#foie graphics

[dungeon-bitch]

[sonicbrutalism]

so… no head? / self portrait (2023) by Foie Graphics.

instagram: @ foiegraphics

tumblr: @foie

[scorpiting]

foiegraphics design, tattooed by diablaink

[mckatharine]

[ourladyofomega]

🖌️ Foie Gras / Imogene Douleur

[rosewaterboard]

Did you hear they added foie gras to cooking mama? Yeah you really fuck that bird up it's like really graphic. No yeah you white knuckle it with an oven mitt, it's really bizarre

[santoschristos]

As Above, So Below by Foie Graphics 2021 -- photo is of gaby herstik

[mementomoriiv]

Foie Graphics

[grubloved]

this image was made by Foie Graphics (website). you can also find her at @foie on tumblr, or on instagram @/foiegraphics

[homicidalbrunette]

Foiegraphcs

[boyharsher]

All remaining 2020 Boy Harsher shows have been pushed to 2021. 

SPRING 2021 w/ HIDE

25-3 CZ Brno - Kabinet Muz 26-3 AT Wien - Flex Cafe 27-3 ES Madrid Dark - MAD Festival 28-3 SK Bratislava - FUGA 29-3 SI Ljubljana - Kino Siska 30-3 HR Zagreb - Močvara 31-3 HU Budapest - Dürer Kert 1-4 RO Cluj Napoca - /Form Space 2-4 RO Bucharest - Club Control 3-4 MK Skopje - 25th of May Hall 4-4 GR Thessaloniki - Eight Ball 6-4 GR Athens - Fuzz 8-4 IT Caserta - Lizard 9-4 IT Roma - Monk 10-4 IT Bologna - Covo 11-4 IT Vicenza - Totem 12-4 CH Bern - Dachstock 13-4 CH Zurich - Mascotte 14-4 DE Freiburg - Jazzhaus

Poster by Foie Graphics

[shireescarlet]

[placidhousee]

© Foie Graphics

[hong-kong-art-man]

STARTUPS ARE NOT FOR MONEY, BUT FREEDOM BEYOND MONEY 

With the coronavirus economic recession, we are like facing World War III. We are ransacked by devastating declines in GDP, real income, employment, service production and retail sales.

The Irish said, “Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free! I follow the plan God laid by me.”

Now, you are poor and get nothing to lose. It goes without saying that when survival is the only issue, struggles erupt between narcissism and reality. Instead of exercise in a gym, you train your muscles by being a delivery worker. Instead of fine dining in SoHo, you stir-fry pig liver with luncheon meat to imitate pâté de foie gras. Instead of dressing up for work in the morning, you ask your mum to buy you some nice Uniqlo pyjamas so that you can still be a dignified laid-off man at home.

Being jobless and frustrated with looking for a job, you suddenly remember an idea that you just cannot stop thinking about. That is probably a perfect timing to set up your own business which you have been thinking for years.

I know it is not easy to afford business startup costs such as equipment, office space, office furniture and supplies, incorporation fees, marketing, payroll and insurance. Compared with the startups in the 1980s, the entrepreneurs nowadays are definitely not less fortunate:

(1)         For the past years, Hong Kong government always recorded a budget surplus. Government used billions of dollars to establish more than 50 funding schemes ranging from Incubation Program, Market Development Support to Corporate Venture Fund. There is more to come. In our days, there were more Poor Dads than Rich Dads. They could not lend or help. What is nicer than nice by having a government like a sugar daddy?

(2)         As people are richer and a lot are singletons without a family burden, you can painlessly identify a bunch of business partners especially those still at a young and energetic age. Education is powerful. Well educated graduates bring good skills to the different core dimensions of the startup task. Let me give you an example. When you build an attractive App, you cannot run away from an IT engineer, a graphic designer and an E-marketing expert.

(3)         ‘Co-working space’ is a new notion of sharing an office space by different companies allowing cost savings and convenience through using common equipment and receptionist. In the 80s, it was cumbersome to set up an office, rent a space for 2 years, design the floor plan, find the telephone and internet provider, decorate and buy furniture. Now, you carry a Notebook, sit down in the co-working space, order a cup of coffee and bootstrap yourself out of poverty into dreamlike business. This is the luxury which has never existed.

