#ive been wanting to do an art piece for it for a while but

[headspace-hotel]

This year has, so far, been for me a series of rapid realizations of what I have been unlearning.

I went to the library. This was a couple weeks ago. I knew I needed to read a book, fiction. I hadn't done so in over a year and it was the longest period of time I had ever gone without doing so. I made a rule: I would only pick books I had never heard of, by authors I had never heard of, and I would not do any preliminary research or even bother to look at what the book was about. I would make my decision on whether to read or not purely on my impression of the title, cover and opening lines.

The book was The Connoisseur by Evan S. Connell. It was kind of a random selection. I sat down with it in a corner of the library and straight up devoured it. I tore through the book within a few hours, without taking a single break. I was captivated. I couldn't put it down.

It is a book about a guy who buys a Mayan figurine in a knickknack shop while he's on a business trip. and becomes obsessed with pre-Columbian sculptural art. There isn't really much of a plot apart from this. He goes to sketchy antique shows, has conversations with museum curators, wealthy art dealers and forgers, and seeks to learn how to distinguish a genuine pre-Columbian piece from a fake one. It was written in the 1970's, so the views on Native Americans are antiquated and sometimes offensive, and there is the troubling thread of the very concept of looting another culture's treasures and treating them as collectibles, though the book is not without commentary on this.

All the same, it was a completely intoxicating read. The vicarious experience of becoming fascinated with a topic and having it unfold a whole world for you was ferociously gripping, and so was the intrigue of the art collecting world itself. The frauds, forgeries, smuggling, museums, academics, aristocrats, auctions and seedy flea markets. Will he ever be able to tell if a piece is "real?" Does it matter if it's "real?" Why does he want to own and possess a piece of art, and how does its "realness" affect that desire? The book leaves you not knowing what to think.

It is a book about curiosity, portrayed in the narrative as a totally unreasonable lightning bolt that strikes a man who has never been fascinated by anything and changes him forever. Why? Why does a Mayan figurine, in particular, speak to him? Why does any piece of art, or any fascinating thing in the world, speak to anyone? It is unknowable.

I went to the library again. I picked a new book using the same rules. This book was Fragile Beasts by Tawni O'Dell. Just like the last time, I was totally captivated. I couldn't put it down.

Did I have a couple major problems with the portrayal of some important aspects of the story? Yes. (It would make the post much longer to discuss.) Was I completely captured by and invested in the story for the time I was reading it? Also yes. The book braids together several very different strands-- the story of a legendary Spanish bullfighter and a wealthy American woman that he loved, two brothers stuck in an ugly family situation after their father's death in a car accident, and a rich old heir to a Pennsylvania coal mining fortune and to the sinister underbelly of her family's business.

There was a lot about baseball, which I know nothing about, and bullfighting, which I know nothing about, and I certainly don't know anything about being a teenaged boy who resents and mistrusts his estranged mother, or an aristocratic old lady who lives in a mansion and eats fancy Spanish food. It was fun to experience so much unfamiliar stuff and to care about things I wouldn't normally care about. Once again I couldn't stop reading until I had finished it.

I don't know that either book was "good," though I thought they were both well written; I just know that reading them was like being hooked up to an IV of something essential and life-giving and feeling it reanimating my body.

It had been a year since I had read any fiction, but it had been much, much longer since I had loved to read. As I became an adult I had become picky and critical about books, and developed a highly sophisticated sense of my taste and the books I considered good- which were very rare. My taste in books became so sophisticated, eventually, that I didn't like books at all anymore.

I had almost withered away from deficiency of that essential nutrient known as STORY. I'd almost crumbled myself into dust from pretentiousness! I may have been terribly wrong about the kinds of things I liked to read, on top of it. And I certainly hadn't realized that story was such an essential nutrient.

"Just entertainment" the pretentious sorts of people might say of a book they think is useless-- but what is entertainment but to absorb your mind in something, and what is absorbing your mind in a book but to experience things you would never have experienced? It expands you and makes you more complicated. It is the study of human existence itself.

Now all I have been able to think about today is finishing my work and going to the library again...

