#guess I will lie

[the-deadlock-south]

it took me six years to finally ‘finish’ this

original 'sketch’ under the cut (oct. 2, 2016)

[blessyouhawkeye]

as it stands harrow still does not know gideon is god's daughter. it is going to be such an insane reckoning when harrow comes back, looks at gideon and goes "what the fuck are you wearing" only for gideon to hit her with "well i am a prince you know"

[summerlimeismethebrony]

@sullystar I finally did the thing!!

[kedreeva]

We had a wind storm this weekend and these two took offense to the wind making Sounds and injured themselves. Artemis (bottom) bruised one side of her face up, but she's acting fine otherwise so she'll probably be back to normal in a few days.

Stan, on the other hand, bruised his left eye socket and was acting Off with a capital O. He's normally not very active, his legs don't work all that great and he can't catch a deep breath because of his messed up ribs and stuff, but he was lethargic and not eating/drinking normally, so I swapped him into Joslin's appt slot today and took him in.

It wasn't my normal vet again, and I told her that Stan is a hot mess, and she felt him up and told me well his abdominal cavity sounds weird, I said yeah he's got messed up air sacs. She goes well, one of his legs is atrophied more than his other, and I said was it his right one because that's the one that was worse as a baby and doesn't work right, and she goes yeah it was the right one. She goes, it feels like his kidneys are too big, this could be a case of gout, we can xray to look for it. Now, I know it's not gout, but an xray will either enlighten her on the fact that I'm not joking about how messed up this bird is, or it will show her what's actually injured, or both.

So she does the xray and she calls me into the back room and she goes well. it's not gout. his kidneys are actually small and I was feeling his messed up air sac. there's a lot wrong here, but I'm looking at his last xray and there's a lot wrong there, and most of it is the same. he got a little better in some ways and a little worse in other ways, but the issue is that it looks like he jammed his hip joint and injured it a little, possibly from landing wrong.

you know. an injury. like from the ultimate panic of the Wind Making Sounds.

Anyway he got some antibiotics against infection and some pain meds and we'll give him a couple of tube feedings until he's not feeling crappy. For now he's asleep in my room on a roost.

[saikitsu]

some cute sols from the new episode ☀️

[rubytalks]

Hello, hi

I can imagine some voicelines really clear in my head, even though they're of course for specific moments, so I'm thinking of doing more, meanwhile have this

[nikolaj-costerwaldau]

Fuck. Can we as human beings not actually put lines in the sand for ONCE? Jesus!

Happy Birthday, Colin James Farrell! (31.05.1976)

[sufroyo]

day (really big number) of missing them :(

[cream-and-five-sugars]

So everyone vs. Ironwood kinda looked like a Smash Bros. fight or am I going crazy

[lightningflvsh]

they’re supposed to be doing homework but hal is very loudly playing a game on his laptop and then complaining when he loses. clark is somehow tuning this out but bruce is in fact 5 seconds away from throwing the laptop out the window and/or whacking hal in the head with it

[open for better quality :p]

[flagellant]

My Anger, or: Dinner Is On The Table And I Am Holding A Knife

(URL of asker censored to protect their identity from the current TERFs going around like a bad orange blight.)

I don't usually like responding to these sorts of asks. But I guess the question "How do you manage to have any faith in humanity left at all?" is one I'll keep getting asked, so here's my answer. I wrote an essay about it. Read it if you want, skip it if you don't, but it has my answer.

===

Are you hungry? Food is my love language. I don't let people go hungry. Food is my love language. You need to eat well. I'm not going to let you not eat well. I made you this, I hope you like raisins. I can’t let you be hungry.

I don't do this because I am nice. I am furious. I am enacting with every loaf of bread and chicken breast and crushed almond nuts an act of terrible, irrevocable rebellion against the state. When I feed people I am throwing a brick at a cop at Stonewall, I am refusing to allow a system of cruelty to keep those around me hungry. I do this because the only way people will know that they're allowed to eat when they're hungry is if they're fed when they're hungry.

