#Rural Influences

[drsilasaslan]

Urban Resilience in Color A weathered pole stands out in an urban landscape, featuring vibrant hues of purple, orange, and green, against a softly blurred building, evoking nostalgia and the beauty of decay. silasAslan.com

[thebeautifulbackroadsofknoxville]

[deathbypufferfish]

Stinky babies and moving on up! Marinella finally got promoted after her DEMOTIONS.... and is gaining more fame.

[falseandrealultravival]

Young people moving to rural areas: Now is the time! (Essay)

Moon and Sun Shellfish

During my lunch break, while working remotely, I was watching NHK. They were broadcasting a daily program called "Good Immigration!!" I knew about this program but had never paid much attention to it. However, on November 28, 2022, I seriously watched the broadcast on this day.

The protagonist of this day was a man who worked as a highly paid management consultant for a foreign company, but he had a strong passion for fish and fishing and moved to a fishing village with his family. However, this man did not have any ties to the fishing village. As a consultant, he carefully researched fishermen's catch volume and annual income at each fishing port in Japan and even referred to aerial photographs of the fishing port. This was because he considered the quality of the fishing port's seawall, the presence or absence of oil storage facilities, etc. Without a storage facility, it would be inconvenient to have to rely on tankers every time to secure fuel. I see.

After all these investigations, he chose Eguchi Fishing Port in Kagoshima Prefecture, like a paratrooper. It was quite a bold move for the whole family to move to a strange place suddenly. As for fishing, this man has been increasing his catch every year, but he applies the "correlation coefficient" in statistics to analyze the fish species and the catching method. This is also something he made use of his experience as a consultant.

And what blew me away was his proposal to the fishing association for "newly cultivated" shellfish. It was "Moon and Sun Shellfish"... a romantic name, and as you would expect, the shells are beautiful, with different colors on the front and back like the sun and the moon. They are also delicious to eat. He researched how far from the shore and at what depth the young shellfish of this shellfish can be collected, and got some results. The broadcast ended with him talking about starting a business with the fishing association this. Yes, he is a reliable young man. He is not passive but is actively influencing the situation. I look forward to seeing what happens next for him.

[vimbry]

one of the more incongruous modern shorthand/associations with werewolves that I like is that they wear flannel. and like the lampshade hat = wild party image, you completely accept the trope without needing to know its origins or further explanation, bc it's been part of the pop culture for so long that it's just as identifiable as any other werewolf trait.

human turns into beast, common story throughout mythology and folklore either as metaphor or our interest with humans being so drastically different to the rest of the animal kingdom; loses sense of identity and gains more primal urges, again, the beast aspect; transforms during the full moon, the moon is long thought to have a spiritual/magical connection. and they wear flannel. yea of course they do.

[imsosocold]

More ,, c!dream transfem poetic ideas....please...

Our purely putrid filthy, fusty, musty, stanky, rank fem-not-female daymare. She’s fraying clothes with seams ripping in the way envelopes and wrapping paper are in their desperation to be opened. She’s patches peeling off the way fruits are peeled with their skins being left out to rot in the sun. She’s the scab and sunburn you pick at until it prickles. She’s sweat from heat against the sweat of the cold. She’s the dust you forgot to sweep up that hangs sparkling in the air. She’s the floorboard that creeks with your breaths. She’s an old fridge whose very self, never mind its contents, is rotting. She’s the light that won’t stop flickering. She’s an old time styled radio that only garbles out guttural sounds and spits static. She’s shoes splitting at the soles that you still expect to shield your feet from the metal as you kick at your broken down rusted car. She’s the bandana you  wear when the sands and their winds get too high. She’s the odd smelling and shaped stains that won’t come out and won’t be questioned. She’s a mattress on TOP of a mountain of blankets that are sour smelling and matted with sweat.  She’s the grimy coins kids are excited to find. She’s the sketchbook scraps forced to be used as napkins. She’s waking up with wounds you don’t remember how you got and soon will forget having. She’s front yard fires, never strong enough for barbecue. She’s the constant pain that you have no clue where comes from but can’t afford to see a doctor over it. She’s toilet paper veils and toilet paper roll telescopes and napkin handkerchiefs and towel headscarves and Piñata pets. She’s a burning flag (L’Manburg or American) at a backyard concert and brunch. She’s licking at the salt lick in cold hoping it hasn’t frozen over. She’s playing music on the bottom of garbage cans and pans and on top of thighs. She’s a little kid carrying stuff in her hoodie and inside her shirt feeling so smart about it. She’s showing off what you found in the parking lot. She’s moths hitting against patio lights. She’s fireflies caught bare handed in the backyard which you at first are excited about before feeling grossed out. She’s the sea urchin you step on out of spite.  She’s the solid salt chunks caught in your mouth from swimming in the sea. She’s empty tortoise shells and even emptier, exposed tortoise spines. She’s animal blood being boiled; something you can’t scrape out. She is pure folk punk. She is everything. She’s made up of and makes up with popsicle stick people and macaroni art men and bottle cap boys and chalk chicks and tally girl tabs.  She feels like cicada husks and bed bug shells and dragonfly wings and rhino beetle horns. If you kissed her she would taste of raw meat and then blood because she bites on instinct. She could ride a bike with flat tires. She could make a heater out of an old fan. She somehow gets drunk from church wine and high from smoking straight up grass and chewing on loose exercise -machine tums. She holds an open potluck made up of leftovers as she does scratch off tickets and sniff stickers together. She hand washes clothes and dishes alike but if she had a washing machine she’d get lost in watching it spin until she felt like throwing up. She’s distance spitting seeds and tobacco alike. She collects sand and spices and stamps; all the little things you never know if/when you’ll need. She makes the sort of grits that always get stuck in your teeth and to the top of your mouth and to the bottom of your stomach but in a way that’s comforting. She lets bugs and insects and animals climb onto and all over her.

