eldritchwyrm

[eldritchwyrm]

leftist media discussion: "While this show said "trans rights" directly without any ambiguity, one plot element of this children's show could be considered morally questionable after 25 degrees of separation, so the author must be a heckin fascist"

right wing media discussion: "Well it happened. The reboot of Female Protagonist Fights Unsubtle Allegory for Capitalism That I Was Too Young to Notice as a Kid -our last bastion of apolitical entertainment- has gone woke because they made a supporting character black"

centrist media discussion: "did you see the latest episode of Sword Hero Cleanses the Undesirables on crunchyroll? best show of the year imo"

[eldritchwyrm]

If as you're reading this post you're in a sufficiently private and relaxed situation that you feel comfortable doing so, why not go ahead and make a weird noise with your mouth and/or voice. Maybe try to find one you've never done before in your life, to have the satisfaction of expanding your palette of possible physical actions a tiny bit. You may surprise yourself, you may be inspired to new curiosity towards the peculiar and unique machinery of your body. Only if you want to though.

[eldritchwyrm]

[eldritchwyrm]

[eldritchwyrm]

these reblogs sure tell me a lot about what’s going on in people’s minds different as they are in presentation they’re the same aren’t they. suppose that’s the beauty of art. bringing lacan and spongebob together since the earliest and faintest echoes of human existence.

[eldritchwyrm]

You’ve been called upon to plan drag to perform tomorrow. What are you doing? Go into as much detail as you like!

My drag persona is going to be be Him/Herwin, Alligator Wrestler. I'll wear the standard khakis, but with fishnets and heels (and much shorter shorts). Or stiletto hiking boots, if such a thing exists. You get the picture.

Anyway, I'll introduce myself, compliment various members of the audience on their plumage or their defensive camouflage or whatever, then launch into "Down Under" by Men At Work. Halfway through the song, someone offstage will throw an inflatable alligator at me and the music will transition to "Maneater" by Hall and Oates, which I'll sing while wrestling the alligator.

At the end of my act, after I've pinned the alligator, I'll ask an audience member to help me tape its mouth shut so I can safely transport it to a golf course for release.

[eldritchwyrm]

Someone PLEASE tell the Witch-King of Angmar that this little hobbit genuinely thinks it’s anyone’s guess whether or not he’s literate. PLEASE.

[eldritchwyrm]

Some creative anime fansubs 

[eldritchwyrm]

The one time in my life I had a tarot reading (& this was maybe about a month ago) I was thinking to myself "It would be so awesome to see The Tower drawn". Lo and behold: she came to me in my time of need, and I popped off in my head, full of serene joy

[eldritchwyrm]

i know that life isn't a race and that everyone does things on their own schedule and that i shouldn't compare myself to other people who haven't lived the same life that i have and overcome the same obstacles i have. BUT

[eldritchwyrm]

Starting to think that Amaury Guichon is in some sort of Scheherazade situation where he needs to create a new elaborate chocolate illusion desert every night to prevent some evil king from murdering him

[eldritchwyrm]

guy who doesnt realize hes commanding a small army and thinks a lot of people are just going along with his bit

[eldritchwyrm]

I think it would be really fucking funny to write a piece of fiction set entirely in real life but using lazy fantasy worldbuilding talk. I gather coin* for the road west** - I will need it to enter the Capital.***

* two quarters and two dimes

** Interstate 64

*** Richmond, Virginia

[eldritchwyrm]

Please read this man’s description of his dachshund and its most annoying habit

“I have a ridiculous dog named Walnut. He is as domesticated as a beast can be: a purebred longhaired miniature dachshund with fur so thick it feels rich and creamy, like pudding. His tail is a huge spreading golden fan, a clutch of sunbeams. He looks less like a dog than like a tropical fish. People see him and gasp. Sometimes I tell Walnut right out loud that he is my precious little teddy bear pudding cup sweet boy snuggle-stinker.

In my daily life, Walnut is omnipresent. He shadows me all over the house. When I sit, he gallops up into my lap. When I go to bed, he stretches out his long warm body against my body or he tucks himself under my chin like a soft violin. Walnut is so relentlessly present that sometimes, paradoxically, he disappears. If I am stressed or tired, I can go a whole day without noticing him. I will pet him idly; I will yell at him absent-mindedly for barking at the mailman; I will nuzzle him with my foot. But I will not really see him. He will ask for my attention, but I will have no attention to give. Humans are notorious for this: for our ability to become blind to our surroundings — even a fluffy little jewel of a mammal like Walnut.

