#shoddy construction

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Wood is wood, right?

[quietwingsinthesky]

i do not understand taylor swift i have been forced to listen to her music so much and it is never good. and im allowed to say that because i have shit music taste so if even i don’t like it, there’s got to be something wrong here.

[nitewrighter]

b...batsketball...

[queerofthedagger]

society if it didn't constantly disregard people who work nights and weekends 😐

[ladyluscinia]

Saw a cybertruck up close for the first time driving. I know this is everyone's reaction but dumbest thing I've ever seen in my life like holy fuck

[dufrau]

*and to be clear i do own other boots since i was making generalizations but yeah

Also to be clear on my end I don't judge anybody for wearing docs! I get it! They look cool! And most people buy shoes because they look cool! That is very normal and fine and you should absolutely buy and wear the things that make you happy!

I am the weird one for being obsessed with shoe construction and leather quality. I am very aware that most people are not interested or even interested in *becoming* interested in this, lol.

But to me seeing one cut open was like that video where a guy calls a computer repairman who opens up his computer to find it is full of beans 😂

[robinsnest2111]

I don't really feel up to it but I WILL get ready to go to a folk punk band gig tonight 👍

[gilmourtheapatosaur]

I work on construction sites and OSHA is also being threatened. You have no idea the amount of violations I see on site every day that will make workplace deaths skyrocket.

Keep your messaging simple:

“Trump fired everyone in charge of airplane safety, and a week later planes started crashing into each other.”

That’s it. That’s the messaging. Don’t get bogged down disputing Trump’s false claims. Just blame him, in short and repeatable sentences.

[whatthehali]

.

[itstimeforstarwars]

I hate knowing how to sew. I hate that knowing how to sew compels me to fix my own clothes when their shoddy construction destroys them cuz I don't wanna spend another fuckin thirty dollars to replace it when I have $1 of thread. Mending is the worst and it's 90% of the sewing I do these days.

[doggirlnarcolepsy]

Help Two Disabled Trans Women Survive the Holidays, Finally Move Out of Mold Hell, and Get a Fresh Start

Basically, my wife and I need to move as soon as possible. Our apartment is a death trap to stay in and our landlord is annually billing us thousands in extra heating bills because of the leaky moldy windows and shitty construction.

Multiple tenants keep contacting him regarding mold and window installation, but he just shrugs it off, does some shoddy contract work or mold removal, and charges us for it. (for reference the balcony door with the shelf was installed less than 4 years ago, 1½ years after we moved in, when the last one wouldn't close).

On top of debt from unforeseen utility bills, they slapped us with an "extra heating expenditure bill" covering all of last year and tried to charge the extra 11000dkk onto that month's rent. We managed to get them to generously negotiate a 3-month payment plan instead and they agreed (raising our rent further). The very next week they informed us that they're suddenly raising our annual base rent by almost 900dkk and monthly heating bill by 825dkk, meaning we're currently paying over $1500+ a month for a frigid mold-infested shit hole that leaves us with almost nothing to actually live off.

Please I'm begging someone to get us out of this place, it actually killing both of us after living here for almost 6 years. We're both feeling it heavily affecting our health (like my wife having to be hospitalized multiple times due to pulmonary/respiratory issues, our terrible immune systems and the constant coughing with black specks in our phlegm).

Any donations people are kind enough to share are going towards moving-out costs, damages incurred to this apartment in the 6 years we've lived here (we're both psychotic), any landlord-move-out-bullshittery they will undoubtedly try to get away with (the housing union we live in is notorious for this kind of behavior) and helping towards the new apartments security deposit/first month's rent

My Paypal: https://paypal.me/queensizeddonger

$0 / $3500

[homunculus-argument]

Any tips for clothing modification?

Start with clothes that you don't like, and try to modify them into something you'd like more. I recommend starting with some sort of a plan on what you want to achieve, and acceptance that it probably won't turn out looking exactly like that. Punk and alternative styles are very forgiving about this, it can look odd and rough, for as long as you wear it with confidence. Nobody else will know what you were trying to do, so wear it like you did it on purpose.

Don't be afraid to take things apart. If you construct something shoddy as your first attempts, you can always take it apart and use the materials for something else, for as long as they're still reasonably whole. Knowing that you can always just unmake something helps you combat the anxiety of ruining something or wasting materials. Building up skill and confidence with stuff you don't wear and/or don't like first is really important.

