chickenbyday

[chickenbyday]

Uncaring

[chickenbyday]

andrew: damn this crush i have on you is kinda giving me brain damage

neil: you should learn how to duck

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“the problem is its never gonna be what all the fans want” imo the problem is the majority of fans have bad fucking taste like. if you write a story with the intent to keep editing it in line with what fans want you’re gonna end up with a shitty story. obviously you can take in criticism from early access but once you publish the thing you shouldn’t constantly be retconning characterization wtf. good god

[chickenbyday]

The Stunning Astronomical Beadwork of Native Artist Margaret Nazon

Margaret Nazon has spent the past decade building intricate beadwork depictions of outer space. The colorful artworks balance representational and stylized aesthetics set on black fabric backgrounds to depict galaxies, planets, nebulae, and other astronomical phenomena.

Initially inspired by Hubble space telescope images, Nazon’s celestial renderings are part of a lifelong interest in beading. In an interview with Glenbow, the artist shared that she began beading at age 10, but found the density of traditional beadwork to be tedious.

The abstract nature of celestial images allows Nazon to be more interpretive and incorporate different materials like caribou bones and willow seeds that have location-specific or cultural significance. Nazon is Tsiigehtchic, part of the Gwich’in community in what is now the Northwest Territories of Canada. The artist explained that because she is retired, she is able to dedicate significant time to beading, and often rises at 4:30am to begin working. Nazon plans to continue experimenting, including merging her abstract beadwork with her seamstress skills to create artfully embellished apparel.

Nazon’s artwork was most recently exhibited at Glenbow in a group show, Cosmos, and A Beaded Universe at Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre. You can read more about her in the Glenbow interview, and explore Nazon’s portfolio on her website.

source article: X

[chickenbyday]

thinking about that one wordless calvin and hobbes sunday strip thats just calvins dad ditching his work to go play in the snow... its going to make me cry

[chickenbyday]

This is the only thing I can think of whenever I read this scene

[chickenbyday]

Okay but here's the thing tho. Yall keep pointing out how Andrew let go last. And like, yeah that shit makes you wanna gnaw on ceramic but

Aaron grabbed first. Aaron made sure to catch Andrew and start the hug. Fucking fight me I'm ready to commit acts of sacrilege or some shit

Aaron was faster. And Aaron grabbed first.

[chickenbyday]

Jean Moreau: snorts when he laughs, buries his face in his hands

Jeremy Knox: silent laughter from lack of air, moves around a lot

Laila Dermott: “ahahahah” sort of laugh pattern, throws head/body forwards

Cat Alvarez: “eheheheh” sort of laugh pattern, falls/leans more backwards

please add to this. I beg of you.

[chickenbyday]

i would die for him

pls don’t repost!

[chickenbyday]

I love it when two characters are completely and utterly obsessed with each other to an unhealthy degree. Utter devotion to the point of insanity. To the point the lines blur as to what the nature of their relationship even is. Romantic? Platonic? Sexual? Familial? Professional? All and none of the above, somehow. They can’t exist without each other. Being together is making them both worse. They would watch each other sleep in bed at night every night if they could. They are literally always thinking about each other. They would kill and die for each other. They resent each other. Even seperating them isn't going to fix the situation at this point. They permanently live inside each other.

[chickenbyday]

hrngg.........migraine...............

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Kevin Day is like Gordon Ramsey but with Exy. You are an adult you should know how to hold a racquet correctly. But he will speak so fucking softly to children who are just learning and trying to improve.

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im aware this is an insane thing to say but i fucking. love characters that are just cockroaches. and i dont mean like. gross i mean they just do not fucking die. they can survive anything. they will outlive EVERYONE because they just will not die no matter what be it because they have a reason or because they literally cannot stop surviving the odds i love it i love it

[chickenbyday]

biologists will be like this is a very simplified diagram of a mammalian cell

chemists will be like this is a molecule

[chickenbyday]

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.