biscut2

[biscut2]

been reading a lot of haunted/sentient house books in the past couple years, and i've encountered 3 main types of narrative: 1) the house loves you and that's a good thing 2) the house loves you and that's a bad thing and 3) the house hates you and that's a bad thing. this leaves a gap for a potential fourth type of story-- the house hates you and that's a good thing. excited to see if hauntologists delve into this quadrant and what it looks like if they do

[biscut2]

Your honor my client's love language is money laundering

[biscut2]

do not go gentle into that good night

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Korean mother of pearl furniture

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🩷🦇🥮 jiangshi draculaura for empower zine

[biscut2]

um. perhaps everyone should go see monkey man. just maybe. consider.

[biscut2]

[biscut2]

cleaning up your own living space: sucks ass

cleaning up a friend or romantic partner's living space: deeply satisfying and even a little entertaining

scientists can't explain this

[biscut2]

Hey, also, all the anarchist shit aside, tomorrow I want you to make something.

I forced myself to draw something after the 2016 election. I forced myself to draw something when my mother died in 2018. I forced myself to draw something when my spouse was hospitalized for multiple organ failure in 2021.

When you are miserable, make something. Add a row to your project, bake a box cake, draw on a sheet of lined paper, write a poem on a napkin, fold an origami shirt out of a dollar bill, make your favorite recipe for dinner, but make something with your hands, something that you can hold and look at engage your senses in.

It won't fix the world, but it will change the world. You will have made something that didn't exist before. You will have impacted your reality, even in a very small way. And it is going to be something you made *after.* Something bad happened, something shook you, and you made something after, in spite of it.

[biscut2]

🏺🌊Beach pottery🌊🏺

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[biscut2]

starts talking about my emotional state with 2 degrees of abstraction instead of 7 and the sniper across the street who i pay to keep me in line fires a warning shot thru my little hoop earring