“What was she like? I’ve waited my entire life to be asked that question. God. What was she like? She was beautiful. She tasted like the ocean and smelled like clementines. She wore peach lipstick and brown mascara. On Sundays she would fill the bathtub with roses and milk. When it was spring and the air felt raw against your skin, she would wake herself up at three in the morning and smoke cigarettes in the balcony. When I gave her roses on some date she gave them to a homeless man on the way to the restaurant. She wore dirty sneakers with the words “peace” written in red sharpie and a white dress that hugged her wide hips to my mothers 58th birthday party. The one where ladies asked what she was studying and she replied Art History. She was in Pre-Med at the top university in New York City. She said things like “we don’t open the mail on Tuesdays” and “let’s tell the barista you’ve just found out you’re cured from cancer”. When her mother would call begging her to come to church she would send her poems about how birds on the telephone line are her religion. She only liked walking around the city if it rained. What was she like? She went to train stations because she thought the homeless man playing the violin was the best concert she’d ever find. I often asked her what she thought of me. Her laugh was like honey. When I took her to my gallery opening she invited her taxi driver. She had the moon tattooed on her inner thigh. She spelled the words “infinity” onto the crook of my neck. I remember once she took a photograph of an elderly man speaking to his wife at her gravestone. She called me on the way home: “Well what were you doing at the cemetery?” I asked. “Robert,” She’d said, “Don’t ask such absurd questions.” What was she like? I woke up alone some mornings. Her suitcase would be scattered and she screamed because she couldn’t pay the gas bill. Our lights would turn off. What was she like? She’d light candles in every single corner of the house. She would read these big books written by Russian authors who didn’t know the difference between love and lust. “Oh,” She once said, “And you do?” I laughed. I was so in love with her. The curves of her hip. The smooth tint of her back. Her eyebrows. Her smile. How her eyes were green sea’s I saw in travel brochures. What was she like? She was the type of person to write you love poetry and bake pies and convince you that 4:50 AM was the best time of day. What is she like? And this is the part where my throat will burn and I’ll scratch my collar bones because how much it hurts, “Why don’t you ask him” I’ll say. Why don’t you ask him”

— I’m sorry it had to end like this 

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What do you mean the irl Edogawa Ranpo was gay. What do you mean he traveled with his boyfriend researching the history of homosexuality in Japan. What do you mean they had a competition on who could find the most books about gay sex. WHAT DO YOU MEAN-

I think we should dismantle the cis-het-allo-normative Categories and especially the "hierarchies" of relationships that are fucking everywhere. I hate them. Fuck defining the relationship. Fuck prioritizing romance over friendship. Fuck the lines between platonic and romantic and sexual and sensual. Kiss your friends. Fuck your friends. Date your friends. Date your partner. Date multiple people. Date nobody. Kiss and fuck nobody or somebody or lots of somebodies. Why do we have to box everything in. Just do what feels good with the people ot feels good to do it with just love people (or dont).

Disclaimer that yes, obviously having defined relationships that fall strictly in one category or another is important to some people, and that's cool for them. Let them do that. The whole point here is that there should be less pressure and more options. Those include the option to have strictly platonic/romantic/sexual relationships. The point is that there is a choice.

as i write my silly little family abolition post i keep thinking of the segment in wage labour & capital where marx argues that capitalism as a system of production serves to enforce both production and non-production--i.e., when a factory is not profitable, even though it might produce something necessary, even if people might be willing to work there, they are actively prevented by private property--private property enforces the disuse of land, machinery, etc just as much as it regulates its use. and i think considering the family in those terms is really useful--because you can break away from just understanding the family as providing care (and therefore obviously a good thing, how could we abolish the family!) but also conversely as one of foreclosing care--if nobody will care for the child, or the senior, or the sick, or disabled, within the confines of the family, then the boundaries of the family serve to prevent anyone else from providing that care. much like industry is not a 'provider' of work, but a regimenter of it, so is the family best understood as a regimenter of care.

I love you relationship anarchy I love you polyamory I love you queerplatonic relationships I love you unlabeled relationships I love you deep platonic relationships that define themselves I love you deep romantic relationships that define themselves I love you any relationship that defines itself I love you people who love completely and comfortably I love you people learning how to love however comfortable for them I love people I love love

glass, irony and good, anne carson // margaret atwood // enough, suzanne buffam // ? // in conversation: kathleen turner, david marchese // haunted womanhood, heather havrilesky // where to begin, sue zhao // the stream of life, clarice lisepector

@/coffee-cosmos // ? // blasted, sarah kane // ? // henry and june, anais nin // ? // a poem for haruko, june jordan // cassandra: a novel and four essays, christa wolf // a little life, hanya yanagihara