...fuck.
Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.
On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.
And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.
The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy
idk, i hear that a lot of job interviewers are weirdly prejudiced against kickin dogs in the face and body so maybe???
is high jump kicking peoples dogs punk
gods, i love f1nn5ter. he's such a pretty princess, but also she's such a stinky boy.
at a tribal finance conference listening to a quileute tribal council member talk about how companies have bought every house in forks, wa because it’s a tourist destination so they can’t hire people to work for the tribe
anyway fuck stephenie meyer for profiting so intensely off of racist stereotypes of quilteutes and all native people while never contributing a dime to help them solve the problems she caused!
if you have the ability, you can donate to their move to higher ground fund here: https://mthg.org
love this album so much!! i've been obsessed with the folklore of st sasha about as long as i can remember, it's endlessly fascinating. the whole motif of the forest that never existed haunts me to this day, and i think "the girl who painted death" might be one of my all-time favourite fairy tales. as for the elephant in the room... personally, i'm of the camp that david brownley was killed by a shark that was anomalously far north, but then that doesn't explain how he was found so far inland, and those papers... if only they hadn't been burned, maybe we might have some better insights into what really happened </3 anyway, you've done an amazing job bringing st sasha lore it to light for a wider audience! weird that it isn't already more popular. aight, i'm gonna go rewatch goncharov for the thousandth time.
we new albuming out here
this is a concept i've had kicking around for longer than i care to admit. i'm so hyped to get this out of my brain and into your headphones
Ella woke blearily from a mid-afternoon nap to a loud, persistent buzzing noise from the next room. She yawned and rolled over, trying to ignore it, but it grated through her eardrums. Normally she wouldn't worry about her roommate Kina's personal habits, but she hadn't been sleeping well as of late and she really needed to be awake for the evening shift. After tossing and turning for many minutes, she eventually got up to stalk down the hall.
Kina's door was closed, and the buzzing was even louder here. How high up had she turned the damn toy? She knocked on the door, yawning again. "Kina, can you keep it down? I really need-"
The door swung open. The setting sun filtered in through the closed blinds, but Kina was nowhere to be seen. With the door open, the buzzing sounded less like a sex toy and more like a giant, angry wasp. Ella grimaced. She'd have to apologize later for going through Kina's stuff, but this was clearly on by accident, whatever it was. She played hot and cold with the sound for a bit until she found a small drawer tucked under the bed. Paydirt.
She hesitated before opening it. The drawer was vibrating, sure, that was expected, but there was also light emanating from inside. Something about it gave her pause. But, well, in for a penny. Inside, there were several pillows that had irregular slashes in them, and a bright, glowing ring that was rapidly spinning in place. Curious, she gingerly grabbed a hold of it, and-
And what was she doing? Peeking into her roommate's stuff like this. She should be ashamed. She should be up anyway, getting her chores done. She hadn't cleaned the bathroom in ages. And she should get some more exercise, go for a walk. Oh, and that would be a perfect opportunity to go looking for that stray cat she'd seen the posters for. But before she could do that, she should really pay rent. Just because Kina paid 70% of the rent and the utilities was no reason to be late with her part. And the rest of her money, she should give it to her sister, who needed some help - no, she should put it in a savings account - no, she should save for retirement - no, that political candidate - no, the food bank - she should volunteer too - give blood - give more - GIVE! The voices overlapped, demanding more and more of her. It wasn't enough, it was never enough, she was never enough, not enough to make a difference, but if she just tried harder, worked more, she could maybe be almost good enough, but never quite-
She blinked. Her hands felt raw and painful, like she'd been holding a belt sander. Kina was standing over her, immaculate as always in her business skirt and white button-down top, the ring spinning in the space between her pinched-together thumb and forefinger. She looked tired. "Sorry, was this thing bothering you? It's been kind of active recently. I'll try to secure it better tomorrow."
Ella gaped at her, still on her knees. "What is that thing?"
Kina took a breath, as if to explain, then sagged, her shoulders slumping. "Easier to show you."
She brought the ring, still spinning like mad, just above her head, and released it. It hung there, seemingly locked in place, as she began to unbutton her blouse. Ella took a moment too long to look away from her roommate's flower-lacy grey bra, then gasped as Kina's shirt fell away to reveal a pair of enormous white wings the shirt could not possibly have contained. Kina raised up into the air slightly, hovering just at the point where her feet couldn't touch the floor, and smiled sadly.
"You- you're an angel?"
Kina nodded. She reached down to Ella's hands, and as she grasped them the pain and frayed skin fell away, leaving them whole. Ella looked down at them in wonder. Then she looked back up at the halo. "Those things I felt when I- I mean- do you... feel like that? All the time?"
Kina reached up and plucked the halo off of her head, spinning once again through the empty space between thumb and forefinger. She gently floated to the ground, and her wings folded in behind her. "It's not so bad, usually. It's just- I mean, with everything going on, everyone's stressed, right? I'm not special." She reached past Ella and placed the halo in the drawer, making sure it was properly surrounded by pillows on all sides before closing it. Ella could still hear it spinning away, but quieter than it had been when it was brushing up against the wood. "And besides," Kina continued, "it's not so bad when it's not on my head."
Ella caught a glimpse of a tear streaming down her face before she turned away, shucking her shirt back on. "Come on. I made dinner for you. Let's go eat before it gets cold."
Ella grabbed her wrist before she got very far. "Wait! Are you saying you can hear-" she shuddered, thinking of the thundering voices, demanding more and more of her. "I mean, even when you're not holding it?"
Kina didn't turn around. "All the time, yeah." Her tone was light, but there was a hitch in her voice. She swallowed. "It's not so bad! Other people have it worse, I'm sure." She paused for a moment. "Well, actual people. I'm not... I'm not..."
Ella took a moment to realize that Kina was sobbing, very quietly, as if she could prevent Ella from hearing her. She hesitated, then grabbed Kina from behind in a bear hug. "I'm so sorry you have to deal with that. If there's anything I can do, you let me know, okay? You don't have to suffer alone."
Kina reached a hand up to hold Ella's, and cried for a long time.
Listening to this song feels different after reading this post.
Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.
On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.
And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.
The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy
hi have you found one to eat yet
i ask bcs i'm outside your house rn
feeling kinda edible ngl
not many know this but trans girls are actually food. you can just eat them
speaking as a trans girl, trans girls are so yummy and nice to eat. if anyone wants to eat me go ahead. i'm literally food.
not many know this but trans girls are actually food. you can just eat them
Mx. Cookbook, I've just listened to your new album and it was glorious and beautiful and like nothing I've ever heard before in my life and I adore it to pieces, but also what in the actual fuck just happened
MYTH: Side Two is available everywhere on January 7th 2025
MYTH: Side One is available everywhere right now
the response to my niche wee horror album has been so wonderful, thank you everyone who has gotten in touch to gush about it 💜