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twisted + -ness

The sky is the softest shade of pink
With the clouds strewn across a blanket of blue
I close my eyes
As we blast your radio
Wind in my hair
I’m totally fucking weightless


I Fertilized Lettuce With My Period Blood, Then Made a Salad

In college, a friend who didn’t shave her armpits lent me her copy of Inga Muscio’s feminist treatise Cunt: A Declaration of Independence. Paging through it instantly gave me a ton of great ideas, like supporting female-run businesses and LGBT rights and checking out my vagina with a compact mirror. Then there were some I wasn’t immediately sold on, like abortion via reflexology and, more specifically, using menstrual blood as plant fertilizer.

The period-blood-fertilizer reference is buried among descriptions of alternative feminine-care products: “You can squeeze the blood out into a jar, fill it with water, and feed it to your houseplants, who… [a friend] assured me, ‘absolutely adore the stuff.’” Shocked, I googled the trend and, sure enough, found a few green-living and apocalypse-prep websites supporting the idea of gardening with the crimson wave.

Blood contains three primary plant macronutrients—nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium. Plants demand these in large amounts so they can actually survive or whatever. The granddaddy of the bloody nutrients, though, is nitrogen, which helps boost plants’ overall luster and growth. So, as a poor gardener and menstrual-cup enthusiast, I decided to collect my next cycle to help grow some plants.


Ensalda Sangre


My heart is breaking, literally in two.
A mother does not have enough tears to mourn the loss of a dead child, nor the twine to mend her broken heart. It is impossible.

Look around you: I mean it. Pause, for a moment and look around the room that you are in. I’m going to point out something so obvious that it tends to be forgotten. It’s this: that everything you can see, including the walls, was, at some point, imagined.

Neil Gaiman (via seabois)

(via seabois)