Psychoanalyzing The Gender/identity Dichotomy Between Ice Skating And Ice Hockey And Coming To The More

not liking most current music artists is NOT a brag it means finding a musician i really like and thinking "oh hey wouldn't it be cool to see them live" and looking up their name only to find out they died 73 years ago

all purpose greek seasoning in olive oil is genuinely curing my ed rn

 In spite of her money

and her evening fur coat

 I did not envy her riches

nor her Brazilian wooded boat.

 I did not envy her dress

at the scarlet evening mass

 nor did I dazzle- upon her watch

and watch the hands tickle pass.

 I did not wish to be greeted

before everyone else, by the host

 nor given fine wine by paid actors

addressing me with titles, worthy of a boast!

 The glowing eyes of those waiters

who wished the be the money they served

 who wished to wear those sharp trimmed suits

instead of handing out hors d'oeuvres.

 I see the moths- the men and girls

that flutter, in dim light

 with their royal, east egg money

those rich red parties, warm summer nights.

 I see blue eyes, I see sinners

we watch them drink away.

 We do not envy their scarlet coats

nor their drunken, wasted days.

ziggy played guitar with god given ass or whatever the fuck david bowie said

i didnt know "a christmas carol" was supposed to be so funny?? the entire first conversation just feels like the conversation between gandalf and bilbo in the hobbit its so great

The Reapers Song by HybridDH

Art by ghost_entity

https://x.com/ghosty_entity?s=21

In shadows deep, she walks alone,

A quiet girl with none to own,

A scythe she holds, both sharp and grand,

But gentle is her guiding hand.

Not one for words, she lets things be,

Her eyes speak more than we can see.

No need for crowds, nor praise to claim,

The unknown world is hers to tame.

Beneath the hood, her hair does fall,

She listens close to death’s own call,

Not shy, not fearful of her role,

She guards the passage of the soul.

She steps with grace, her robe so long,

But there’s a sweetness in her song,

The quiet hum that none can hear,

But comforts those who wait in fear.

She doesn’t boast, she doesn’t cry,

She simply lets the moments fly.

Her touch, though cold, is soft and kind,

She brings peace to the troubled mind.

The scythe she wields might seem so grim,

But she’s the one who helps them swim

Through waters dark and shores unknown,

Guiding the lost ones safely home.

And though her job may seem so bleak,

Her heart’s a place where love does speak.

In every soul she helps to go,

She plants a seed for hope to grow.

She loves the quiet, loves the night,

Not one for fame or spotlight bright,

Her cloak’s a comfort, like a friend,

A hidden place until the end.

For in her silence, she has found

A way to help without a sound.

She smiles a smile no one can see,

But in her soul, she’s truly free.

She watches life, she watches death,

Yet feels no sadness, no regret,

For in the end, she knows the truth—

There’s beauty even in lost youth.

So off she goes, with steps so light,

A reaper girl within the night,

Her heart aglow with love so pure,

For every soul, she finds the cure.

In every end, there’s a new start,

A gentle hand, a loving heart,

For though she’s grim, she’s never cold,

She brings new stories to unfold.

mjp

currently trying to beat the punk anti-capitalist anarchical queer teenage stereotype rn but it's not going so well