schick

Schick mir ein Zeichen, ich will nicht mehr Weinen, lass mich nicht mehr Leiden...
4

Gabriel Loire (1904-1996)

Symphony Tower of Joy for Children with staircase - Choukokunomori bijutsukan 彫刻の森美術館 (open-air museum) Hakone 箱根, Japan - 336 m²  - 1973-74

Photo 1: Source Flickr Hendrik Schicke

Photo 2: Source Panoramio.com

Photos 3&4: Source blaineharrington.photoshelter.com

Source by-s.me

flickr

CB&Q 4-8-4 Class O-5-A 5627 by Chuck Zeiler
Via Flickr:
Chicago Burlington & Quincy Railroad 4-8-4 Class O-5-A 5627 at Denver, Colorado on July 16, 1940, photograph by J. Schick, print by Gordon C. Bassett, Chuck Zeiler collection.

For those that may not have seen this

I know this image has been circulating for some time, but not everyone has been exposed to its majesty. This one’s for you guys. Check this out.

Just bask in it for a moment. Really breathe it in.

You want close-ups? Baby I’ve got close-ups for DAYS.

Look at her losing her shit over them smooth cheeks. They’re so smooth, it’s like touching butter. Chicks LOVE butter. You know why? ‘Cause you can put that shit on sliced bread, and the only thing better than sliced bread is THIS FUCKING SHAVING CREAM.

And look at this asshole yucking it up. Just look. He’s loving every moment of it, 'cause his face ain’t covered in spiky shit. Let me tell you, beard hairs are some hedgehog-ass bullshit. You think kissing a guy with beard hair stings? Bitch, try having the little fuckers stuck in your face 24/7.

And- whoa, girl, settle down. I mean, Jesus, this is a shaving cream commercial, not an ad for fuckin’ Colgate or whatever. Tell me you can look at a grin like that and say she’s not ready to straight up murder everyone in the studio just for a chance to touch those cheeks.

A Prettier Ending

I came out to my parents as sick
the same way I came out as queer

I didn’t.

instead,
I give them a few plot elements
and let them write me into their own novel
one with a stronger protagonist
and a prettier ending

The cardiologist is
a doctor I am seeing
the way my first girlfriend was
a nice woman I met at school
it’s amazing, how we can not talk
about my body for hours

It is so much simpler for them, this way
It is a nicer story

They write me as their lazy daughter
forever collapsing into doorframes but
not sick
not broken

Pride is easier to swallow than explain
Illness is easier to hide than display
I use my wheelchair in public
and let people believe I cannot walk,
pretend it is always like this
I do not challenge their expectations,
but become what they want me to be

Pretend not to feel the neighbors’ eyes
as I fold the chair and carry it upstairs.
Pretend not to notice
all of their stares, at the normal girl
who moved in and got crippled

That sad thing, watching spring
come from a bed of unwashed sheets.
She must think herself a damsel,
what dragons she has dreamt
up in the dark

My mother asks how I am feeling
and I say
fine
I say
it’s a new problem
I say
no use in worrying
I say
I have a new friend

I am playing a character written
by the closet builders. I know
I should be ashamed, but my mother,
she tells such wonderful stories
she has written me as a daughter who makes her proud
a daughter she can share with the world

I listen as she tells her friends
How, in every rendition I grow thicker armor
and fight larger battles

And that daughter is the smartest girl I know
she must be so strong
to carry all of this alone
the doctors, the tests, the stolen youth

She is a woman I will never be
a braver hero than I deserve.
she always wins
she always wins
it’s a better story that way