reverecurrent
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Hand on my heart. Hand on my stupid heart.
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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am tired of making a religion out of my suffering’.
[text id: i am too little, and too much, and never enough.]
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How I approached perfumes is that they were for me. When I’d perform in public I’d wear something for me to smell, like a halo of protection.
Sianne Ngai, How to Choose Your Perfume: A Conversation with Sianne Ngai and Anna Kornbluh
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well at least at the end of the day its the end of the day
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Russell Chatham (1939 - 2019) - Island Suite - January Evening. 1988. Lithograph.
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art parallels jeremy lipking, federico zandomeneghi, serge marshennikov, allan douglas davidson, svetlana tartakovska
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I don't know how to articulate this well, but I really fucking hate the way a lot of thin writers write fat characters. Like how men write women "breasting boobily" there is something so dehumanizing about how fat characters are often written. "He waddled", "he lumbered", the writer of the book I'm reading always mentions this characters "fleshy hand" when he does something with his hand. Like, we already know that he's fat. There is no need to describe everything he does as "doing it fatly".
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Commission for Michael for his wife for Christmas, to match with a commission from earlier this year.
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not normie enough to fit in but not fringe enough to lean into being a freak, worst of both worlds, pure liminality, just the weird coworker, and unrelatable classmate. and your mutual
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