[junebugdunes]

I hope the guilt hits you like a brick

[musubiki]

.🖤🔄🤍.

[joshuamj]

In Time and Stars

[crystalpallette]

no witty caption today; I just love ringo hiii ringoooo

[luck-of-the-drawings]

so REVENGE, HUH? or justice, if that makes you feel better. it tastes the same when cooked just right. 'I REALLY WANTED A BROTHER.' such a shame to burn a bridge you so desperately wanted to keep, especially when it wasnt even you who started the fire. especially when you hope that not a single fragment of that bridge ever washes ashore.[MAY IT ROT FAR FROM MY SIGHTS] an unfortunate loss! atleast he has his friends.

[slavhew]

i like ms paint but i like mspaint-esque pressureless brushes more.

exclusive never before seen art process snapshot under cut.

this is what it actually looks like in the canvas. it was a warmup for a larger thing and took way too long so my frustration is justified i think

[sualne]

orange and blue guys

[s0fter-sin]

soap and ghost work out together and the second they enter the gym, ghost knows his sergeant’s in a mood. he’s got a comment for everything; poking at ghost’s form and his entire routine, shamelessly checking him out in the mirrors and practically ignoring his own work out until he gets to the weight bench.

soap plops himself on ghost’s hips with a paper-thin excuse of playing his spotter and chats shit about how much he’s lifting for his entire set. “that the best you got?”, “thought you were here for a workout, lt.”, “careful, lookin’ a lil’ shaky there, sir,” until ghost finally sets the bar back on the rack and orders him to switch places.

soap settles under the bar, ghost sitting heavy and imposing on his hips as he looks down at him. he doesn’t look taunting or irritated, he’s blanker than ever and soap just smirks back and lifts the bar.

and fuck is it heavy, more than he ever lifts, but soap’s always put his money where his mouth is and he refuses to put it back up until he gets at least ten reps in. he’s pushing to hide the shake in his arms as the set crawls by, huffing out harsh breaths with every rep, face steadily turning red.

ghost doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even blink as he gets to seven, to eight, to nine-

until the final rep where he crosses his arms over the bar and holds it down.

soap’s eyes widen as he rushes to adjust to the new weight, hands almost slipping as he scrambles to find the new balance point. “christ, lt., what the fuck?” he grunts, the shake in his arms growing worse by the second.

“finish the set, sergeant,” ghost orders, expectant apathy in his voice as he leans heavier on the bar.

he locks his elbows as they attempt to buckle but he can’t move it any higher. “’m fuckin’ tryin’,” he grits out.

he just shakes his head. “i don’t want you to try,” he dismisses. “i want you to lift it.”

sweat pours down soap’s face, panting as he fights against the weight. “ghost-”

ghost stands, pushing down harder as he towers over the bar to get into soap’s face. “lift the fucking bar, sergeant,” he growls.

soap screams as he shoves against ghost’s weight with everything he has until the bar finally slips over the edges of the rack, the entire bench rocking with the force of it settling into place.

his arms flop uselessly back down, hanging either side of the bench completely numb as he pants, too breathless to think as his head spins and his cock throbs.

ghost just pats his reddened cheek as he slings his leg off him and heads over to the exercise bikes; not even sparing a glance at him as he throws out, “‘atta boy, johnny.”

[feline-evil]

S E V E R A N C E

[bacchuschucklefuck]

if talking abt my friends after looking at another artist's work is gauche then Im about to take a hard left babeyy if chris grace's dropout special speaks to u and u like dnd actual play then u should watch metanoia blues live on twitch every sunday at mimzalot and also available on youtube at metanoia blues

[notquiteapex]

surrounded by ghosts

[omgtheykilledstenny]

first art post on the stenny account lets gooooo !!!!!!!!

[orangewsunglasses]

oil pastels are so fun :3 im just messing with them and learning how to use them, and ofc dazai's my guinea pig

[spearxwind]

Honestly i Get It now i do get why people build things constantly

[puppppppppy]

for like 3 weeks i was wondering why i was sleeping so much and felt listless. and just now I managed to email 3 people and responded to a month old message in the span of an hour because I got back to TAKING MY FUCKIN MEDS..........