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BuzzFeed published a report claiming that Tumblr was utilized as a distribution channel for Russian agents to influence American voting habits during the 2016 presidential election in Feb 2018.
I am writing a research paper for a Women Gender Studies class at the University of Tennessee. I am writing on the relationship between the LGBTQ+ community and fanfiction. If you read fanfiction at all please take this quiz. I understand that because there is queer and lgbtq in the title there will be sample bias but I do not plan on comparing between non-queer and queer readers.
tumblr post by @girlhorror / revenge by xxxtentacion / the lovers of valdaro / lazarus rises (amongst other things) by @icaruspendragon / mahmoud darwish / gravestone of james robert irwin and millie michaels irwin / wuthering heights by emily brontë
Poem three from Lazarus Rises (amongst other things) by Berklie Novak-Stolz (@icaruspendragon)
These words have been stuck in my head the past couple days. And I hadn’t read this poem in a while. I keep the book on my nightstand, a comfort that it’s there, but most of the time it goes untouched, not because I don’t love it, I have it highlighted and marked up the wazoo. But it’s so much easier to spend my time scrolling than to do other things I really want to do.
But anyway, I’m getting off track. This poem came back to me a couple days ago when I reblogged the post about which person in tfw 2.0 would be most likely to keep a diary. (X) and I used Berks words specifically for my analysis on Dean, because they felt right. And since then these words have been floating around my brain.
I have so much to say, so much I want or need to say, but in order to do so, I would have to pry myself open, lay myself bare in front of the people I care about most. And that’s. One of if not the most scary things I can imagine. Because the fear of being rejected for opening up. For saying what I feel and being shut down or told I’m not important. Or being made to feel like I’m not important again.
Emotions are hard, and finding words to explain them is even harder for me. It should be easy to explain that I’m happy or sad or why I’m feeling how i am but they all just get stuck in my throat. Clinging to my teeth and cutting my gums and my tongue. Choking me and taking over every ounce of entire being and it’s killing me.
I can’t get the words out, and I can’t pry them from my teeth. And I don’t even know what I would say if I could. I don’t know the words hiding behind my teeth. Hidden away from the world, and if I started talking I wouldn’t be able to stop. But I can’t start.
hi. i don’t know why i haven’t sent a message sooner. but better late than never.
anyway. i just wanted to say “and this, your living kiss” changed my life. it inspired me to start writing my own poetry. poetry that has now been published. a published collection that does thank one jack allen in the acknowledgments.
without going into too much detail or trauma dumping or anything, this past year has been the worst of my life. any time i felt like there was nothing good left in the world, i’d reread atylk and remember that there’s so much beauty out there. your fic has been pretty instrumental in my healing. i even got a tattoo of one of my favorite quotes from the fic recently (see attached photo).
so yeah. thanks for sharing your words with the me and the world and everyone else.
Wow, this is. This is incredible, truly.
First, I am so, so sorry you've been going through it this past year. It heartens me that despite the challenges you've been facing, you've found the strength and courage to find the good and keep on keeping on. That my story had some part to play is humbling; I can only be grateful to have been able to help in this small way.
It never fails to leave me boggled when someone says my writing has inspired them to write in turn, and that so many people have (re)kindled a relationship with poetry because of this fic warms me to the core. I am so proud of you for putting pen to the page, carving yourself this creative space, and then bravely sharing it! Getting published too, wow! I always say the world needs its poets, and I couldn't be happier that you've added your voice to the human chorus.
The tattoo, though--that is a new one for me. I can barely sort my emotions just sitting here looking at it, proof positive of all the kind things you've said. Shocked, for sure. Humbled, once again. All I can think to say is this: I do turn to poetry in general when my spirit is heavy with ache, but the work of Tennyson in particular has helped me through some of my darkest times. To see his words there mixed with my own as a single snapshot of permanent ink, living artwork warm and pulsing, shatters me.
Friend, you are a marvel. That you have come through your crucible to live anew is triumph enough, but the way you are moving through the world making your own beauty and meaning despite - or maybe even because of - it? That is to be celebrated as well.
That's right!! The Fic List is going to New York Comic Con!!!! 😱🤯🥳
Come see us and the unparalleled @icaruspendragon aka Berklie co-host "An Abridged (Unhinged) History of Fan-Fiction" on Thursday, October 12 at 7:15 PM! Expect goofiness, shenanigans, and the occasional history lesson 😉
Visit NYCC's official page for more information about our panel and the con! Hope to see you there!
here with me by d4vd // lazarus rises (among other things) by @icaruspendragon // the adventure zone episode 69: story and song // in case you don’t live forever by ben platt // inkpot gods by the amazing devil // heart to heart by mac demarco
If you or a loved one are unsure of what you can rely on in this silly little world, be rest assured. You can always rely on icaruspendragon hitting you with that Heat of the Moment every single Tuesday for the rest of your existence when you happen to go on TikTok craving what meager drops of serotonin you can squeeze from the algorithm. What is this constant? That I shall never be free? I daresay I shall never wish for naught!
Tie a shirt over my head when I die so that I won’t suffocate when I crawl back up. Dirt, worms, and bugs crawling over my corpse as I make my way back up to you. Leave my good boots next to my grave so I can walk back. Thudding silently on the pavement as I come. Leave the key by that rock my parents got me when I was three. It shining in the porch light. Let me shower the grave dirt off and climb into bed with you. Soft sent of your soap surrounds me. Let me be held in your arms once more. Let me be home again.