they want,

but theres somethings they cannot destroy:

they cannot destroy the solidarity that Palestinians and non-Palestinian activists have together

they cannot destroy the hope and determination we all have to fight and make this genocide end

they can NEVER destroy the compassion and love that our palestinian siblings have for eachother

i have seen hospitals being bombed, yet the doctors refuse to leave their patients to die

i have seen people being arrested and harassed online, yet activists refuse to be silent about this genocide

i have seen children, who are younger than me, fight for kids their age who cannot fight for themselves

i have seen millions of people, who are not from palestine, rally in support to end this genocide

and that is something beautiful we shall NEVER be silent until the people of palestine are able to live in peace without the fear of dying 🇵🇸🍉FREE PALESTINE!🍉🇵🇸

What did you do while the children of Gaza were dying?

I argued with their killers.

What did you say?

I said that the innocent deserve innocence. That the sound of laughter is better than nightmares, and briefer. That the cost of killing may be higher than the price of dying.

Did they listen?

Do killers ever listen? They are deafened by their weapons’ drone and by the grate of their own voices raging, denying.

Why were they angry?

They said that they needed to feel safe.

Safe from the children?

They said there are no children in Gaza, only young combatants.

And the babies?

They said they are little snakes that will grow, and it is better to kill them in their nests.

And what of the teachers? The singers? The artists? The fathers? The mothers?

They said that all who live there are terrorists. And as for the mothers, they said it is they who bear the little snakes.

Did your protestations do any good?

No. I lost my breath, I lost my words, I lost my heart. But had I not argued, I would have lost my soul.

Did any children survive?

In body, yes. In spirit, it is not sure.

The children who lived, what will become of them?

Their eyes will sear holes in the night sky. Remember this when you look at the stars:

that it is the burning eyes of Gaza’s children that hold your gaze.

(Gaza 2014)

Lisa Suhair Majaj

it's been said before and i'm sure said better than i can phrase it. but really, really - if you like making "i'm going to kill myself" jokes, please try switching to being ironically conceited instead.

anytime something goes wrong, say things like "ah well at least i'm beautiful and charming and everyone loves me." when you forget something, try "my big huge brain is so smart and thinking about too many other very big wizardly thoughts you wouldn't even understand." when you're frustrated by one of your symptoms, start talking like you're in My Immortal. "Life has come for me but my eyes are beautiful pools of gorgeous fire and my hair is amazing. I stuck my middle finger up at life and told it to fuck off and it did."

just... try it for a month or two. try saying the most absurdly self-congratulatory shit you can think of.

i know it's tempting to make suicide or self-harm jokes. and for me at least, a decade ago (!) when someone suggested i stop making those kinds of jokes, i was kind of at a loss for what to replace them with. i wanted to make light of these moments, but genuinely (at the time) my first thought really was suicidal ideation. there was a part of me that even felt like ... i was kind of "making light" of that voice. that if i could say i want to die lol, it would help take the sting out of that genuine (albeit passive) desire. like i could turn my illness into a joke.

when i started complimenting myself instead, it felt awkward and stupid. it felt really, really ironic. what i was actually saying was nobody would ever think this stuff about me, that's what makes it so fucking funny.

but. the effect was immediate. first thing i noticed was the people around me. when i dropped a glass and said ah my skin is too beautiful and sleek the glass has swooned and broken for me, other people were suddenly overjoyed to jump in with the joke. rather than making an awkward moment, we'd both start cracking up. ah princess sleek hands, i've heard of you.

i was 19. i hadn't noticed i'd been making others tense when i said i want it all to end. i know now that it's incredibly hard to know how to walk that moment - do you talk to them about your concern? do you potentially make them uncomfortable by asking if they're okay? do you ignore the situation? do you help them pick up the glass, or do they need to do it by themselves? are they genuinely made suicidal over this small moment? and most importantly, how do you - without professional training or supplies - actually help?

most people want to help you pick up the glass in your life, they just have no fucking idea how to do it. they don't want to make anything worse. they don't want to make assumptions about you. they love you, they're scared for you - and being scared makes people kind of freeze up. it's not because they don't love you. it's because they do.

now when something bad happens, my first thought is how can i make a stupid joke about this. it isn't my brain saying you're a dumb fucking bitch. i spend more time laughing. i spend more time being gentle with myself. i spend more time feeling good.

and the thing is - what's kind of funny - is that you'd be surprised by how many people agree with you. the first time i said i'm too pretty to understand that, someone else said to be fair you're the prettiest person in this room. i promise - you really don't know how kindly your friends see you. but they love you for a reason. they sort of reverse-velveteen-rabbit you. your weird and ugly spots fade away and you just become... the love they want to give you.

go love yourself ironically. the worst thing that happens is that you end up tricking your reflection into actually loving you.

I think about them, all the time, at all hours of the day.

Every time I'm sheltered from rain, every time I get to hold my brother in my arms, safe, alive.

I pray, but I'm so enraged and disappointed and helpless and distraught and I love each and every soul so, so much.

I wish I could grieve them all like they deserve.

I wish none of this would have happened.

I know you do too. So cry for them, and don't. stop. fighting.

Protect Palestianan children. Ceasefire now

GLOBAL STRIKE FOR GAZA BEGINS TODAY!!!

To participate:

During the 21st - 28th of January...

Do not shop/online shop

Skip school/work if you are able to

Be present & active on social media and uplift Palestinian voices

Draw, write, sing, create art for Palestine

Repost & boost Palestine related content on social media

Educate yourself about the issue

We have been asked to strike during these days by the lovely & hardworking journalist Bisan from Gaza. Let's all try our best for a people being tested with the harshest conditions imaginable. The occupation must be held accountable.

We're in this together!!

Did Will Navidson's new house really contain an impossibly long hallway? What about the second story, longer on the inside than on the outside? Perhaps the whole story was invented by that strange man, Zampanò - but what about all the sources he cited?

Was there really ever a House of Leaves, or did our writers simply build... a house of cards?

touching the insides of a machine is erotic