Visiting Isabelle for shiatsu and a long-overdue catch-up. Summer up in Wedding.
“Blood does not family make. Those are relatives. Family are those with whom you share your good, bad, and ugly, and still love one another in the end. Those are the ones you select.”
So many beautiful trans women and feminine stories on telly right now. Bitches are making me cry.
Berlin turning on one of those very pretty evenings.
Phosphor burn digital archaeology slime archive for the 21st century, cunt.
I love when kitchen food comes to life and grows all over the place. Ginger coming along nicely; tumeric and garlic getting in on the act too.
Photo by Isabella, who also put the stitches in a week ago, and came and washed the mess most days in-between.
There’s a line in there about “Bitches got Stitches” or something, I’m just too post-anaesthetic to figure it out. “Facial peel” though, lol, yes.
At Plaza Santo Sepulcro. She looks a bit young, to be honest, like definitely not whatever her age was when she pushed out sandal boy plus his age when he got crucified.
Don’t smack your fresh surgery on low fucking door frames, Frances. Also, a reminder that your physio is basically Ray Palmer from Legends of Tomorrow, and your taxi driver is Vin Diesel.