ancestral america
i see the records of people long dead
who carried my blood, my name.
what amazing luck it is
to have ancestors
trackable through time
and beyond borders.
but there are so many
we will never know the names of.
Keep reading
Xuebing Du
Monterey Bay Aquarium

if i look back, i am lost
Today's Document
Three Goblin Art
AnasAbdin

#extradirty
DEAR READER
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
cherry valley forever
sheepfilms
🪼
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
hello vonnie
Not today Justin
KIROKAZE

izzy's playlists!
Cosmic Funnies
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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@creativebeth
ancestral america
i see the records of people long dead
who carried my blood, my name.
what amazing luck it is
to have ancestors
trackable through time
and beyond borders.
but there are so many
we will never know the names of.
Keep reading

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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This will most likely be the last picture of the house my grandfather bought in 1959, taken by me on July 4, 2020, at sunset...
Saying goodbye to mi abuelo’s house.
I hate it. This uncertainty. This underlying anxiety...
Who loves you?
Mama does!
You’re my best trash panda. <3
You searched for: FiestaBeth! Discover the unique items that FiestaBeth creates. At Etsy, we pride ourselves on our global community of sellers. Each Etsy seller helps contribute to a global marketplace of creative goods. By supporting FiestaBeth, you’re supporting a small business, and, in turn, Etsy!
My mom @creativebeth set up an Etsy shop! Check it out ^-^

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The Day I Killed Baby Butterfly
My darling child @mickeymagpie was a mere 18 months old, and on this cursed day we traversed the land in search of provisions, eventually arriving at the establishment of oversized, buy one get 12 free goods known as Costco.
With child on one hip and diaper bag on the other, I muttered a prayer of thanks to the gods for the doublewide carts for procuring the giant goods, and plopped child down in one seat and diaper bag in the other.
Child suddenly gasped in horror and brought both hands over their mouth, eyes bugging out and welling up with tears. I thought perhaps I had plopped them onto an angry wasp, and equally alarmed, asked, “What?! What is it? What’s wrong?”
Tears began spilling out as child tried to form words, and my alarm grew since child was normally ridiculously loquacious and even at such a young age sometimes used words I didn’t know. Between ragged breaths of sheer grief they finally managed to slowly get out -
“You. Killed. Baby. Butterfly.”
My own eyes bugged out and I followed the small one’s gaze to the diaper bag.
“You SQUISHED her!”
The child wailed. People looked on. My mind raced.
Baby Butterfly was the changeling’s child’s first imaginary {who’s to say what’s real and what’s not, really} friend, who had accompanied us everywhere for some months.
Whom I had apparently just unceremoniously violently squished with a diaper bag.
Overwhelmed with grief and probably in shock, and also desperately wanting the wailing to stop and the people to turn away, I lifted the bag and threw it into the back of the cart, and scooped up a small amount of the air where it had sat.
“Baby Butterfly! Baby Butterfly! You’re alright, Baby Butterfly. Right? See? See? She’s okay!”
Child continued wailing and shook their head slowly.
“NO. She’s DEAD. YOU killed her.”
I shifted Baby Butterfly into one hand and poked at her with the other.
“No, I think she’s just hurt. I’ll help her breathe again.”
And then I proceeded to do CPR. On my own empty hands. At Costco. With onlookers. And a wailing, moaning in grief child.
I don’t think I got the ratio of breaths to chest compressions right, and perhaps even when applied lightly with one finger that was the thing that ultimately did poor Baby Butterfly in.
“She’s okay?” I whispered hopefully.
“No. No! She’s DEAD. Baby Butterfly is dead. And YOU killed her.”
The trauma was long-lasting, as some 3 years later the child waltzed into the kitchen where I was cooking, looked at me somewhat suspiciously and said, “Do you want to meet my imaginary friend?”
Delighted to finally see a semblance of normalcy {who’s to say what’s normal, really} in the child I happily replied, “Yes! Of course.”
They gestured to the air beside them and grandly announced, “This is Nobody. He eats nothing. And lives nowhere.”
Then with those damning eyes piercing my soul, “He sleeps outside.”
That sounds...safe.
Mick is gonna kill me. Doin’ it anyway.
I thought about all the time spent denying who I really am, afraid of what it meant. All the time spent thinking I was half-this and half-that and yet not enough of either, when in reality, I am a whole person whose identity is not half-anything.
Bianca Mujica, “Celebrating My Pride: I Am Not Half Anything” (via twloha)
Wheat fields are more mystical than fields of other crops. You are 7,000 times more likely to meet an old god or see a portent of doom in a wheat field than in a field of like… soybeans.
For your consideration: cornfields
Cornfields are less mystical than wheat fields but more mystical than soybean fields. Two-bit monsters congregate in corn fields to eat people, but their power is nothing compared to the things that manifest in wheat fields.
Have been in both wheat and cornfields; can confirm. Cornfields host monsters who eat people. Wheat fields attract old gods.
I have a theory that this is because the notions most of us have of “old gods” are pretty intrinsically European, and wheat was (and is) the staple crop of European life. It is quite literally tied to the ancestral rituals and beliefs of most white people. Odin, the Morrigan, and even Zeus are actually linked to a set of peoples who cultivated wheat.
Meanwhile, corn (maize) is a crop native to the Americas. It features in the white cultural imagination in a very different way. Corn is a motif seen not in our ancestral myths, but in a much newer genre: the American Gothic. With its focus on the tensions between man and nature and—perhaps more importantly—the United States’s history of genocide against its indigenous population and trade in enslaved Africans, the American Gothic is VERY preoccupied with agriculture. Our monsters come out of corn fields because corn is a symbol for not only what we did to the Native Americans (who were the first to grow the crop), but of what we are doing to the very land itself. Corn is a monument to our cultural sins.
Meanwhile, I suspect that corn features very differently in the imaginations of people of color. If you asked a Native American person or a Latinx person what sort of mysticism they associate with corn fields, I imagine their answer would be very different than ours.
TLDR: White people associate wheat with our ancestors’ gods because our ancestors grew wheat. We associate corn with terrible monsters because it is a literal sign of our own monstrosity.
I am currently writing a piece about corn and how it ties me to my ancestors. Making corn tortillas is a spiritual practice for me.
When your very shy child volunteers as tribute. I was shocked and delighted.

