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0autumncoffee0:

sleepy babies 🧡🩶🖤

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i’m gonna catsit, i’m gonna catsit.

a pal is heading to rehab and i’m gonna host one of their cats for a few weeks. yes yes yes yes yes yes yes. so i guess i have a legit reason to clean the fuck out of my apartment and also cancel my standing weekly hangout with a pal and his dog and just hang out with a cat for a few weeks and yes yes yes and then also that’ll be reason enough to take care of myself so i can take care of this lil pal

cat cat cat cat cat cat cat

yes yes yes

modelsof-color:

Imaan Hammam by Chris Colls for Elle US Magazine July 2023

(via distantvoices)

like, srsly, anyone says women are ‘too emotional’ compared to men should watch some soccer and shut the fuck up

been a while. how am i? was kinda lonely for a bit there, falling in love with everyone for a few weeks and trying to imagine what it would be like/how i would go about getting back into being in relationships, thankful i guess that that passed. wrote a screenplay (well, have a bit left to finish). and my sis got me on her teevee household account so i can log on to tsn and now been watching a whole bunch of world cup. starting to think women’s footie is more enjoyable in the way that there’s less pig-headed cos there’s less male-ego bullshit. now i gotta wait til october for nba but see that there are wnba games to stream so, like. i guess now is my phase in life where i’m a full-on sports-watching person.

so i guess i’m pretty alright, yeah.

don’t know about yall but i’m rather amused that a few billionaires were crushed by the weight of the ocean. world’s a lil better off now, innit.

not just that it’s some rich old men. also that it’s an embarrassment of applying move-fast-break-things ‘disruptor’ capitalism to stupid shit (or anything). wah, wah, safety regulations hamper innovation, wah, wah. welp. hope y’r thirsty.

lol

modelsof-color:

Anisha Sandhu by Daniel Zepeda for L'officiel Mexico Magazine June 2022

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playburo:

Tavish Timothy

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nevver:

Better red, Joshua K. Jackson

(Source: instagram.com)

there’s, like, a new volunteer at the food bank, and the one who saw me crying a few weeks back. asked if i was feeling better, after those deaths. i said politely i was, err, feeling worse, actually, because i had found out about homegirl. she had a lot of questions, which each led to, idk, me talking about how just this frequency of loss is pretty much normal and i’ve been with it years now. we chatted also about other things, she asked if i’ve considered these volunteer programs in other countries, accommodations paid and whatnot, and we talked about travel. somehow in there i was talking about my time in mtl, drinking coffee reading journalism and making music, and she said ‘oh you make music??’ afterward i felt so awkward cos, sure, she’s cute n all, but i’d be lucky if she’s much more than half my age, and heavens no i wasn’t flirting. this is my life. there are better ways to seduce folks than, yknow, spending years watching people you love die, over and over and over. it kinda makes it a million times harder. i am so scared to get to know folks, to get close to folks, cos i’m so so tired of losing folks. i don’t know what it’ll be like when i start dating again, for the first time in a decade. decade and counting. it’s something i’m starting to work toward, slowly. but despite all this shit that seems like whatever superficially, especially for someone younger and more naïve (not as an insult, but stricto sensu), it’s not trying to build some grandeur of persona. idk. somehow i was a talented fuckup who ended up in social services. it’s just life. and death, ha-ha-ha. idk. whatever. with one more gulp, tonight’s bottle of wine is done, and bedtime was half an hour ago.

a book, some adidas, a bottle. today’s purchases. my fuckin weaknesses every time. i’ve been caring enough to intend to change, but not caring enough to bother changing. patience is a virtue but also a liability, and i hate that second part.

my girl was an accidental overdose. not a suicide. that’s, like, somehow comforting i guess? in a way? she’ll never be just a statistic, tho - even though i’m sick of hearing this several times a week. honestly, i barely work there anymore now that i’m focused on my new job, and yet, yeah, at least twice a week. well, one last week was a murder. shit happens, i guess. good kid. probably had nothing to do with anything. just bad luck. there was hope in that one, too, more than anything. was just a young guy on hard times. coulda actually made it out right quick.

va händer fatima!!?

idk. i miss my homegirl. the cracks are showing in how i’m trying to block myself from thinking about it. i was afraid for so long. and this is harder than i ever even expected, worse than the worse i could’ve thought. but i went through this before and it wrecked me for so, so, so fucking long, to lose someone, not just someone but someone, and i know i’m gonna have to lose her but i’m still not ready to even admit to myself it’s real.

i fuckin miss you. i’m fighting missing you because missing you means i have to admit that all i can do now is miss you. all i can do is wish i were there for what you were going through. all i can do is wish i could be there for us to exist in the same frightening fucking impulse. i wish i could’ve talked you through it the way i’ve had to talk myself through it so many times. i wish we could’ve worn our matching Adidas, you in yr tomboy and me in my tomboy-tomgirl.

but that’s also a lie. that’s not all i can do. i can remember your hope, how well you’ve been doing for the past year, how much you care for everyone, how much you did for mum, the zigzag keychain you made me which i wear as a necklace, the story about the fuckin rich bros who live across the street who fought you when you, one of the strongest, scrappiest women i’ve ever known, tried to walk the fuck away, how much i laughed when i tried to see if you had an obit only to find an article about you pulling a hatchet on someone during an altercation.

i’ll never get over you. i’ll never not miss you. you’ll never not be my homegirl. you’ll never not be my sister. i’ll never not love you. i will always love you.

i love you.

softestaura:

Courrèges FW23 by Robin Galiegue

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