Ello is beautifully beta.

i’m not one to be gung-ho over social media, the acronym of which is not lost on me. nor am i proponent of advertising for others on my own interfaces. but there’s something to be said for such simplicity and authenticity, something to be celebrated. click over. i like this kind of internets future.

When you go out into the woods and you look at trees, you see all these different trees. And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are whatever. And you look at the tree and you allow it. You appreciate it. You see why it is the way it is. You sort of understand that it didn’t get enough light, and so it turned that way. And you don’t get all emotional about it. You just allow it. You appreciate the tree. The minute you get near humans, you lose all that. And you are constantly saying ‘You’re too this, or I’m too this.’ That judging mind comes in. And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are.
Ram Dass (via the-starpilot-has-landed)
sometimes you’ve got to let go; jump in the puddles. walk straight to the woods in a rainstorm without looking back. let mama earth’s tears wash you clean to the bone. thank the universe for squishy toes that can wiggle in your shoes as your feet carry you across spongy wet verdure carpets, a nose that can inhale the stifling hot oily pavement as it lazily evaporates steaming from the ground and blends with the dank and moldy wetness of fallen leaves. ears that can listen intently to the melody the crickets and the peepers make with the song of the rain drops tap tapping on the leaves and the dirt. sometimes you’ve got to hear Her music, feel Her soul. marvel at how sublimely small and large you are. how it does not matter. how it all matters. how it does and does not matter if it even matters. sometimes you’ve got to remember why you were born.

Life without ac, briefly: rough thoughts drawn up by heat too sweltering to sleep

Life without ac, briefly: windows wide open to summer’s breath like mouths, lips spread wide, first kisses in the pale moon’s light. Grass that had been cooking in the dirt all day cooling in the dew stirred by the fan humming like a time machine driving me back to my youth: the faintest smell of gasoline, hot pavement and sunscreen. Tiny prickles wash across exposed limbs from the night’s wind, skin warmed by the sun and pinked by its rays now find cooler air cold enough for blankets knit by the bony rheumatic knuckles of loved grand aunts never met weaving together comfort with their wool and wit. / / by the me at this moment, Alyssa Mackenzie, who promised herself to write more freely, publicly.

I think of my male loved ones, some of whom are the most kind, gentle human beings I could ever dream up. I try to imagine what it must feel like to know you might unintentionally cause fear simply by being male, through no fault of your own, through nothing you personally have ever done. The first thing to understand is that this fear is not an example of misandry; it is a byproduct of patriarchy. And although I can acknowledge how bad it must feel to be inherently feared simply for being male, it is still worse to be inherently afraid simply for being female.