TIL So Much Thanks 👆👆👆👆👆

[image description: An elegant black cat with a long tail sits in profile on a block of black marble, blocking the view of Assless Chaps behind them. Text reads, “55, Obsidious ~ The Small God of Occluding Cats”] ____________________________________________________________

The cat is in the way.

This is a basic fact of the universe, simple and immutable.  The sun is shining, the wind is blowing, the cat is in the way.  The world is spinning, the atomic structure of the universe is decaying, the cat is the way.  The faithful pray, the apostate condemn, and the cat is in the way.

How is the cat always, inevitably, unavoidably, in the way?  When did we get a cat, anyway?  How did that cat get in here?  Hey, is anyone willing to take responsibility for this cat?  Can someone tell me whose cat this is?

No.

No, no one can tell you whose cat this is.  No, no one is going to take responsibility for that cat.  No, no one let the cat in, and the cat is in the way because it is the nature of cats to be in the way.  If the cat were not in the way, something much more terrible than the cat might rise in its absence.  The cat occupies space to ensure that the space is occupied, because the space will be occupied, whether it is by the cat or by something far more terrible.  The cat is doing you a favor.  Do not count the cat’s eyes.  The cat’s eyes are none of your concern.  The cat can see you.  Isn’t that enough?

Isn’t it enough that the cat is being generous enough to protect you from the terrible thing that would be looking at you with some uncounted number of eyes if the cat were not there?  Isn’t it enough that the cat is soft, and the cat is purring, and the cat is in the way?

Isn’t it enough?

Let it be enough.

The cat loves you.  The cat will love you even into the void.  The cat will forgive you for your frailties, and the cat is in the way.

The cat is always in the way.

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Artist Lee Moyer (Trident of Aurelia, 13th Age) and author Seanan McGuire (Wayward Children, October Daye & InCryptid series) sincerely appreciate you, but wonder if you could scoot just the tiniest little bit to the left?

...the pavement shines like silver

sometimes its just like *street lights reflecting off the wet asphalt at night* maybe life isnt so ugly after all

He is a god of frontiers.

He is born again in every child who turns their eyes toward the stars, toward the sea, toward the horizon, and he grows with them.  He is young and old at the same time, all ages and all things, and always looking outward.

Windows are his.  Portholes.  External cameras.  He is not a god of surveillance, but he is a god of seeing, of the endless need to behold the wonders of the cosmos, of the world around us.  He only wants to look.  He has no desire to settle, or to damage, or to claim.

When first a maritime explorer donned a diving helmet, Yuri was there to egg them on, cajoling and encouraging, begging them to let him loose on new sights and new experience.  And when humanity set their skills toward space, Yuri was on the first satellite out, waiting for the moment when his faithful would join him, when they would see.

He was there with Laika when the heat grew too great, when her breathing grew too labored, and he did what good gods have always done, and held her close for so long as he was needed.  He looks now in her honor, as he looks in the honor of all those who have reached, whether of their own volition or at another’s.  She was not his by choice, but she was his at the end, and he is a god of his word.

He only hopes that you can have the chance to see.

He hopes you will keep your eyes open, and take him with you when you go.

If any of you ever feel like what you're doing for Palestine isn't helping anything, I'll tell you right now it's helping me. I know it is fortifying all of us who have been in this fight for years to see so many people willing to speak up. It has never been like this before.

The tide has already turned. The fact that #free palestine will have new posts everyday, that helps me. It helps my mental health knowing that Palestinians are less alone now than ever.

Yesterday I read some verses from the Quran talking about how "the blame" is not with those who wish to help but cannot, but with those who CAN help and do not.

Truly I do not care if all you do for Palestine is post in that #free palestine everyday, that is still more than many people with the means to do even more would do.

We see you. We see you standing in solidarity with us and with Palestinians. We love you. Thank you.