She lets mosquitos bite her and shows off the bumps that develop proudly because don’t they deserve to eat too?  She’s wanting to be lost. She bops herself on the head on an empty soda bottle when she’s not blowing into it and a paper bag.  She snacks on perlite like popcorn and chews on wood chips. She drinks the water from leaks and blisters. She sucks up the guts out of pumpkins and suckles on bark and gnaws on sap and loves moss even more than Kris. She’ll feed house and store and backyard and forest plants alike. She has a garden just for weeds. She makes her own manure. She grows mushrooms in the upstairs bathroom sink. She raises crayfish in a school Petri dish. She only wants to eat the green tomatoes and bananas and peaches. She wants to see how sticks and stones break bones. She has squirted lemon and tomato juice directly into her eyes just to see what it’s like.

She wakes up the crickets and the chickens. Her green motif comes from  staining from chlorine and leaves painted brighter and more waxy than they could ever be in nature for advertising and the lack of green colored stars that exist. Science kits and first aid kits are the same to her. She brings astronaut food to the beach picnic. She gets bone shards stuck in her teeth along with her tonsil stones. She keeps taxidermy in coolers. She keeps bait in buckets and gives them out like gift bags. She recites rites for roadkill.   She made wind chimes out of fake dimes. She nicks nails from construction sites. She dances in dumpsters. She blacks out in the bakery bins behind the store fronts. She kicks her shoes onto the roof after making a contest of how far they could be thrown off when on the swing set. She writes messages out of spider webs. She braids grass to put into her hair and wears roots like rings. She knows the exact classifications that foods like tomatoes and pumpkins and strawberries and eggplants fall into. She has such strong opinions about oatmeal over corn meal, squash vs gourds, egg whites in comparison to yolks. She has grown with the grass and she finds perfume in skunks and every abandoned place is immediately familiar to her. In universe she invented the hawk tuah meme. She’s genuinely “not like most other girls” without even trying. She’s almost disgustingly  authentic and actually is very proud of it. It will take months, even maybe years, to sort out my thoughts on her and so many other pretty piling-up things but I will eventually write (and certainty think) about her forever lol. 

[sabraeal]

Summer Camp 2024 prompts: 3, 19, 35

03. A leader in a time of change

Kivan folklore speaks of their first true king: in time of chaos he arrived, men and women and children alike dying as they fought each other for the land left to them as the Empire encroached. Clans would fight and make peace only to turn around and sink the knife in as soon as it might given them a single toehold, the Kivan way of life dying as the plains were soaked red with the blood of its true people.

There was to be one, last great battle, the six tribes limping to what was meant to become their grave-- but before the warriors could meet, a great shadow fell over the field. When they looked up, they saw a bird in the sky, red as flame itself, and when it landed the dried grass set alight, smoke rising up until it nearly blotted out the sun.

A great wind blew from the north, and when the smoke cleared, a man stood before all of them, calling himself Koschei. He told the khans and their great armies that today they would have the pleasure of bending down before him and calling him king.

If we have not bent to the will of the Emperor, one khan laughed, then we will not bend to the likes of yours either. The khans sent their best warriors to take him on, and Koschei dispatched with all six. You may have defeated one man from my tribe, said another, but you cannot defeat all of us.

It is then that Koschei's army revealed itself: a hundred swordsmen, surrounding the valley and the khans. As the battle began, each of them took down a hundred of each khan's warriors before the clans yielded, overwhelmed by their superior skill.

I am now your king, the man called Koschei declared, and I will stand for no other in my kingdom. In less than a year, he had expelled the Meridians from their borders-- though it would not stop their inevitable encroachment through culture, later-- and the Zhartisov dynasty was born.