(4)         There are 2 kinds of middlemen: good and bad. Good ones may be such as importers and distributors. Bad ones are such as pimps and drug dealers. Good ones are being eliminated but bad ones remain. The use of internet platform has made it possible for many to directly trade online without a middleman. The process is called ‘disintermediation’ which is ‘cutting out the middlemen’ in a transaction. Sellers can bypass the middlemen (wholesalers and retailers) to reach a customer who is also happy to buy in the one-to-one relationship as he will pay less. In the 80s, it took many years for one to know the middlemen, win their trust and transact through them. A young designer can now just order goods from factory and simply sell his goods online. Such E-commerce enables a seller to transcend boundaries and make deals worldwide.

Do not start a company unless it is an obsession that you firmly believe. Sustaining a business for several years is a lot of work and feeling desperate is half the battle. So, beginning a startup purely for money is the inevitable fate to fail. You start a business about which you are passionate because you want to be free. You want to be a free human being with an independent will and soul, away from the mournings of a monthly salary and fear to step out of your comfort zone.

[veganpod]

Amazon Cruelty - Mercy For Animals Exposes Suffering Behind Foie Gras

whoever eats foie gras is disgusting.

[corvuscrowned]

prey animals

read on ao3 | written for @hp-fearfest day 7 prompt: they’ve killed before, they’ll kill again. thank you so much to @jalesidor for the alpha and @m0srael​ for the beta. cw: graphic depictions of violence, murder.

Rowle is in the middle of explaining the genetic inferiority of Squibs for the fifth time when the arrow pierces his skull. It happens so quickly that for a moment it seems he might continue talking, like he hasn’t noticed his brain has been cleaved in two.

Narcissa lets out a piercing shriek, her face twisting in horror as she and Lucius clamor from the table. They’re not used to seeing people die this way, from ruined flesh instead of magical force. 

Draco watches, paralyzed, as Rowle tips forward onto his dinner plate. The arrow skids into the table, pushing deeper into his skull, his forehead dipping into unfinished foie gras. 

Narcissa grabs Draco by the arm and pulls him away from the table, her heels skittering on glass from the shattered window. Lucius raises his wand to the night, a curse on his lips, but freezes before he can cast. 

A figure stands on the lawn outside of the Manor, shrouded entirely in black. Its face is hidden behind a white rabbit mask, its eyes hollow and empty. 

“Father!” Draco shouts, pushing Lucius away from the window. An arrow shoots through the glass and plunges to the fletching into the wall behind them, inches from where Lucius’s face was. 

Lucius’s wand flies from his hand, summoned in a flash into the darkness outside. Narcissa gasps as her wand is wrenched from her hand next; Draco tries to summon his off the table, but it’s summoned into the night before the Accio leaves his lips. 

“The basement,” Lucius murmurs, almost to himself. Another arrow slices through the night, shattering a vase on the table. “The basement.”

Outside, the rabbit-masked figure lowers a crossbow. Two others emerge from the darkness beside him: snow white masks of a cat and a hound. Narcissa grabs Draco by the arm, pulling him out of his trance. 

They follow Lucius through the Manor, emerald robes billowing behind him as he leads the way to the basement. He clamors down the stairs, but his leg catches on something at the bottom step. He hurtles forward, skidding across the ground.

Narcissa screeches at the sight of it. In the darkness, Draco can see the glint of a wire tied tight across the bottom step, slick with fresh blood.

Lucius releases a shaky groan as he pushes up onto his arms, a crumpled mess of a man. Narcissa pulls away from Draco’s grip, sobbing as she steps carefully over the tripwire. She freezes with one foot in the air as a shrouded figure emerges from the darkness, all in black but for the snarl of a white fox mask.

The figure falls upon Lucius and raises a knife above its head. 

There is nothing Draco can do but watch - and listen. The figure plunges the knife into Lucius’s back, drawing back glistening red. It stabs again and again, dark blood spilling out as Lucius chokes and sobs beneath its merciless hand, his last breaths nothing but a gurgled moan. 

