El jardín de Mandy / Cuento Infantil:
Como todos aquellos que nacen en el Valle de Aradia, Mandy tenía poderes mágicos; ella nació en una mañana soleada de verano, justo cuando en el pueblo se celebraba el Día de la Mandrágora y bueno, como ustedes saben no hay en el mundo entero una planta más mágica que la mandrágora, por esta razón los padres de Mandy la llamaron así pues querían que la magia y la buena suerte le acompañaran por siempre.
Los padres de Mandy eran los encargados de suministrar las plantas, hierbas y flores mágicas a la gente de Aradia. Su familia tenía una tienda de hierbas mágicas justo en el corazón del pueblo; sin embargo en su casa habían creado un mágico jardín que al pasar el tiempo fue cuidado única y exclusivamente por Mandy, quién en la noche de Samhain y gracias al amor de su familia había encontrado a sus mejores amigas entre las hortalizas y los árboles frutales.
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i met this young man when he was 13. he turns 19 today. this is for him. i started out mentoring him which just naturally evolved into an amazing friendship. i count myself as a father figure, but that is my own ego. i happy to call him a friend. :)
There are memories so old
They have forgotten their mother tongue
So they find a home in your feet
Memories so deep and so wide
No language can hold them
So they use your whole body to convey a message
Memories so long
They have become prized heirlooms
With no original owner
There are memories so rich
All they can do is moan and cry, in joy and sadness
Memories so thick
They wrap themselves around you
And rock you to sleep
Memories so abundant
You are not the only one who has touched them
And a nod from a stranger is too large for the flatness of déjà vu
A new book celebrates the lives of gay and transgender cabaret performers in Havana, Cuba, and the role they play in Cuban society.
Gaza, a poem
By Nisha Bolsey
I’m walking and a man says, “If the Palestinians would just love their children more than they hate their enemy, the violence would be over.”
If only they would love their children.
If only they had chosen the four corners
(so they would die)
or kept them in the middle
(so they would die).
If only they would have brought four-day old Noura back to life.
If only they would kiss their children’s dead mouths and breathe life into them.
If only they would raise their arms to the sun to block the bombs with the palms of their hands.
If only they would dry the rivers of blood in the streets and pour them back into the hearts of their daughters and sons.
Why don’t they?
Why can’t they just pull out their own lungs and stick them into their slaughtered children’s chests?
Why can’t they just sing, 24 hours a day, louder than thunder, to prevent their ears from hearing the sound of bombs?
If only they would love their children, and carry their bodies up into the air, above the siege, past the blockade, into freedom.
If the Al-Batsh boys’ parents had really loved them,
they wouldn’t have let their insides be wrenched apart by the bomb that fell.
They would use their hands to hold their limbs together so that they could stay in one piece.
If only they would stop the vibrations which create sound,
the sound which crashes and bleeds through their children’s ears.
If only they would stop all light from traveling, so that their children wouldn’t have to see their sisters, cousins, fathers, brothers.
Dead on the floor.
Their house turning to rubble.
Their family turning to dust.
Their family turning to nothing.
Their world disappearing.
And why doesn’t their love sustain their children more than food?
Heal the wounds from the weapons?
They had seconds to leave before the bombing began.
They should have thrown their children out the window,
knowing they would take flight
with the wings their love had created.
If only they loved Mohammed, Ahed, Zakaria and Mohammed
to rise above their soccer game and change
the magnetic forces of the Earth,
to pull away the bomb,
headed for the beach.
I had to ride this guy twice this week. #uy #bart #publictransportation #bayarea
Hello :D if you’re interested in finding more queer characters in today’s media (including tv shows, movies, video games, graphic novels and books), come check out our new blog. Emphasis on the NEW because we only created it yesterday, we’re still working out the kinks and sorting things out but we’d love to have you.
Modern #windmills #windturbines #renewableenergy #naturalreaources #580freeway #california
What do these artists all have in common? You can find interviews with them in my new book Queer and Trans Artists of Color: Stories of Some of Our Lives! Co-edited by Jessica Glennon-Zukoff and Terra Mikalson, this book is the first of it’s kind, a unique collection of interviews with political writers and artists such as Janet Mock, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, Magnoliah Black (1st photo), Kiam Marcelo Junio (2nd photo), Lovemme Corazón, (3rd photo), Ryka Aoki, Nick Mwaluko, Fabian Romero, Van Binfa, Micia Mosely, Miss Persia, Daddie$ Pla$tik and more. Available for pre-order now!
Shout out to Gunjan Chopra, Weily Lang, and Amirah Mizrahi for transcribing the interviews! <3
#WeNeedDiverseBooks summer reading series! If you liked Divergent by Veronica Roth, try Killer of Enemies by Joseph Bruchac because both feature kick-ass heroines in a dystopian/post-apocalpytic setting with an absorbing, complex world and story. (Bruchac gets extra credit for the creepy, genetically engineered creatures.)
Knowledge about plants that can cure or harm has been prized, and feared for hundreds of years. In this enchanted book, you’ll find out which poisons are produced by which plants, and flip the pages to reveal history and folklore.