#mom

[missjackiesblog]

Post concert antics 😈🤣

[sassybongsupriti]

Your Hot Bengali Mom Served hot

[aiyanayanas]

This one goes out to my mother!

Always comes clutch with soup and grilled cheese sammies. 🥹🥹

Roasted garlic and basil tomato soup with garlic butter grilled cheese sandwiches on freshly baked brioche bread! (♡)

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was at a ren faire with my mom and I saw a belt with cool leather pouches on it for $3759 and I whispered to her, “You know, if it weren’t for the price tag I’d totally get that,” and she was like “Go for it! It’s only $3000! That’s nothing!” And I was like *surprised pikachu face*.

[gawki]

Night Mare

[kittycouch]

Unusual letter from mom

[mommy-waiting]

Obedient mommy

[jerkwithmomass]

You find this pic of your mom on one of your friend’s cellphone..🫨🤬

how did he get that pic?was he the photographer??🍆🍑

[imaplatypus-art]

Just a robot and her son 🥺💕.

Charm here: ko-fi.com/s/2a00e79041 or international: imaplatypuscreations.etsy.com/listing/1806035330

Last charm artwork that I made and posting 😭

Like a lot of people, I loved this movie. Beautifully done. Reminded me of my love for soft robots(specifically Baymax and Iron giant UwU).

[chicklit-or-chocolate]

Mia madre adorava Vincent van Gogh e, anche se mi piaceva molto, non capivo fino a che punto fosse meraviglioso il talento di una creatura tanto sfortunata. Con il tempo ho imparato ad amarlo, ma è stato riscoprire la bellezza del giallo, da un lato, e dall'altro il vedere un film che mi ha fatto capire. Il film non è affatto incentrato su van Gogh, ma sulla schizofrenia. Si chiama The Promise, è del 1986 e l'ho visto per caso, perché sono in fissa con un attore e quando mi capita guardo tutto quello in cui ha recitato. In quel film, un film televisivo realizzato da Hallmark e che vinse per altro numerosi e meritatissimi premi per le produzioni TV, è stato inserita nel copione una frase vera, che lo sceneggiatore, Richard Friedenberg, trasse da un dialogo reale con un ragazzo ricoverato in una casa di cura a Santa Monica, California. Forse, oggi quel ragazzo è morto, ma anche se fosse vivo la sua memoria vivrà per sempre in quel piccolo film e in tutti coloro che lo amano, tra cui certamente i suoi interpreti, poiché la fonte di questa informazione è uno dei protagonisti, il compianto James Garner, mentre l'altro protagonista, James Woods, ricorda The Promise come il film e il ruolo che ha più amato e di cui è più fiero (considerando che si tratta di un attore ormai nell'Olimpo del cinema grazie a C'era una volta in America di Leone ed a Videodrome di Cronenberg). La citazione quasi letterale dalla voce del giovane di Santa Monica è questa: [being schizophrenic]"It's like, all the electric wires in the house are plugged into my brain. And every one has a different noise, so I can't think. Some of the wires have voices in them and they tell me things like what to do and that people are watching me. I know there really aren't any voices, but I feel that there are, and that I should listen to them or something will happen. … I can remember what I was like before. I was a class officer, I had friends. I was going to be an aeronautical engineer. Do you remember, Bobby? I've never had a job. I've never owned a car. I've never lived alone. I've never made love to a woman. And I never will. That's what it's like. You should know. That's why I'm a Hindu. Because maybe it's true: Maybe people are born again. And if there is a God, maybe he'll give me another chance. I believe that, because this can't be all I get".

Vincent Van Gogh ebbe molto, molto di più del ragazzo a Santa Monica e di DJ, il dolce e sciagurato protagonista di The Promise. Ma forse la malattia non gli permise di godere come meritava di quel che gli era capitato in sorte e che, del resto, fu più successo postumo che gloria durante la sua breve vita. Però c'è una gioia del mondo, di vivere, delle cose non avute ma ammirate, che è purissima, e goccia da ogni pennellata anche quando si tratta di dipingere soggetti altrui (questo è da Millet, che Van Gogh ammirava moltissimo). Poche volte in così grande sventura si è manifestata così splendidamente la possibilità che esista in fondo qualche genere di dio.

