corbin dewitt

i took this picture on sunday afternoon when it was eighty degrees and deliberately saved it so i could post it once the temperature dropped as a reminder to myself that it really happened. in case you were wondering, it’s now 23 degrees and i’m under a down comforter wearing a hat.

i took this picture on sunday afternoon when it was eighty degrees and deliberately saved it so i could post it once the temperature dropped as a reminder to myself that it really happened. in case you were wondering, it’s now 23 degrees and i’m under a down comforter wearing a hat.

last night was the blood moon. it snowed today. i’ve spent the last five hours watching game of thrones. tomorrow at 7am i’m going on a class trip to a cargill slaughterhouse. never in my entire life have i felt death breathing this closely at my shoulder

sashayed:

obviously this dude is a real bad guy, a reeeeeeal capitalist horse patoot, BUT LIKE i am interested in how this old white guy — what is he, like, 50, 60? so dude was born in like 1860 at the latest? — how this old white guy holds down, FOR A SUSTAINED PERIOD AND BY ALL EVIDENCE BOTH RESPECTFULLY AND SUCCESSFULLY, a team including a black/arapaho doctor, a teenage latina mechanic, an ancient white lady who spends all her time smoking and making personal calls, a couple deviants, and a smokin hot blonde fatale whose aforementioned smokin hotness + occasional huskily-delivered double entendre this old white dude, unlike every other old white dude ever in the history of the planet, evidently NEVER uses as an excuse to treat her with anything less than the respect she deserves (I mean until he abandons everybody to their deaths, obviously not very respectful, but anyway), what I’m saying is, IS IMPERIALIST MADMAN DISNEY VILLAIN COMMANDER ROURKE, TAKING INTO ACCOUNT THAT HE OBVIOUSLY BETRAYS EVERYBODY IN ORDER TO EXPLOIT THE NATURAL RESOURCES OF A SOVEREIGN NATION and i think turns into a grinning homicidal maniac at the end, I don’t remember, I haven’t seen this thing in forever, IS THIS DUDE POSSIBLY ALSO A PROGRESSIVE HERO, AND IF NOT WHY NOT, SHOW YOUR WORK?

listen. listen: the white men of atlantis are perhaps the least terrible white men in all of disney. never forget that milo thatch, instead of returning with the rest of the group as a rich conquering hero, decides instead to hang out in atlantis and teach people to read. never forget that instead of removing kida from her rightful place on the throne to bring her back as an exotic trophy wife, he gave up his own life (not that it was very impressive) to help her rebuild her city. never forget that he always showed respect and honor towards every woman and every person of color in that movie. not to like, give cookies, but basically, milo thatch is a pretty intersectional feminist dude, all things considered

sashayed:

obviously this dude is a real bad guy, a reeeeeeal capitalist horse patoot, BUT LIKE i am interested in how this old white guy — what is he, like, 50, 60? so dude was born in like 1860 at the latest? — how this old white guy holds down, FOR A SUSTAINED PERIOD AND BY ALL EVIDENCE BOTH RESPECTFULLY AND SUCCESSFULLY, a team including a black/arapaho doctor, a teenage latina mechanic, an ancient white lady who spends all her time smoking and making personal calls, a couple deviants, and a smokin hot blonde fatale whose aforementioned smokin hotness + occasional huskily-delivered double entendre this old white dude, unlike every other old white dude ever in the history of the planet, evidently NEVER uses as an excuse to treat her with anything less than the respect she deserves (I mean until he abandons everybody to their deaths, obviously not very respectful, but anyway), what I’m saying is, IS IMPERIALIST MADMAN DISNEY VILLAIN COMMANDER ROURKE, TAKING INTO ACCOUNT THAT HE OBVIOUSLY BETRAYS EVERYBODY IN ORDER TO EXPLOIT THE NATURAL RESOURCES OF A SOVEREIGN NATION and i think turns into a grinning homicidal maniac at the end, I don’t remember, I haven’t seen this thing in forever, IS THIS DUDE POSSIBLY ALSO A PROGRESSIVE HERO, AND IF NOT WHY NOT, SHOW YOUR WORK?

listen. listen: the white men of atlantis are perhaps the least terrible white men in all of disney. never forget that milo thatch, instead of returning with the rest of the group as a rich conquering hero, decides instead to hang out in atlantis and teach people to read. never forget that instead of removing kida from her rightful place on the throne to bring her back as an exotic trophy wife, he gave up his own life (not that it was very impressive) to help her rebuild her city. never forget that he always showed respect and honor towards every woman and every person of color in that movie. not to like, give cookies, but basically, milo thatch is a pretty intersectional feminist dude, all things considered

(Source: disney.wikia.com)

i skipped lunch so i could put the finishing touches on a 10pg manuscript to submit to the english dept for their annual poetry prizes and i just sent it and immediately realized how fucking starving i am

i took a #casual #work #selfie and it was too good not to show the internet

i took a #casual #work #selfie and it was too good not to show the internet

rip cute shoes

rip cute shoes

left the house before remembering i was covering someone’s work shift today; wouldn’t have worn my cute brown suede shoes had i remembered; sure enough i just slopped chem all over myself and now they are probably stained forever :(

Anonymous asked: could you write " youre losing your words, were speaking in bodies" in all lower case pleeease. your writing is lovely <3

i drank an iced coffee at 9pm because i was hot and drowsy and had to work a closing shift and now i’m not tired. it feels like summer. i’m curled on my bed and i suddenly feel like i have so much skin, sticky and still warm from too much sun earlier, a quiet wind from the half-open window brushing against my bare legs, the pillow soft against my cheek. my lips feel sunburnt but not in a bad way: like they’re a little swollen; like they might be a darker color than usual, somewhere between persimmon and pomegranate; like they ought to be kissed.

i feel, for the first time in a very long time, palpably lonely. in winter it’s easy for me to forget i have a body: i turn into layer upon layer of dark clothing, a messy pile of scarves and tights and sweaters, leather jacket like armor, salt-crusted boots that turn my feet into ironshod hooves. i don’t feel my skin; the cold goes straight through it into my bones. winter is six months of fighting the earth, of insulating and isolating, of pretending to be a ghost. then the weather gets nice again and suddenly it’s a revelation of body, skin everywhere, the feeling of dampness underneath my hair at the back of my neck, the taste of my own thirsty tongue. summer is for moving through the air, thrilling in the capability of muscle, being aware of how the world holds you, the unexpected gentleness of air or water, remembering you are alive. summer is when the earth loves you. i always make a joke in springtime about “it’s so nice when the weather isn’t actively trying to kill me,” and it’s true, it’s so true it hurts –– i am taken aback every year when winter relents and the world becomes kind. kindness is so moving to me, i’m so overwhelmed even by small displays of kindness, and whenever i get a taste of it from anywhere i am left reeling and wanting more. when the air touches me kindly and lovingly all i want is more of that. i want friends with bodies that will hold me and cherish me, i want to hold and cherish those bodies in return. i want to swim and sit by fire and feel my skin as a thing that fits me and feel how other people’s skin fits them and fall asleep and wake up feeling that i have been regenerating myself slowly as i sleep. i want to love, to love endlessly, and to be loved.

and in some ways that wanting is worse than the lifeless moonscape of winter. i’m good at feeling nothing. i’m good at closing myself off. it doesn’t hurt to be cold, but it hurts so much to be vulnerable. i am equipped to deal with despair and isolation, but not with loneliness. i don’t like remembering that i have a body and then knowing that i am not able to use it to its fullest. i don’t like remembering that i am starving for kindness, starving for love, starving to feel alive.

what the actual fuck is this forecast

what the actual fuck is this forecast