Also if you want to add studs and spikes onto a piece of clothing that has a separate lining layer on the inside, you should open it up and put the spikes and studs on just the top layer and then sew the lining back where it was once you're done. It's far more neat, lasts better, better for the fabric, and more comfortable to wear. I am not confident with my english sewing vocabulary, so I drew an illustration in hopes it makes sense:

[vintagebunnies]

when working as a waitress in a shoddy little diner out in the middle of nowhere, you encounter a lot of strange faces on a daily basis. the occasional truck driver stopping in for a bite to eat after 24-hours on the road, a construction worker from down the street. but nothing compares to this guy who walked in.

it was later at night, business was slow, so it was no doubt a macabre sight to see a hulking guy in a skull face balaclava walking in with a menacing aura.

it seemed like the plot of every horror movie; the lone waitress working at night getting preyed on by the scary murderer who walks in.

you could feel the hair on your arms raise as he sat down, clearly just a tad too big for the leather booth he decided to sit in at the far corner of the diner. you swallow the dry lump in your throat as you walk over to him, shoes squeaking against the sticky linoleum floors.

“do you need a moment with the menu?”

the strange man just grunts in response, your eyes flickering everywhere but the man’s face. he was looking straight at you, dead eyes staring back through a ruinous facade.

“just a tea. black.”

the man’s voice was a vibrating rumble that you could feel through your bones. you nodded with a sweet smile, trying to cover up the fear you were no doubt experiencing.

“of course.”

you quickly turn, a shiver running down your spine as you walk away. it was even more chilling knowing that it was only you and one other person working tonight, the perfect setting for a murder to take place without a single trace of the perpetrator.

you could feel the dimness of the man’s eyes searing a hole in the back of your head while you prepared his tea. your nails were impatiently tapping a soft rhythm on the countertop near the kettle.

the loud whistle of the kettle penetrated through the thick air, the sound echoing off the walls of the building. you meticulously poured the tea into the mug, sweaty hands gripping onto the porcelain while you walked it over to the man in the booth.

“would that be all?”

the man didn’t reply, just stared right into the dark color of the tea. you took that as the cue to walk away. not super talkative, gotcha.

you walked to the back of the diner where your coworker was, wanting to stay as far from the man as possible.

“would you mind closing up once he leaves?”

your heart pummeled into your stomach once you heard those words. the last thing you wanted tonight was to be left here. alone. but maybe you were just paranoid. maybe the giant, frightening man was just awkward. don’t judge a book by its cover, and all.

you stuttered out a ‘that’s fine’ before your coworker was hurriedly making their way out through the back entrance. it felt even more eerie knowing that it was just you now. you looked through the window of the door to the kitchen and just watched the man. he sat there emotionlessly, mask pulled up slightly over his mouth to sip at his tea.

you could tell there was a scar that bisected right through his lip. the puckered skin not allowing his lip to fully cover his canine. you worked up the courage to go back to the dining area, wiping the sweat off of your brow before decidedly walking out.

you cleared your throat as you stood at the man’s table.

“um… do you want the check now?”

you approached him slowly, like he was a wild animal that shouldn’t be around sudden movements. like he’d pounce any moment. sink his sharp teeth right into the soft flesh of your carotid.

you cursed yourself for even saying anything when he slowly turned to look at you, still not speaking. your eyes fluttered as you handed him the check anyways. you hastily walked away, wanting to be as far away as possible at this point. this man seemed to only know how to communicate in grunts or mean stares.

a few minutes that felt like hours passed by, you checked to see if he was still here, and by the grace of some godly force, the man was gone. you released a large exhale and went over to the table to collect the cash but… there was nothing on the table. he left without paying!

“fuckin’ bastard!”

you crumbled up the check on the table, and angrily grabbed the empty mug. you should’ve known this would happen. a strange man walking into a diner late at night, only ordering tea, and then completely disappearing without paying. a measly 3-quid wouldn’t hurt his wallet, you were sure.

either way, you had to just take it for what it was. the man was finally gone, and you could now clock out for the night. you decided to just pay the missing money yourself, you’d rather not take this problem to your boss. essentially causing more problems than not.

you sighed heavily as you got into your car, the weight of the day falling off your shoulders finally. you still had the creeps from that man, but he could just be added to the long list of shady customers.

you only got down the street from the diner before your car started to sputter. you pulled off to the side of the road, a deep and dark forest on both sides of you. you quickly hopped out of the car, popping the hood to see if you could spot anything yourself. there was no service out here, so either you would have to check for problems yourself, or just wait it out.

just as you were intently looking around, a pair of bright headlights and the loud bellow of a truck pulled up right behind your car. you recognized the face in the drivers seat as the ominous man from the diner.

you fell right into the predators territory.

