I cannot believe cowboy like me exists. I cannot believe she wrote a whole song about telling people what they want to hear for money. I cannot believe she refers to her pursuit of fame and fortune as the work of a bandit. A hustle. I can’t believe she refers to the love she gave to men she had dated in the past as swindling them. I can’t believe she wrote a whole song about a partnership that nobody will ever be able to prove was real or not and if they ever do she’ll be long gone with the money and all we will have left is the story in the songs. I cannot believe she referred to that partnership as a con. I cannot believe

is anyone else their father’s female son

Today was a small clean cloth placed over a very old injury

thinking again about the girl in the dress wrote you a song.... and all the dresses in her songs... with you i'd dance in a storm in my best dress fearless, the girl in the dress cried the whole way home, spinning like a girl in a brand new dress, you're still all over me like a wine stained dress i can't wear anymore, only bought this dress so you could take it off, ripped up my prom dress running through rose thorns, the flickers of light from the dress i wore at midnight... the dress as the romantic beginnings of your adolescence. the dress as a symbol of your naivety and your girlhood. the dress as a new beginning. the dress as a mark of shame. the dress as sexual agency. the dress as your battle armor, falling apart. the dress as a memory, a relic of the past. the dress as a reclamation of power.

beautiful day to think about what you had and can no longer have

IT’S SPRINGTIME YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS. PASS THE INSTRUCTIONS ON NOT GIVING UP BY ADA LIMÓN

When God gives you good things so as to extract more exquisite and novel varieties of suffering from you

It kind of fucks with me that somebody killed ötzi the iceman because ötzi himself is like whatever but the silent presence of human hands that drew back the string of the bow that shot the arrow that killed him is crazy. the idea that there were various people involved in that situation and while one of them has had his last hours painstakingly reconstructed and studied to no end, the others now only exist insofar that an arrowhead had to get into his shoulder somehow. imagine killing someone and then suddenly your entire existence is only a vague shadow implied by the fact that you killed them. much to consider

Testing the mummified bone marrow of ötzi to figure out his ancestry whole time there’s definitely another person, maybe more than one, standing in the room with us but I can never see or speak to them because I only know them through the assurance that they were there too in the form of one single arrowhead. I hate prehistory so much it’s unreal