A Merry Christmas to the sad, the confused, the lonely, the destitute, the hungry, the lost. To the ones who can’t take the pain anymore and the ones who gave up. To you, who feels wronged and misunderstood, and you, whose heart is about to explode.

It’s not today, see? It might never be.

J’ai voulu me dire:

Ne le dis pas.
Tu nous feras traverser
un pont
et tu ne sais pas ce  qu’il y a de son côté
et elle ne sait pas ce qu’il y a du tien
et le milieu disparaîtra
et l’on finira ou on
était avant
mais de l’autre côté
perdus

Mais je ne m’écoutais plus

I now have no place anywhere.

“Innocence” is an empty word.

Least I forget. Originally from Craig’s List, here

I grew up in Australia. Australian men generally accept masculinity far better than American men, and I understand why this is. In every country on earth where boys play, there is a ritual of selecting members of each team, whether the game is soccer, cricket, football, baseball, kickball, mammoth-hunting, what have you. Most boys, at some time, have experienced the humiliation of being picked last, and it hurts. Even being picked second-last is much more tolerable than being picked last. It hurts— what is important, and culturally distinct, is how the boy deals with that pain and humiliation, when he’s the one picked last.

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