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kriegundfreitag

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fuck it, i'm curious. reblog and tag with the first fictional death to ever rewrite your brain chemistry and/or make you cry like a baby. mine was ares from the underland chronicles (who, for context, was a giant bat.) to this day i will weep if i think too hard about it. okay, go.

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seeing strange fetishes im not into on my dash is like observing an edible herb on a walk. Hmm. someone wise ☝ could make use of this... but i shan't 👴

you paint such a beautiful picture with your words anon thank you

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Adolf Eberle (German, 1843-1914) - Prince Regent's March

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The internet is fun bc it’ll have missing people you’ve never even met. Like there’s a big gaping hole in your heart in the shape of a person you’ve never even been in the same room with.

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Mein lieber Scholli. Mein lieber Schwan. Mein lieber Herr Gesangsverein. Mein lieber Freund und Kupferstecher. Alter Schwede. Alter Verwalter. Ich glaube mein Schwein pfeift. Ach du grüne Neune. Da wird ja der Hund in der Pfanne verrückt. Himmel, Arsch und Zwirn. Da brat mir einer nen Storch. Holla die Waldfee. Heidewitzka. Donnerlittchen. Ich glaube es hackt. Leck mich fett. Da boxt der Papst im Kettenhemd. Heiliges Blechle. Ich glaub mich knutscht ein Elch. Das geht aber auf keine Kuhhaut. Da haben wir den Salat. Ich glaube mit tritt ein Pferd.

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It’s crazy and fucked up that being yourself is actually the solution.

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Source

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Since the tma posting is back in full force among mutuals I will say that as much as I see the vision of interpreting avatarhood as primarily a system of who gets to inflict suffering vs receive it, the fact that many avatars on some level genuinely love and find beauty in their entity is still a very important aspect to me. Yes it's about luck and cosmic unfairness, but it can also be about "you've found meaning and beauty in something most people find horrifying, but because of how different your perception is from others' you can now no longer interact with them without hurting them".

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If roses represent pleasure, leisure, self-determination, interior life, and the unquantifiable, the struggle for them is sometimes not only against owners and bosses seeking to crush their workers but against other factions of the left who disparage the necessity of these things. The left has never been short on people arguing that it is callous and immoral to enjoy oneself while others suffer, and somewhere others will always be suffering. It’s a puritanical position, implying that what one has to offer them is one’s own austerity or joylessness, rather than some practical contribution toward their liberation. Underlying all this is a utilitarian ideology in which pleasures and beauties are counterrevolutionary, bourgeois, decadent, indulgent, and the desire for them should be weeded out and scorned. Would-be revolutionaries often argue that only the quantifiable matters, and that human beings should be rational creatures content with what should matter and fit into how things should be, rather than what does matter and how things are. The roses in “bread and roses” constituted an argument not only for something more, but for something more nuanced and elusive — as Rose Schneiderman put it, “The right to live, not simply exist.” It was an argument that what makes our lives worth living is to some degree incalculable and unpredictable, and varies from person to person. In that sense, roses also mean subjectivity, liberty, and self-determination.

Rebecca Solnit, Orwell’s Roses

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It's kind of a weird consequence of the whole pandemic situation that I realised that I have a very specific minimum threshold of people I need regular contact with to maintain even a modicum of sanity and that threshold seems to be very specifically three. Thanks for the specificity, brain, I guess?

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I think a faction of the Covid-cautious community really fucked itself (and all the rest of us) with the insistence that in-person human contact didn't matter and wasn't supposed to be important to anyone.

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Eva Funderburgh

love her work

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Happiness Will Come To You.

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Gary Bunt