Now I understand What you tried to say to me And how you suffered for your sanity And how you tried to set them free They would not listen, they did not know how Perhaps they'll listen now

Questa è per mia madre, con cui non ci siamo mai capite. Eppure l'ho amata tanto disperatamente: non mi sembrava mai di essere all'altezza. Non stava tanto bene di testa, povera mamma mia. Spero che sia andata a star meglio e che mi veda da su, come mi sforzo di star bene... E come direbbe DJ, è stata una brava mamma, e mi auguro che si sia rincarnata in una splendida creatura felice e fortunata come avrebbe meritato. Le sarebbe piaciuto tanto The Promise, lei mi faceva spesso vedere film sulle persone malate o sulle diversità, voleva che io crescessi capace di amare e rispettare tutti. Con lei vidi Figli di un dio minore, Anna dei miracoli e Priscilla, la regina del deserto. Vedi come il cinema lega le persone? Da non crederci, eh.

First Steps (1890) by Vincent van Gogh

[brandontheoutcast]

Erma- Momma's Love

[random-fun-polls]

reblog for larger sample size :)

[one-time-i-dreamt]

Dolly Parton has come to do a show in my town. We couldn't afford tickets, so me and my mom sold my stepdad so we could go.

It turned out that we sold him to Dolly Parton, she made him sing with her and then she gave him back.

[psillybitch]

God I would love to do this to someone. To treat someone like the most precious and important thing in the world, to show them how deeply they are loved. I dearly wish to show that they are loved and valued not merely as a whole, but that each and every piece of them, from their face to the smallest screws and gears, is just as valuable.

I'd even take things beyond the washing. A doll needs touch-ups and repairs don't they? I'd inspect every outer shell piece for chips in the paint or dents in the material, and fix each defect with loving care. I'd make sure each gear and piece of clockwork was in tiptop shape, and lubricate them well to insure they perform well once reinstalled.

It just sounds so perfect. I want to take care of not just a whole being, but each individual piece of them too. To love someone so fully would be truly such an intense and intimate experience. I crave that kind of intimacy so badly.

I swear it's not a sex thing when I say a spa day when you're taken apart sounds lovely. I mean this as like, any kinda body but I'm gonna put it in doll terms so I'm not just writing gore on people's feed.

Imagine being taken apart piece by piece. Arms and legs gently popped from their major sockets, revealing the universal joint inlets which have never known air, which are so normalized to the sustained grinding of ball joint against socket. How it would feel for a surface which has only ever known enclosure to be exposed to cold, fresh air. Like finally undressing after a long, exhausting day. The sheer relief of such a stifled part of you getting to finally breathe.

Can you imagine the strange tactility of your screws unwinding from their wells, rising out from where they sit deeper than skin. Your body becomes unpierced and what was once concealed surface is revealed to the world.

You're deconstructed, from the outside in, until you lie in an organized sprawl of pieces. Disassembled joints and clockwork mechanisms, disconnected outer shell lying evenly spaced for when it's time for you to return as you once were. You are no longer of one mind. A hazy consciousness spread in fuzzy fragments across all of you, no longer joined for the burden of cohesion and function. No responsibility but to bask.

Then, either piece by piece or in groups when reasonable, you're washed. Treated with adoring hands like an art or antique restoration, every single piece of you must be fresher, cleaner, ready again to meet the world with a calm smile. Even the smallest little pieces bathed in their own little tubs until the stains of age and soot have left them, your most intimate and internal faces scrubbed with soft bristles to wash away everything but your best self.

Then, with the greatest of care, you're put back together. Everything in place, working just as it should. Not a single ache or pain and full of energy. Like you'd just slept a thousand years and woke up only when you'd forgotten what tired even felt like.

Again, not a sex thing. This is like, normal and I mean this all in a "that's really nifty" kinda way. Don't get any ideas.