[gurugirl]

The Handyman | a check-in*

Summary: You and Harry throw a housewarming party and your ex shows up with some advice for whoever built the kitchen counter. Harry makes sure to prove to you how well-built his countertops really are.

A/N: Based on this idea! Previously posted on Patreon. Read the original one shot here.

Word Count: 3,613

Warning: smut, the tiniest touch of jealousy/possessiveness

❊❊❊

You hadn’t intended for your little housewarming party to turn into a whole thing. Harry said he’d help you invite people from town, a way to make more friends and get to know some of the locals a bit better. But then when your dad told your cousin that you were throwing a small party she let it slip to someone from your past. Van, your ex. She apologized, saying she didn’t think he’d be interested until he asked for more details. But you weren’t going to be rude and uninvite anyone because the house was big enough for everyone. And you did say “open invitation” after all.

“Y/n, it’s so nice to see you again,” Van pulled you in for a hug when he arrived. You put on your nicest smile and attempted to act happy to see him. And it wasn’t that you disliked the guy but the awkwardness of dealing with an ex you hadn’t seen in a while was a bit daunting.

“Oh my gosh. You too! I’m surprised to see you here. All the way out in the middle of nowhere!” It truly was a surprise. It was an hour’s drive from the city to get to your house. And even though your cousin told you she told him and he seemed interested, you half expected he wouldn’t show up.

You made small talk with him before excusing yourself to go to the kitchen except he followed you.

“This house really does look nice, Y/n. Did you have help with all this?”

“Thank you. And yes. I had someone help with everything. Harry’s been so amazing. Listened to what I wanted but he already had his own ideas which I loved so much. Kept almost everything original.”

Van ran his palm along the butcher block island and ducked down to check the construction of the cabinets beneath, “Who’s Harry?”

“Harry owns a small company doing all kinds of work for people in town. He helped me restore the whole place and landscape. I mean, he basically did all the work but… yeah. He’s also my boyfriend.”

Van raised a brow at you, “Boyfriend huh?”

“Yep. Boyfriend. He’s actually here somewhere.”

He nodded as he inspected the window over the sink, “Not sure if you remember or not but I became an architect. Wish you’d have called me. I could have really done this place justice. Sort of feels like some of this could have been upgraded.”

“Oh? Like what?”

You caught Harry’s eye when he stood at the entry between the kitchen and the dining room as he spoke to a few people he knew.

“Well this window for example,” Van pointed, “I would have pushed this whole wall out, made a breakfast nook over the patio since there’s so much space at the front. Could have put in built-in bench seating and it would have given you so much more light in the kitchen and increased the value of the property.”

“I mean that sounds really nice but I wanted it to be original. Expanding the walls and windows like that sounds like too much. And I’m not planning on selling it so increasing the value doesn’t appeal to me.”

“I just hope he knew what he was doing. If someone’s not quite qualified you could have shoddy workmanship that shows later. Like all the cabinets and these new countertops,” he knocked on the surface, “might look fine now but give them a year and you’ll see if it’s up to par.”

Suddenly Harry was wrapping his arms around your front and kissing your neck as Van was then suggesting a rebuild of the staircase to expand the width. You placed your hands over Harry’s forearms and grinned at the feel of his lips on your skin. His distraction had almost made you forget that Van was still talking until he slowly got quieter as he looked between you and Harry and realized you were no longer listening.

Harry kept his eyes on Van as he pressed warm kisses to your neck. It was a signal to Van. You were taken and you were happy and Harry wasn’t some pushover. You were his girl and he was letting Van know.

“This the ex you were telling me about,” he whispered into your ear so Van wouldn’t hear it.

You nodded and giggled, turning to look at Harry when Van cleared his throat.

Harry stood up straight and put his hands on your shoulders, “Sorry to interrupt like that. I’m Harry, Y/n’s boyfriend. You are?”

“Oh, I’m an old friend. I’m Van,” he put his hand out to shake and Harry wrapped his big palm around Van’s with a nod.

“Nice to meet you, Van. Now, what were you suggesting I do differently?”

Van’s eyes widened slightly, “Oh… I wasn’t saying you should do anything different… it’s just that there were some ideas…”

You were no longer interested in what Van had to say at all when you felt Harry’s hand slide down to your hip. It felt like a possessive move. You’d never known Harry to be jealous or anything but that whole exchange had you seeing a bit of a different side of him.

“Definitely some good ideas, Van. But we’re happy with keeping things original. Feel free to have a look around at everything if you like. Only room off limits is our bedroom upstairs that’s locked, but otherwise, knock yourself out.”

Neither you nor Van missed Harry saying our bedroom upstairs.

