distinguished pictures

Rest in peace, Ezra Jack Keats.  Born Jacob Ezra Katz to Polish immigrants in Brooklyn, Keats almost singlehandedly introduced multiculturalism into mainstream United States of American children’s literature, particularly with The Snowy Day, which won the Caldecott Medal for the most distinguished American picture book for children in 1963.  He never married or had children, expressing at one time his belief that his characters were his children.  He died on this date in 1983 at the age of 67.

Stamp details:
Issued on: October 4, 2017
From: Brooklyn, NY


I was starting to feel insecure because birthdays can do that, which is dumb as shit and unacceptable, so I’m taking selfies about it. this is what my hair is doing right now. it’s like a tornado. an extremely gay tornado

UNDERTALE... about aged-up Frisk

I have read this post and I couldn not help but writing this. Hugeass text under cut but I really needed to get this out of me. If you care for my opinions, click the cut.

There are things that are CLEARLY WRONG….and it is CLEARLY The RIGHT choice to REPORT them.
Without attacking, without sending death-threats.

All this UT Frisk thing is very very tricky - I am reacting to this post because
all this matter - it’s tricky to me too
and I have to admit that whatever Frisk(as the player and a character) and Sans have in-game there, I do like it.
(and I do not see it as sexual). I couldn’t help my self seeing it as bit of romantic, though - because
I am an adult woman with tons of mental scars and insecurities and playing a game like this,
meeting characters like Sans really did work as a little band-aid for me in many ways.
I ended up wishing to have met the cast in real life, have people like that by my side
when I was calling for help but nobody came (no pun intended).
I did fall in love with the whole cast of characters. I did fall in love with Sans the most
because he did give me inside the game what no male gave me in real life - the feeling of security.

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Dysfunctional [Part Two]

By popular demand, here is part two to Dysfunctional. Requests are still currently open and I will be writing more of my own ideas, xx

Kalani laid beside me, curled up into a small ball with her brown hair covering her features. She was born exactly like Justin. Same nose. Same eyes. Same hair color. It was hard to distinguish pictures of Justin and Kalani as babies. They looked too much alike and it haunted me.

I took a bus to my mom’s house who lived in the suburbs of California. She wore expensive clothing and expensive jewelry, even when she was sleeping. She wanted me to be perfect, enrolling me in every possible class. I took piano lessons, vocal lessons, dance lessons, gymnastics… I always wondered if it was just my mom’s way of getting rid of me. Then I met Justin and she began to despise me. She sniffed Justin out the minute I brought him home. My alcoholic father could barely keep his head up at the dinner table and she only stared at Justin in disgust the entire meal.

However, Justin and I were in love. We would sneak around, hiding in the forest behind my house until dawn. I would bring a blanket and we’d cuddle, not even speaking to one another. In a moment of passion, Kalani was made and my mom claimed she was never my mom. I never saw her again after telling her about my pregnancy and it was just Justin and I against the world.

I trudged onto my mother’s doorstep with shame written across my face. I never wanted her help for anything, I wanted to prove her wrong. I wanted to show her that mine and Justin’s love could overcome anything, yet here I was, running back to my mother. I begged her to let me in, holding Kalani close to my chest as I stared at the woman who had once given me life. She held her nose high up in the air, eyeing me like I was still a child. She pushed the door open wider and walked away, not gracing me with even a word to her only child. 

I jumped when I heard voices outside. The door was pushed open, light coming in from the hallway, and a panic-stricken Justin burst through the door with my mother at his tail.

“Baby!” He yelled and I saw Kalani stir out of the corner of my eye.

“Get this idiot out of my house and you can leave with him!” My mom shrieked, pointing a bony finger at me.

Kalani’s eyes opened and she clung to me tightly. Justin saw this and he moved toward Kalani. “Baby girl, don’t be afraid of daddy. It’s okay.”

“Justin, don’t.” I huffed and got out of the bed, “why are you here?”

“I was worried about the two of you.” He said as he reached out for Kalani, but she moved away from him. “Kalani, daddy loves you. Don’t you know that?”

“I said to get out of my house! Go before I call the police!” My insane mother yelled, rushing away from the room.

Tears filled my eyes as I picked up Kalani, putting her coat on her. “Are you happy?”

“Baby, come home.” Justin pleaded and fell to his knees, tears cascading down his flushed face. “I’m begging you, please.”

“Get up, Justin.” I looked over at Kalani and held her to my chest, “it’s okay, sweetheart. Alright?”

Kalani nodded and hid her face into my neck. I felt tears wet my skin. I moved past Justin and out the door, hearing him trudge behind me. I walked outside to his car, looking back at my mom who stood at the doorway. She pursed her lips and slammed the door. 

“Babe,” Justin whispered quietly as I put Kalani in her car seat. 

I didn’t reply and got into the passenger’s seat. Justin stood outside the car for a minute or two. I watched his chest rise and fall and his fingers pulling at his hair. I looked away when he got into the car. I gazed out of the window as we pulled out of my mother’s driveway; I looked up at the stars in the sky and remembered how Justin and I would lay in the soft patch of the grass, trying to count the stars. 

“When you finish counting the stars, that’s when I’ll finish loving you.” He would say and I actually would believe him.

Eclipse Sequence – This is a series of photos I took of the full Luna eclipse in 2008, or was it 2006? But. I cannot imagine how one full Luna eclipse could be distinguished from another. Throw pictures of them all in a pile, and ask me to sort them out, and I wouldn’t know where to begin.

If our heart isn’t singing,

It is breaking.

We break our heart

When we refuse to do what it loves to do,

When we ignore it,

When we take it for granted,

When we treat it as though it is only a pump,

And fail to understand that our hear is the source of life,

And not just what sustains life.

Our heart sings when we find our work and do it.

Our heart leads the way to our work,

Waiting on us to follow it.

But, we have other ideas,

And put heart off

Until we have sown wild oats,

And chased wild geese,

And lived in pursuit of illusions of grandeur,

And fantasies of happy ever after.

And our heart is breaking,

Dying to sing.

Dying for us to wake up,

Turn our life over to our heart,

Find the life, the destiny, that is ours to live,

And live it.

With all our heart.

[The night is cool, clear, and Chance had come outside before tuck-in with the intention of maybe running a few laps, or maybe putting in some time with a punching bag, wearing away at his weaker areas in preparation for the upcoming Games. 

But he feels more relaxed than restless and he finds himself…not. Sticking close to the main building instead as his feet trace nonexistent paths, looking up at stars he can’t distinguish or form into pictures, the way he had once been able to when he was small. 

Tipping his head back down from the sky – Leo should be visible now, right? Regulus? – he spies a figure a few paces away, dark enough that their features aren’t immediately visible, and he sticks his hands in his pockets as he speaks, let the breeze carry his voice instead of raising it.] – Nice night, isn’t it?