…

When I come home from a trip, Walnut gets very excited. He prances and hops and barks and sniffs me at the door. And the consciousnesses of all the wild creatures I’ve seen — the puffins, rhinos, manatees, ferrets, the weird hairy wet horses — come to life for me inside of my domestic dog. He is, suddenly, one of these unfamiliar animals. I can pet him with my full attention, with a full union of our two attentions. He is new to me and I am new to him. We are new again together.

Even when he is horrible. The most annoying thing Walnut does, even worse than barking at the mailman, is the ritual of his “evening drink.” Every night, when I am settled in bed, when I am on the brink of sleep, Walnut will suddenly get very thirsty. If I go to bed at 10:30, Walnut will get thirsty at 11. If I go to bed at midnight, he’ll wake me up at 1. I’ve found that the only way I cannot be mad about this is to treat this ritual as its own special kind of voyage — to try to experience it as if for the first time. If I am open to it, my upstairs hallway contains an astonishing amount of life.

The evening drink goes something like this: First, Walnut will stand on the edge of the bed, in a muscular, stout little stance, and he will wave his big ridiculous fan tail in my face, creating enough of a breeze that I can’t ignore it. I will roll over and try to go back to sleep, but he won’t let me: He’ll stamp his hairy front paws and wag harder, then add expressive noises from his snout — half-whine, half-breath, hardly audible except to me. And so I give up. I sit up and pivot and plant my feet on the floor — I am hardly even awake yet — and I make a little basket of my arms, like a running back preparing to take a handoff, and Walnut pops his body right into that pocket, entrusting the long length of his vulnerable spine (a hazard of the dachshund breed) to the stretch of my right arm, and then he hangs his furry front legs over my left. From this point on we function as a unit, a fusion of man and dog. As I lift my weight from the bed Walnut does a little hop, just to help me with gravity, and we set off down the narrow hall. We are Odysseus on the wine-dark sea. (Walnut is Odysseus; I am the ship.)

All of evolution, all of the births and deaths since caveman times, since wolf times, that produced my ancestors and his — all the firelight and sneak attacks and tenderly offered scraps of meat, the cages and houses, the secret stretchy coils of German DNA — it has all come, finally, to this: a fully grown exhausted human man, a tiny panting goofy harmless dog, walking down the hall together. Even in the dark, Walnut will tilt his snout up at me, throw me a deep happy look from his big black eyes — I can feel this happening even when I can’t see it — and he will snuffle the air until I say nice words to him (OK you fuzzy stinker, let’s go get your evening drink), and then, always, I will lower my face and he will lick my nose, and his breath is so bad, his fetid snout-wind, it smells like a scoop of the primordial soup. It is not good in any way. And yet I love it.

Walnut and I move down the hall together, step by bipedal step, one two three four, tired man and thirsty friend, and together we pass the wildlife of the hallway — a moth, a spider on the ceiling, both of which my children will yell at me later to move outside, and of course each of these creatures could be its own voyage, its own portal to millions of years of history, but we can’t stop to study them now; we are passing my son’s room. We can hear him murmuring words to his friends in a voice that sounds disturbingly like my own voice, deep sound waves rumbling over deep mammalian cords — and now we are passing my daughter’s room, my sweet nearly grown-up girl, who was so tiny when we brought Walnut home, as a golden puppy, but now she is moving off to college. In her room she has a hamster she calls Acorn, another consciousness, another portal to millions of years, to ancient ancestors in China, nighttime scampering over deserts.

But we move on. Behind us, in the hallway, comes a sudden galumphing. It is yet another animal: our other dog, Pistachio, he is getting up to see what’s happening; he was sleeping, too, but now he is following us. Pistachio is the opposite of Walnut, a huge mutt we adopted from a shelter, a gangly scraggly garbage muppet, his body welded together out of old mops and sandpaper, with legs like stilts and an enormous block head and a tail so long that when he whips it in joy, constantly, he beats himself in the face. Pistachio unfolds himself from his sleepy curl, stands, trots, huffs and stares after us with big human eyes. Walnut ignores him, because with every step he is sniffing the dark air ahead of us, like a car probing a night road with headlights, and he knows we are approaching his water dish now, he knows I am about to bend my body in half to set his four paws simultaneously down on the floor, he knows that he will slap the cool water with his tongue for 15 seconds before I pick him up again and we journey back down the hall. And I find myself wondering, although of course it doesn’t matter, if Walnut was even thirsty, or if we are just playing out a mutual script. Or maybe, and who could blame him, he just felt like taking a trip.”

[eldritchwyrm]

[eldritchwyrm]

You always be on that damn tapestry