*sweating, whole body shaking while I stare at a google doc* would he fucking say that????

"Who Remembers the Armenians?" by Palestinian poet Najwan Darwish / "Who Remembers the Palestinians?" by Armenian writer Sophia Armen

Lower Decks writers had the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever and they took it.

“My friends are cyborgs, but that’s okay” is a mockumentary project made to imagine a world where Asian bodies navigate as cyborgs in a hegemonic human society. It explores the complex state of being cyborgs and asian — fluid, transgressive, marginalized but also stereotyped as unemotional and inhuman.
In A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, Technology, and Socialist-Feminism in the Late Twentieth Century, Donna Haraway once suggested that “'women of color' might be understood as a cyborg identity, a potent subjectivity synthesized from fusions of outsider identities''. Cyborg myth for Haraway is about “transgressed boundaries, potent fusions, and dangerous possibilities which progressive people might explore as one part of needed political work”.
Asian bodies especially, in the media and in general are often seen as robotic, intelligent but less human. Different from Orientalism, the Techno-Orientalism found in many speculative fiction films and books, such as Blade Runner, imagines the future to be hypo technological cities resembling Tokyo, Hong Kong, and Shanghai, and sexualized, dehumanized asian looking cyborgs. The series is an attempt to create a narrative of cyborgs of our own: My friends are cyborgs, but that’s okay. It is to envision a change of the prevalent binary view, reconstructing the boundaries of daily life and to create a dangerously happy ever after posthuman world for cyborgs.

so enamored by this photo project by ramona jingru wang

butches/studs/mascs of Tumblr planning Halloween costumes: we can't possibly all be werewolves,it's not mathematically possible

Sorry, I started thinking about a massive Halloween party full of butch werewolves and blacked out

Phetcharada Pacharee

I live at the island airport religious-shrine military casino former-labor-camp mall where I work, and the Twink that does my Pap smear was kidnapped again so I can’t fulfill my annual wellness requirement for my overpriced ferengi medical insurance and will probably have to pay a space-credit penalty.

trying to do sexy pain-based powerplay dynamics with a girl who's quitting smoking so instead of burning me with the cherry while she fucks me she just has to throw her nicotine-free vape battery at my head as hard as possible

there's only one thing worse than an awful book, and that is an awful book with ONE tantalisingly compelling element

an awful book is nothing. You can put it down and never think of it again. An awful book with ONE idea that perfectly captures your imagination can chip your soul out through your eyes with every sloppy syntax error and gaping plot hole while you scream, unable to look away

no i don’t have plans later. i will, however, be taking extensive poison damage periodically for the foreseeable future. but beyond that my schedule is totally open

if you hear me going “haugh.” or perhaps “augh” every so often and see me doubling over. well. Don’t even worry about it.