Sorting through my tears
"How can we imagine ourselves When All the Dead Boys Look Like Us?" A poem for Orlando.
RIP, Lois Duncan. Stranger with My Face freaked me the fuck out when I was a teen, and I loved it.
Sorting through my rage
Roxane Gay nailed it with this piece on "the Brock Turner treatment." I've been enraged about that rapist for weeks and still haven't been able to write about it. Not yet. Someday, though. For now, let's stop victim blaming.
Sorting through my sun salutes
Yesterday was International Yoga Day, so I woke up at 6:30 to do a morning yoga practice to celebrate. I've gotta tell you, I felt like a million bucks. You should try this 20-minute yoga practice and feel like a million bucks, too.
Image: "Glitch Mob," by Dániel Taylor, via Society6.
Previously: "and what I mean by crazy here is"