19. A sub-culture considered larger-than-life by some

Koschei's first army came to be known as the Mechin; sword-sons, born and sworn to the blade, his most loyal retainers-- and feared by the new boyars he made from the old khans. His best he kept by side, marrying them off to the daughters and granddaughters of khans, starting the new lines of the Kivan nobility, and the rest he freed, allowing them to choose their own lives. Many of them chose to make their own fraternity, honing their already prodigious skills into something nearly supernatural, lending themselves out to worthy causes-- or whoever had the most coin-- and, in time, becoming the teachers of their brothers' sons, and their sons in turn.

It is said that not just any young man can become a Mechin; one must first past their rigorous tests, and even still, many of their young applicants end up crippled by the experience, unable to do more than lay in bed and wait for Maaneh to take them. But those that do pass become one of Kiva's elite, nearly good as a landed title itself.

35. A tradition that represents moral decay

With so much of their life based around the planting and reaping of harvests, the Kivans worship no one more than the Horned Pater and his earth-goddess wife, the mother goddess Easha. She is a devoted wife to her husband, and obedient wife, giving way beneath the share of his plow, allowing herself to be molded by his will.

However, in the heathen south she is known of as Eanna, earth and mother goddess still, but also that of fertility and love. Her temples are tended by the most tempting clergy, meant to aid their devotees in keeping sexual release divorced from romantic desire. Most devout Kivans find this practice barbaric, calling her southern temples bordellos at best, and whorehouses at worst, shunning the Empire for its corruption of the Horned Pater's loyal wife.

However, with only a boy prince on the throne and a Vilin regent behind him, Koshstena has become a more cosmopolitan city, welcoming more of the Empire's influence. The worst, at least in the opinion of the Paterev and their devoted parishioners, is that of a new temple to Eanna, with clergy sent up from Kentropa Mundi itself.

[samwinchestermydude]

I’m sick and tired of seeing coquette femcel Lana del ray posts in the Ethel Cain tag. I want to see ETHEL and discussion about and related to her music! Not your posts fetishizing mental illness and skinny white girls and infantalizing grown women. I had to scroll a bunch to find an actual post about Ethel. Anyways We should post more incest to scare them away. Help me out y’all.

[noctilionoidea]

I get to write my dream essay in drama soon :))))

[foxmulderautism]

sunday morning lie in having dorothy and felix childhood revelations that make me want to jump into an active cement mixer

[larnax]

every usam east coast v. west coast thing that isnt like regional restaurant or animal based is so fucking stupid partly because i think people from new york genuinely dont understand that poc exist in california but also genuinely the thing you are almost always describing is just rich people vs poor people. rich people in nyc are "polite but not nice" and drink kale smoothies & juliana who works in a bakersfield grocery store will pull over to help you out if she sees your car broke down.

[calling-the-angels]

I needed this. I have a draft I've been going back and forth on posting where I talk about how I've always been in the "people are inherently good" camp and this election shook that belief.

But now, a few days later, I still think people are inherently good. They're just ignorant, whether willfully or kept that way through propaganda. And I can't change everyone's view, but I can still be kind in a country that's much more selfish and cruel than I thought.

Someone has to be.

I don’t regret being optimistic, by the way. I will never regret thinking better of people than maybe they deserve. I don’t know how thinking the worst of everyone always makes the world a better place.

[donotdestroy]

30 Years Homesteading in Europe - Farming, Self-Sufficiency, Freedom 🇫🇷

[delusionalteengirl]

I’m not “switching up on a celebrity because it’s cool now to hate them” I’m “switching up on them” because as they got more and more famous their takes just got more and more out of touch with reality

[taken-aurally]

We occasionally have horse-mounted police in the center of town. And I remember seeing one take a crap in the middle of the street (the horse, not the cop) and seconds later a Mercedes-Benz drove right over it and sprayed horse dung all over the door handles. I had to wonder what else I might drive over on any given day

in the vein of "how do you stay safe from getting sick", I wanna say that something I always noticed as a kid was that a lot of the time when I went to people's houses and we would leave at some point to the mall or the park or something and then come back home…I don't remember any of them washing their hands when we got back inside. they'd just immediately lead me back to their room or the living room or something, and then I'd feel incredibly self-conscious about going to their bathroom to wash my own hands. and I always thought it was absolutely bizarre because the way I was raised, the first thing you do when you come back home after taking your shoes and jacket off is go wash your hands. it's common sense. why on planet earth would you not wash your hands. you've just been touching a hundred public surfaces that could have anything on them and you think as soon as you set foot in your own house all the germs you've picked up just evaporate? it's absolutely insane to me to know that so many people don't bother washing their hands. WASH YOUR HANDS.

[480pfootage]

Are there any games you play that help with your whole art processes?

Doesn't need to be games, just like any piece of media

I play overwatch and channel the rage of my shitty team into my art