Unrelatedly Changing Seasons Is Always Kind Of A Brutal Renegotiation With The Mysterious Rules Of Dysphoria

Eurasian Red Squirrels/ekorrar photographed in Värmland, Sweden (April 18-20, 2025).

it really is true, i think, that no matter where you fall on a moral spectrum you'll be shocked at some things other people are willing to condone, and will seem sanctimonious to them if you disclose as much; and that in turn other people will be shocked at some things you're willing to condone, and will seem sanctimonious to you ditto… 

for context this post is brought to you by my genuine (and unexpressed, ftr, except here!) startlement at seeing a blogger i've historically considered conscientious admit to not recycling their cat food cans

also i've been mainlining patricia moyes' henry tibbett mysteries which are like. generally solid-enough if not brilliant entries in the Classic British Mystery Canon if you like that sort of thing, with of course the usual disclaimers about homophobia, sexism, &c: notably there's also one book with a minor trans character! and a Helpful Explanation about how her husband doesn't feel at all strange about her being trans because she's so obviously ~naturally feminine~ and being trans is Totally Separate from being gay—not, to be clear, in the way we'd actually agree with, that like, one is sexuality and the other gender; but rather in a way where 'it always leads to misery if a transsexual experiments with homosexuality.' [me at this juncture staring into the camera & thinking abt all the gleeful gay trans people on tumblr.] anyway to me this was ultimately less offensive than it was laughable, though of course ymmv! however there was also one with a butch character, and that one made me rather sadder and also got me thinking again about how stupid trans infighting is, because you can't actually separate homophobia from transphobia from misogyny—

[H]e saw a massive and somewhat formidable figure making its way across the lawn from the direction of the greenhouse. It was impossible at this distance to tell if the newcomer was male or female—the cropped grey hair, the weather-beaten features, the corduroy knee-breeches and open-necked shirt were appropriate to either sex. Even the voice was ambiguous. […] At close quarters, Henry was surprised to see that the mannish face was coated with a thick layer of pancake make-up, in a grotesque parody of femininity.

and

Facing her, with their backs to the door, were two masculine back-views, both wearing dinner jackets. As they turned to greet the newcomers, Henry was not at all surprised to see that one of them was Dolly, nattily dressed in evening wear, complete with taped-seam trousers, a frilled white shirt and a black bow tie. […] Dolly stood in the doorway, lumpish and unhappy in her ridiculous dinner jacket…

like. the feminine-coded aspects of her presentation are 'grotesque.' the masculine aspects are 'ridiculous.' she can't win! and like. the character is a butch who was almost certainly assigned female at birth, but the narrative critiques her in these ways that are unavoidably deeply transmisogynistic—i mean, that line about her made-up 'mannish face' being 'a grotesque parody of femininity'?? yikes.

anyway. just wild in light of this to be aware of how many trans bloggers on here are fighting one another abt which of us are Really Oppressed. like. is dolly ~transmisogyny-exempt~? what about the trans woman from the other book, who's treated entirely respectfully by the narrative and by the characters—but also can't access her inheritance, because claiming it would require her to out herself…? i just don't understand any analysis that comes to any conclusion besides 'these are all different heads of the same vicious hydra, and many of us may face the same attack at different times; the answer is mutual solidarity and united resistance.'

[h/t @‍elodieunderglass]

Maxfield Parrish, The Young King of the Black Isles, 1906. Reproduced as a frontispiece in Collier's: The National Weekly, vol. 39, no. 8, 1907, p. 8, and as a full-page illustration in The Arabian Nights: Their Best-Known Tales, edited by Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora A. Smith, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909, between pp. 74 and 75.

The image above was sourced from the latter publication and has been straightened.

Tricycle Gang in Brooklyn, New York City (1930s)

Andrei Tarkovsky, Time Within Time: The Diaries, 1970-1986

Terrace paddies in North Vietnam [Shortlisted in National Geographic Photo Contest 2015] by Quynh Anh Photography on Flickr

one of my more unhelpful qualities is that i kind of genuinely prefer getting zero response to a ~bid for connection~ over getting one that feels, like, dutiful and abbreviated and rote

because like. at least in the absence of a response you can kid yourself that a matching enthusiasm will eventually arrive, you know?

(this is of course very much a lesser-of-two-weevils thought exercise because of course really what one always wants is engagement that's both enthusiastic and prompt. however one must recognize that in the adult world Other People Have Lives, &c.)

it also doesn't help that like. i'm very primed Due To My Upbringing to interpret neutral cues as negative and so am very much that stereotype of the young person who wants an exclamation point and can't stand a 'sure,' which—is objectively just a neutral cultural preference, but since i'm not actually gen z or whatever, i always end up excoriating myself for being too much of an immature baby to be appropriately chill about other people's Offhanded Working Person stylings. which is rather a disproportionate pile of bad feelings to be stacking on one maybe-not-even-intentionally snubbed bid!

Black Sun (1) - Denmark/Germany, 2025

Last Saturday, I had the chance to see the natural phenomenon known in Denmark as "Sort Sol" (Danish for "Black Sun"). Thousands of starlings flock together to create swirling patterns across the sky. This happened right after the sunset in the cold and windy marshes around the border of Denmark and Germany.

The starlings were quite far away from us and stayed low on the sky, flying just above the marshes. Hopefully next time, they will rise higher into the air, so there will a better separation between the starlings and the ground.