[ID: Tweet By Kelsey Weekman @‍kelsaywhat That Reads:

Day 8, swallow-tailed kite

Maxfield Parrish, The Young King of the Black Isles, 1906. Reproduced as a frontispiece in Collier's: The National Weekly, vol. 39, no. 8, 1907, p. 8, and as a full-page illustration in The Arabian Nights: Their Best-Known Tales, edited by Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909, between pp. 74 and 75.

The image above was sourced from the latter publication and has been straightened.

baby's first attempt at mending sox any other way than by needle felting¹! as with all my very amateur attempts at mending we'll see how they hold up going forward,² but i had fun experimenting and so far they seem comfy?

⸻ ¹ an approach which ime works pretty okay on thick hiking sox, ftr, but which didn't seem likely to be well-suited to thinner ones like these :) ² i imagine that if i'd, say, used one long strand boustrophedon-style, that probably would have had a little more structural integrity than this more piecemeal approach. next time maybe!

so i’m friends on strava with Baby Sister’s extremely sweet, extremely earnest nerd-jock boyfriend, right, because i’m trying to Behave Welcomingly towards the partners of important women in my life despite being, if we’re being honest, the world’s most defensively shriveled social prune, and today that normally-very-incidental fact rubbed my nose hard in how much sexism i still gotta unlearn—

so i went for my stupid dinky little run, right, and dutifully logged it, and found myself looking at my dash or activity feed or whatever they call it over there, and realized Baby Sister’s bf had also just been for a run, which had taken him about the same amount of time; but the thing was, i’d actually run, like, 15% longer than he had, it was just that my pace per mile had also been, like, a minute and a half faster than his. which was really startling to me, because i absolutely reflexively assumed that a tall mid-twenties cis guy, who i know for a fact cycles and rock-climbs on the reg, was going to be a faster runner than me, a medium-height estrogenized couch potato!

and like, obviously i have no idea what relationship this kid's pace today had to his actual capacity, and also quite frankly in my experience running is a sport where, sure, your fitness matters or whatever, but it’s also just radically easier the less you weigh?? so i’m not particularly priding myself on a (decidedly non-elite) pace that has a lot less to do with my current fitness level (rusty) and a lot more to do with currently being underweight bc i’m bad at feeding myself bc adhd. but it just feels like. pretty fuckin telling that i was so taken aback!!

オオルリ

unrelatedly changing seasons is always kind of a brutal renegotiation with the mysterious rules of dysphoria but i WISH i understood why like. the exact same tank tops will have been totally fine with certain bottoms and then with others it's suddenly like 'agh nooooo we're doing a bad job of Man AND of Woman, time for death 💀💀💀'

Tricycle Gang in Brooklyn, New York City (1930s)

Eurasian red squirrel/ekorre. Värmland, Sweden (May 9, 2024).

Window bench with wood work that matches the exposed ceiling. Bench aligned with adjacent steps.

on principle opposed to describing art i dislike as ‘masturbatory’ because even though it’s an alluringly contemptuous word to sneer it’s impossible to reconcile with my pro-masturbation stance