I love you. Have this half of my orange. Take a handful of chips. I made too much bread. I love you. Here, I have an extra banana. I don’t like this flavor, do you want it? Sure, you can have a bite, do you want some too? I love you recklessly and relentlessly and without reason. I love you violently and unrepentantly, have this apple, have this pear, have everything I can ever afford to give you and some of what I cannot, because I love you and therefore I must hate what makes you hungry.

I love you, and therefore, I must hate what makes you hungry.

Food is my love language. I won’t let people go hungry.

    -Untitled poem, self. September 19th, 2022, 4:56pm.

Nearly everything I've written for the past four years was just saying the same thing over and over again differently.

In reincarnation matter is not created or destroyed. It is a fermenting apple fallen from the front yard tree, it is the soil mulch it becomes growing the next apple on its branch. It is made of cycles and closed loops. Reincarnation is an airplane in the sky which will never land.

There are smaller reincarnations, though. The memory of something so strong it aches your jaw? The heavy heart heaving blood across its body even after the running was done? The ghosts in that blood, the people you never became seven years ago? There are loops within these loops. The circles are more than circles.

I started cooking only a few years ago. The first thing I ever made was bread. Challah bread, and it was warm and motherly and raisin-filled. But the first thing I remember cooking was ciabatta. Me and mine would tear off hunks of loaf with our hands and stain our mouths red with laughter and vinegar. I am no longer theirs and they are no longer mine but that is my memory of them and I. My memory of that life is one where I knead the dough and bake the bread and laugh with them over and over.

All this is to tell you that every poem I write has been the same for four years, over and over, smelling like plastic armrests and ginger ale. It is all just saying in newer and stranger ways that I love you. I love you, I hope we both eat well.

-”Little Cramped Florida Apartment First Saturday Where I Found Milk And Honey”, self. January 6th, 2022. 11:49pm.

    This last iteration of this narrative was the only one with something worthwhile to say. Anger is overwhelming for me. Let me tell you how I see myself in Sisyphus, pushing a hopeless boulder up a mountain. This time I will try to keep a better grasp on my boulder, which is that anger I am always, always feeling. I wish I could say, “I wish I was not an angry person”, but that isn’t who I am. To let go of that fury would leave me cold, and alone, and unsure of what to do. But those who are always angry have a duty to control that anger, make it a prism from which light can shine into and out of more brilliantly than before.  

    The past year has been about understanding who I am when my back isn’t against the wall. In some ways it’s more terrifying, having the responsibility of making a good life for myself from good foundations. But I remember with every second what it was like to live a life without the luck I’ve been given, and I see the people that get denied it every day. If anger is powerful, I want to use that anger. I want to wield it and make something so angry that everybody will be angry with me. An anger in a single direction, with one edge like a knife, to cut the world down the middle and into a better shape, and hand it to everyone like halves of an orange. I only have two hands to make any piece of art with, and I will only ever have (at most, at my most fortunate) two hands. But I don’t stand alone in being angry at this cruel, foolish world, the one which looks at children and teaches them “You are not worth anything, you have no value or sanctity just because you are human,” and laughs and calls us childish when we say we deserve better than that.

    Because that’s the most formative thing about me of all. The selfish, bitter dregs of feeling hurt and betrayed by the world. The incredibly egotistical idea, “I deserved a better world”. Look at my past self and all of the cruel, flailing, foolish things I did–some on purpose, some not, all causing harm anyway–and think about what I could do about it.

    I think that, on one hand, yes. I deserved better, objectively. There are things in my narrative that no one deserves the agony of. Beyond that, perhaps I deserved better circumstances.