Mycelium. Mycelium. Mycelium. Mycelium…

I ain't a bald primate

That tongue does not relate

Man is done

The ape is dead

Lungs of the planet on a golden thread

I ain't debating

I'm a mushroom, ok

I spread like lava

Rise like bread

Currency of decay

Amongst my kin, I extend acidic salutations

Exhale the dust of seasons

Inhale the breath of civilisations

I grip with devil's fingers and stroke the green curtain

We, the thoughtful element

Dumb rock

Unthinking ocеan

Network of the wood

Tannin of the еvening

Synapse of the bush

I disappear amongst my kin

Mycelium. Mycelium. Mycelium. Mycelium…

Your body is an ancestor. Your body is an altar to your ancestors. Every one of your cells holds an ancient and anarchic love story. Around 2.7 billion years ago free-living prokaryotes melted into one another to form the mitochondria and organelles of the cells that build our bodies today. All you need to do to honor your ancestors is to roll up like a pill bug, into the innate shape of safety: the fetal position. The curl of your body, then, is an altar not just to the womb that grew you, but to the retroviruses that, 200 million years ago taught mammals how to develop the protein syncytin that creates the synctrophoblast layer of the placenta. Breathe in, slowly, knowing that your breath loops you into the biome of your ecosystem. Every seven to ten years your cells will have turned over, rearticulated by your inhales and exhales, your appetites and proclivity for certain flavors. If you live in a valley, chances are the ancient glacial moraine, the fossils crushed underfoot, the spores from grandmotherly honey fungi, have all entered into and rebuilt the very molecular make up of your bones, your lungs, and even your eyes. Even your lungfuls of exhaust churn you into an ancestor altar for Mesozoic ferns pressurized into the fossil fuels. You are threaded through with fossils. Your microbiome is an ode to bacterial legacies you would not be able to trace with birth certificates and blood lineages. You are the ongoing-ness of the dead. The alembic where they are given breath again. Every decision, every idea, every poem you breathe and live is a resurrection of elements that date back to the birth of this universe itself. Today I realize that due to the miracle of metabolic recycling, it is even possible that my body, somehow, holds the cells of my great-great grandmother. Or your great-great grandmother. Or that I am built from carbon that once intimately orchestrated the flight of a hummingbird or a pterodactyl. Your body is an ecosystem of ancestors. An outcome born not of a single human thread, but a web of relations that ripples outwards into the intimate ocean of deep time.

Your Body is an Ancestor, Sophie Strand

“It never gets easier. It’s always wonderful.”

This is the great tragedy about being alive and finding love. But it’s always wonderful.

hi Mr. Gaiman. My cat died two days ago and I really miss him. I’ve seen pictures of your dogs so I think you might be a dog person so I don’t know if you’ll get this but, I not only miss my cat (Kittywitty), but I also miss the the unconditional love that he gave. I’m scared that I won’t experience that kind of love again and it makes me very lonely. I’m scared of forgetting him, he deserves the world. He wandered into our farm one day and never left and I’m so grateful. He reminds me of you a lot, he carries this wonderful, otherworldly magic. I’ve known him since I was three. Life got less magical, but he never did. You could have the worst day, but then you’d see him and it was suddenly the best day. Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful day. You’re truly amazing and your writing enraptures me.

I'm so sorry about your cat.

I don't believe that there are cat people and dog people. I had so many cats from 1992 on -- they would turn up at our house and never leave. I wrote a story about them, and about one in particular, called "The Price".

This is Zoe, who was blind, and died in 2010:

This is Princess, who turned up (with kittens, and pregnant with more) in 1992 or 1993 and died in 2013...

One day, maybe, I'll be ready to have a house full of cats once more. It took me ten years after my dog first died to get another dog though. It never gets easier. It's always wonderful.

Does anyone remember this Rapunzel from Shelly Duval’s Faerie Tale Theater. This was THE Rapunzel adaptation of my childhood. I regularly have intrusive thoughts about this episode. Every story that FTT produced was a piece of art and love. Thank You Shelly Duval, and Rest in Peace and Love.

Can we also give little boys stuffed toys 🧸? They need things to hug and cuddle.