#applies to many things but

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[shkspr]

time for my oddly specific dni that is a joke and not real. ofc tag how many apply to you. dni if you:

like ranch dressing

think you “Get” the movie inception

are an only child

were/are into supernatural AND sherlock but NOT doctor who

were born after st patricks day 2002

dont like fruit or vegetables

took german in high school

have happily married parents

have a strong preference for the xbox over other consoles

have a name that was one of the top 100 in your country the year you were born

have or want more than two dogs

are a libra

are against writing/highlighting in books (like morally against it, even other people doing it in books that arent yours and have nothing to do with you)

have never worked customer service

like thunderstorms

are a man who works in tech

dont remember your dreams

dont have a favorite color

regularly wear jeans to bed

look good in hats

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[blairelythere]

One of the worst feelings in the world is knowing you're the one trying harder.

[weaponizedducks]

jesus fucking christ they were really writing that subtext with a neon pink highlighter weren't they

[thestardustheadmates]

❌ I hate this stupid body

Generic, makes you sound lame, no fun at parties, generally a downer

✅ I despise this vessel I am entombed within.

Foreboding, mysterious, makes you sound like an eldritch horror trapped biding your time

[twopercentboy]

I'm a firm believer that Edwin does NOT have internalized homophobia ☝️ repressed his sexuality? sure, obviously. but internalized hatred for himself? NO!!!

My man immediately confessed his love to Charles once he realized what his feelings were. He was going to even earlier but literally got dragged to Hell in the middle of it !!! He did not question the validity of his feelings and he definitely didn't question whether he was allowed to feel them !!!

Edwin has a lot of complexities when it comes to dealing with and acknowledging his emotions, but this is not one of them. Charles is not one of them.

[vero-niche]

when you tell your therapist something from your past and it leaves them speechless

[lycanpunk666]

Dating does not even begin to cover whatever these freaks have going on.

[lazaruspiss]

ship dynamic: riding him while he thinks about how he failed as a father

[roguemonsterfucker]

The thing about monsterfucking for me is that I don’t have to be physically attracted to the monster to be into it. It just has to have the right Vibes.

There’s a lot of monsters that if you just show me a picture of them, I won’t be into them at all. But if they have the right story then I’ll fall deeply in love.

[sysig]

Ah, childhood memories (Patreon)

[xenineshroom]

If someone is trying to justify why it's okay for them to be cruel to you over your identity, you have full permission to stop talking to them. No one deserves to be abused.

[aq2003]

obsessed with this insane evil dynamic from the few pages from torchwood absent friends that we can see

[peachdoxie]

Rereading Oathbringer, and it's once again so painfully clear to me that Lirin pushing Kaladin to become a surgeon was his desperate attempt to keep Kaladin from going to war. As a surgeon's assistant, Kaladin was exempt from being conscripted into the Alethi military, and sending him to Kharbranth would get him even further away from the war. I know Lirin gets a lot of flak for trying to push his views and desires onto Kaladin, but all I really see is a father trying his hardest to protect his son from the horrors of war while living in a society that venerates it.