    But I think it doesn’t matter what I deserved in the past, good or bad. What matters more to me is not making the same mistakes in the future. I can’t allow myself to resent the people around me for being maybe a little bit more lucky than I was; there’s art to be made that could change the world. All of it is made out of anger. All of my past, all of my future, it can only ever be anger. Anger that creates, anger that cuts, anger that hardens, anger that stands in front of other people and walks the line for them.

    Anger that stands in front of other people and walks the line for them. I’d almost like that to be the narrative I make for myself. To make a world in which I can say that the events that formed me most are not the ones which hardened me like lava to obsidian, proud like a boar. Instead, a world where I met its hard edges as gentle as I dared. You may have wondered why I sounded so different in the poems I write than the person I am, and the truth is almost simple.

    I learned to write poetry to put to words all the things that I feel which I’m unable to understand or say. That’s the narrative I’ve been trying hard to tell you all, all this time, the one I want to write so badly and yet have no idea how to.

    Writing about anger is so easy for me, except for that one kind, the kind I think I know for certain most defines my narrative, because I can never talk about it except in poems. It lives in me somewhere deeper than anything else, deeper than my heart, deeper than my soul. It can only come out in art, not in words. That anger lives in my belly and it growls like a great black dog every time it thinks it sees someone being hurt. I think that says the most about me that I’ll ever be able to say.

    So we come back to the beginning for the end. As I wrote before; “There are loops within these loops. The circles are more than circles.” I had to try and write this essay three different ways, and this is the third way, the only one worth reading. It’s the only one where I’m angry in a way I think might do good in the world.

    I really hope that whoever reads this can agree.

[sasukeofcolor]

Remember when the characters in Tokyo Revengers would just lie to us. When Mikey lied about who the founders were. When Hakkai lied about protecting Yuzuha. When Mikey lied in the recorded video to Takemichi. When Sanzu lied to Mucho about following him. When Draken lied to Takemichi that Mikey worked overseas. There are so many things in the story that are told one way but just don't seem true. Did Mikey actually kill people in the manila timeline? How is Shin a weak king but so freakishly strong? The Bonten timeline was about a fake happiness. It appeared that people were better off but when we got a look closer look, many carried regrets and were not whole. We were supposed to question character motives and what was actually true in a story where we couldn't rely on the characters to tell us things properly. But now we just have to take everything at face value? We can't question the way the story decided to wrap up? The whole Black Dragon arc was about deception and WHY people lie and put up a front and act as if their life isn't what it actually is. Being able to question media is literally a core part of interacting with it, stop pretending it's not.

[columboscreens]

[bumblebeebats]

Friends, there are TEARS in my eyes, i was just talking with my sibling and we got onto the topic of Mads Mikkelson somehow and he was like “Oh right, he played that guy from Shaun the Sheep” and I’m like. what. and he’s like “Yeah. ...You know? Shaun of the... Dead? Shaun of the Sheep? With the leather mask, you know!!”

Y’all. y’all. y’all. He meant

SILENCE OF THE LAMBS

[inthewaytoamultilinguallife]

Shout out to people that will never be able to speak “flawlessly” in another language because they are mute, semi verbal, or have a speech impediment, shout out to people that will always need captions/subtitles when watching stuff in their target language because they have hearing loss, APD, etc.

Shout out to people who can't stick to strict routines to study because they have chronic fatigue, chronic pain, ADHD, or alike, shout out to people whose spelling will never be perfect because they are dyslexic, to people who will always struggle to write in other alphabets because they have motrix issues.

Shout out to people whose brains won’t collaborate when they want it to, hindering their study. To people who will always have to neglect one aspect of language because of their disability, to people that have to work with inaccessible resources and are told to just “put up” with it and to just get through

Shout out to people that are disabled and neurodivergent and have to deal daily with the expectations and impossible goals people put on us that deems us “not good enough” in our own language, and much less in any target language we might have

[solarcas]

Do you love the colours of the sky the gay angel’s wings?

Based on this post by @deancaskiss​ - he’s a big ol’ mood ring!!

+ a few bonus scans:

[Open for better quality!]