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I am MomBeth.
Hear me brag.
Oh yeah did I ever share these with you btw
Ha! I’m quite partial to Queen of the Queer.
I am MomBeth.
Hear me brag.
REJECTED.
[ Finn the Blue Merle Aussie ]
pez dispenser
Restorative Doga (doh-gah) with Paloma 1. Prepare your props. Note the way your human set them up, then f*** that s*** up. Use your paws, teeth, and anything else at your disposal and dig, kick, pull until you get it just right. 2. Leading with your butt, scooch around in circles until you find the optimal spot on or between your props. Huff and puff as necessary, in order to connect with your breath. 3. Remember that you forgot final prop, a seasonally appropriate favorite toy. 4. Go get said toy. 5. Return to step 2, while holding toy in your mouth. Don't stop scooching, huffing, and puffing until you've found your perfect spot. 6. Let out a nice long sigh. 7. Rest and restore, friends. 'Tis a dog eat dog world. Release your doggie woes and stress. 8. Pose should be held for at least two minutes (don't worry, it's much longer in dog time). Note: Should your human interrupt your practice and/or take all of your props for their own use, simply circle them annoyingly, climb all over them, aggressively sniff their mouth and nose to ensure they are still breathing, and using step 2 above, lie down on top of them, at their chest, stomach, or legs; whichever is accessible and most comfortable for you, the dogi.
Mombeth, please tell Eve they aren't allowed to start a new game project
I talk a tough game but it has become clear that my babies do as my babies please. I cannot help you.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I am a dork. And a nerd.
hey is this sofs or is mick just stating facts now
IT WAS @creativebeth
This is not your house, mouse.
I am a dork. And a nerd.
hey is this sofs or is mick just stating facts now
IT WAS @creativebeth
This is not your house, mouse.