The wail Narcissa lets out beside him is worse: a tortured, discordant thing of utmost misery. She crumples into Draco’s arm.

“Mother,” Draco says, his voice nothing but a hitched gasp. “Mother. We have to —”

Narcissa sobs as Draco puts an arm around her, pulling her back up the stairs. He hastens one last look behind him at the hollow black eyes, the stark white mask flecked with blood.

Draco can hear footsteps in the dining room, the creak of floorboards groaning upstairs. A figure emerges into the corridor, bearing a crossbow; another appears, holding an axe lazily on his shoulder. Their forms are swallowed by the night, only their white masks visible in the dark: a deer, a goat, an antelope. 

“What do you want from us?” Draco cries. 

The goat looks to the antelope and then back to Draco. It shrugs.

“Upstairs. The Floo,” Draco murmurs, keeping his eyes locked on the figures as Narcissa turns to the staircase. The fox emerges from the basement, its knife still dripping with his father’s blood. The figures watch patiently as Narcissa and Draco scramble up the stairs, like cats playing with their mice.

Narcissa scrambles for the Floo, her hands shaking around a fistful of powder. When she throws it, not a single spark erupts. 

“They’ve shut it off,” she whimpers. “They’ve trapped us, Draco, they’re going to —”

“Listen,” Draco says, taking her by the shoulders. “We are not going to die in this sodding Manor. Not without a fight.”

Draco looks to the bedroom door he’s locked behind them. He isn’t foolish enough to think it’s enough to protect them; the figures are taking their time, toying with their prey.

“We’ll take the Floo to the fireplace downstairs,” Draco says. “They can’t have disconnected it within the house. And then you’ll run for the door.”

“You —” Narcissa sobs.

“I’ll be fine,” Draco says. “You’ll run for the door. You’ll need to act quickly while they’re caught off guard. Do you understand?”

Narcissa quakes under his touch, her glassy eyes quivering. She nods. 

Draco squeezes his mother’s arm. “Are you ready?”

Narissa nods again. She steps a foot forward, preparing to break into a sprint. 

Draco’s hand trembles around the powder. He breathes a sigh of relief when the Floo works, enveloping them in emerald light. The living room materializes around them, peeking out from dying green flame. 

Draco watches the rest as if in slow motion. Narcissa bounds into a sprint across the room. A figure whirls around, revealing a shock of white in the darkness, the pointed mask of a cat.

Narcissa almost escapes. Almost.

The figure catches her by the arm. He spins her around, holding her back against his chest, and draws a blade to her throat. Draco hears it before he sees it — the slice of metal cutting into flesh, the gurgling of Narcissa’s dying breaths, her choking gasps as she drowns in her own blood. Red sprays across the room, slung onto the walls and furniture. Narcissa’s eyes spring open, glowing with shock and terror in the darkness. 

A font of blood pools down Narcissa’s neck, dyeing her dress ruby. The figure releases her and she slumps onto her knees, breathing one last, confused whimper before falling face first onto the cold floor.

Draco backs against the Floo as another figure enters the room, and then another. Soon he is surrounded by half a dozen shrouded killers, each hidden behind the faces of a different animal: fox, cat, rabbit, hound, antelope, deer.

Then with a spark of magic, the figures converge into one — a single man looming in the black night, his face hidden behind the mask of an antlered stag.

Draco looks down at his robes, splattered with angry red blood. He sighs. “You didn’t have to do it right in front of me.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, pulling his mask off and running a red stained hand through his hair. “I guess you didn’t want to watch that.”

Draco looks down at Narcissa’s body. Her face is pushed sideways onto the ground, the life spilling out of her in waves of crimson. He nudges her with his shoe. She’s already growing stiff. “Oh no, I certainly did,” he says. “It’s just that these robes are very expensive.”

Harry drops the knife with a clatter and pulls him into a kiss, blood-slick fingers winding into Draco’s hair. 

He always did get hot and bothered in the aftermath. 

“I’ll know better next time,” Harry says, kissing Draco on the temple.

“I’m quite sure you won’t,” Draco says with another sigh. He takes Harry by the hand. “Come on then, love. We need to get cleaned up for our visit to the Carrows.” 

crow’s fearfics