24yo bi Xicana. There's always more to write about, in more interesting ways than white men. Follow me @arte.con.ariana, all tips will go to @openyrpurse, both on Instagram.
Hozier Haunts My Soul
My qualifications to be able to write this: 1) I’m part of the WLW (women-loving-women) community, in which he is especially prevalent.
Admittedly, this will not be immediately cathartic. It will be more of a suave-yourself-up-to-go-out-with-the-girls-and-the-gays feeling. Post-pandemic, of course. This playlist (listen here) is truly meant for anyone hyping themselves up, either for a night on the town or grooving by yourself, but either way dancing needs to be involved. Listen to this straight through, starting when you start getting yourself ready for the night.
We create because we are the universe continuing to create. The universe was created, and started to form itself into quarks, protons, neutrons, atoms, chemicals, gases, liquids, solids, asteroids, moons, planets, solar systems, galaxies, to continue to build itself into life that could reflect in on itself (as far as we know), and continue to create because that is just what the universe does. We create because there is nothing more or less to do. We do not live to only survive, but to continue our “work” as part of the universe.
Lessons from a Gambling Family
My mom grew up going to Las Vegas with her sisters and parents. Once the family grew, my cousins and I grew up going to Vegas. We also grew up gambling on Loteria (Mexican bingo), playing scratchers, and knowing that superstitions are personal for what works for you.
- First Place in Guilty Pleasure Binge Challenge
A Gem, a Witch, and an 8 Foot Tall Lesbian
To quality myself as an adult: I am a 24-year old woman with a full-time job. The thing that might make you doubt my adulthood: I love kids shows - particularly LGBTQ+/queer ones. I have binge-watched a few kids shows, but there are a handful that are inseparable. It’s a trifecta - if you’re in one fandom, you find yourself in them all! They are: Steven Universe, about a teen boy who is part alien Gem and part human, trying to protect the Earth with his family; The Owl House, about an outcast teen girl who is training to be a witch; She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, about a young woman trying to lead a revolution with her friends. I have watched all three within the past year, two out of three encouraged by my partner - credit where credit is due. I don’t feel guilty having a good time watching them, it just feels a little strange to admit it for my age. But I watch them because of what I realized about myself at half my age.
Three Kinds of Pink
I’m obsessed with flowers. One of the tattoos that I’ve wanted for the longest time will be a Weeping Yoshino Cherry tree leaf (Prunus x yedoensis pendula), a yellow Angel’s Trumpet (Brugmansia versicolor), and a saguaro cactus flower (Carnegiea gigantea) tied with a string, surrounded by the aura of La Virgen de Guadalupe. One day, it will be found on my upper left arm. Flowers tinge my hometowns - beauty is a good compensation for and summary of feeling the best and worst emotions in a place.
A Subtle Itch
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” he yelled at her, thinking he had gotten her off the gambling horse, until he found her stash of scratchers under the utensil holder in the drawer. It was one of the few times he helped to put away dishes, and he noticed that the drawer was a little hard to open, since the container was touching the top. It wasn’t supposed to touch the top…
Death to Denim
My grandmother grew up in a small town in Sonora, Mexico, living with 10 siblings. She was the eldest daughter, so she was in charge of ironing her brothers’ jeans. (Exhibit 478 to answer the call: Unionize Eldest Daughters. I’m getting it tattooed under my left buttcheek. If all you who know the eldest-daughter-experience want to get a matching one, truly, let me know.) The iron was made of iron, heated over coals, to flatten the rough, coarse material of small-town Mexican denim. She hated ironing all those tough jeans. As soon as her own Mexican-American daughters were old enough to iron, and the iron itself was modern enough to not be made of iron, she taught them and left them to iron their father’s clothes.