Looks at the full day of tumblr he still has to catch up on.

Looks at the clock.

Squints and stops scrolling.

Hi tumblr I went and saw The Book of Life and it was excellent and you should all go spend dollars to watch it in a theatre. How are you. Did I miss anything important.


The Guardians of the Galaxy - Created by Wisesnail | Tumblr

Prints available for sale at Society6.




Western Canadian Literature: “The prairie is cold and empty, like my marriage.”

Eastern Canadian Literature: “The sea is cold and empty, like my marriage.”

Cultural differences.

A few folks have commented that the preceding post is overly reductive, and I have to admit that I was perhaps a bit glib. Here’s an attempt at a more accurate summary, then.

British Columbia Literature: "The mountains are cold and empty, like - holy shit, a bear!"

Alberta Literature: “The prairie is cold and empty, like my attempts to reconnect with my heritage.”

Saskatchewan Literature: “The prairie is cold and empty, like my marriage.”

Manitoba Literature: “The prairie is cold and empty, like my relationship with my father.”

Ontario Literature: “The hills are cold and empty, like my faith in humanity.”

Quebec Literature: “The River is cold and empty, like my faith in God.”

Newfoundland Literature: “The sea is cold and empty, like my marriage.”

Nova Scotia Literature: “The sea is cold and empty, like my relationship with my son.”

Nunavut Literature: “The tundra is cold and empty, like the legacy of white colonialism.”

I think that about covers it.

early canadian settler lit is basically ‘why did we come here’  ·  and later canadian settler lit is ‘why are we still here’

So one of the things my grandma used to do, before digital cameras became essentially ubiquitous, was keep a little photo album with a frame on the cover for each of her grandkids. I snagged mine and took snaps of a few of the choicest pictures.

At the top: that is the cover. I am, as far as I know, the only one of the grandkids who selected my own cover photo, which is why instead of being a formal portrait like the others my cover displays a fashion-forward child modelling a magnificent red inner tube. Before I switched the cover out (which was last time I was over at grandma’s, I think for a birthday-related gathering), my cover had been the portrait on the top right, taken when I was about ten—which is pretty, but not really how I present myself to the world at large anymore. Thus, the red inner tube.

The rest of the photos are from the interior of the book. The first, obviously, is shortly after my birth, which I am including for two reasons: first, if that’s what I looked like shortly after being born, it certainly lends credence to my parents’ theory that I was a late baby—not only do I have proper hair already, I’m also not nearly as red and wrinkly as most other newborns I’ve seen pictures of. The second reason is my mother. Look at her. How dare she look so gorgeous after being in labour for over twenty-four hours.

Also, I totally remember when she owned that nightshirt.

Next to that one is me with my great-grandpa Rosenquist—my opa. He died when I was very young and I barely remember him. He’s mostly just impressions in my memory—gentleness, soft hands, a creaky sort of voice. I do remember I loved him. The baby in that picture is my sister.

The next one down was most likely taken on the same trip as the red inner tube. It’s on the dock at my grandparents’ old cottage, which they sold when I was fourteen. Featuring my mom, my Auntie Dawn, a baby (most likely my cousin Emily but it’s hard to tell), and a rare picture of my father before he grew a foot of beard.

Below that is one of my favourite pictures from the album. It’s nothing particular, really, just me on the deck of the cottage. I mostly just like what my face looks like there—it’s soft and contented and sweet. I remember owning that shirt and it being one of my favourites.

Below that, more cottage pictures. First, me in my extremely cool overalls with Davey Horse the horse puppet and Hippo the in-theory-a-hippopotamus-but-he’s-white-and-fluffy-and-doesn’t-have-ears-and-I-really-have-no-idea-anymore-what-he’s-supposed-to-be puppet. And second, me and my delightful younger sister being enormous dweebs in our charming matching sundresses with accompanying hair bows.

I was definitely the coolest child you will ever meet.

While I was at my grandma’s for Thanksgiving last weekend I took a few quick snaps of the old photos she has hanging up downstairs. Welcome to a piece of my family history.

The wedding photos at the top are my great-grandparents—my grandpa’s parents (the Rosenquists) on the left and my grandma’s (the Taubes) on the right. Below that are their families growing up. The first picture is the Rosenquists; my grandpa is the oldest, the dorky one in the middle with the glasses. The second picture is the Taubes, and my grandma is the one of the identical twin girls with her hair parted on the side (at the right).

The last picture is my grandparents showing off their eldest to my great-grandma Rosenquist. The baby is my Aunt Paula.

My biggest takeaway from this is that my great-grandma Rosenquist was an absolutely gorgeous bride.

The Clash actually gets lost in a supermarket



they’ve been stuck in there for 5 days. 

they can no longer shop happily.


I looked like a mage today but I couldn’t properly document that.

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My name is Jared, or you can just call me Tchy. I'm a queer aro kid just kickin' around on the internet. I like writing, fantasy, late nights, books, lions, punk, and queer politics. I sustain myself mainly on a diet of chocolate, salt and vinegar chips, and strong tea in a mug decorated with dirty Shakespeare quotations. Sometimes I like to draw inappropriate things.

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