“Okay. Well, thank you. Yeah, I mean I think you’ve done a great job here and…” Now Van was backtracking.

Harry nodded, “The most important thing is that Y/n is happy with how everything turned out and the quality of construction is the best,” he rapped his knuckles on the countertop, his brow raised at Van.

Van kept his distance until he left a couple of hours later, only hugging you quickly and telling you, once again, how nice it was to see you. You weren’t sure why he showed up in the first place. Maybe, being an architect, he was genuinely curious about the new house you bought and had help restoring. Or maybe he was hoping to rekindle something long gone but then was caught off guard by Harry.

“I can see why you love it here,” your cousin nudged your arm as she ogled Harry who was talking to a woman animatedly.

You laughed softly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your boyfriend, obviously. Damn. Who knew small-town men looked like that? You’re living your Lifetime movie dreams babe. Old mansion, aunt’s inheritance, hot local who helped you fix the place up falls in love with you…”

You laughed through your nose and shook your head, “I’m not saying I’m not agreeing with you but… I would have stayed here with or without Harry. He’s just the cherry on top.”

“Oh, I bet he’s the cherry on top. So…” she looked around the space and then back at you, “He’s living here with you then?”

You nodded, “Yep. When we started dating it was just kind of the natural next step. I think my dad thought it was too fast but I didn’t want to be away from him at night anymore and he didn’t like it either. I suggested that he just stay and… well that’s really it. He’s here for good. Plus he put so much love into this house. It feels like it’s just as much as his as it is mine.”

You could admit, everything looked fantastic. Harry had made your home into something you could see yourself living in until you were old and grey. Something you were proud to show off to everyone. It was a labor of love, for both of you.

. . .

When everyone had gone, you were wiping up the countertop when your sponge was plucked from your hands and Harry pulled you back into his chest, “So Van thinks the construction of this counter isn’t well done?”

You turned in his arms and grinned up at him, “You know the construction is fine. It’s the best. Don’t worry about what he said. I don’t think he could tell from just looking anyway.”

“Did you like him a lot when you two dated?” Harry pushed you gently back toward the counter, your bottom hitting the edge.

“Why? You’re not jealous are you?”

Harry licked his lips and squeezed your hips before sliding his hands up to your waist and lifting you to sit on the smooth surface you’d just wiped down. You laughed and grasped onto his shoulders.

“Of course, I’m not jealous of Mr. Architect. But I do want to demonstrate how sturdy everything is. I’m not the type to cut corners, you know…” he dragged his big hands up your sides and one up your spine until his fingers found the back of your neck, collaring you with his big palm as he bumped his nose into yours.

You giggled and pushed your arms over his shoulders, “Seriously, Harry. I know how sturdy everything is. No need to prove anything to me.”

“Mmm… I know I don’t have to prove anything,” he smoothed his lips against yours gently, and slowly with the poke of the tip of his tongue at your plush lips igniting the furnace in your tummy that always simmered with need for him. But when he got like this… with his hands on your body and his mouth prodding at yours… the simmer turned into a boil.

You felt one of his hands travel down your hips and then to your thigh where he bunched the material of your skirt in his palm until he’d pushed the fabric out of his way and teased his finger up and down along the edge of your panties next to your crotch.

Spreading your legs for him you leaned back slightly and parted from the kiss with a laugh, “We gonna do this right here, Harry?”

He splayed both of his hands over your bare thighs and squeezed. His eyelids were heavy as he roved his pupils from where he was holding your plush thighs then up to your face, “Wanna?’

You couldn’t help but giggle again and bite your lip as you nodded.

“Mmhmm… Thought you’d want to. Given how wet your panties are right here,” he pressed his thumb over the crotch of your knickers, “Bet you need it more than I do, sweetheart.”

He smeared his thumb around the material of your sodden panties, wetting the pad of his digit before finding your clit and pressing into it. A breathy pant fell from your lips.

“What got you like this, Y/n? What happened, sweetheart?”

“Nothing, just you.”

“Me? Are you sure about that?”

“Always you, Harry.”

He grinned and pushed the fabric of your panties aside as he kept his soft green eyes on you, “What about me does this to you, hmm? You just like me so much that you start dripping?”

You felt your face heat up. Harry often liked to ask you questions that got you a little shy or embarrassed when you had to answer. And even though you should be used to it by now you still got a bit antsy. But fuck if you didn’t love it.

“Yeah. I really just like you so much…”

Harry’s grin never faltered as he kept his gaze pinned to yours and pressed his thumb at the entrance of your pussy, taunting it open until he had pushed it all the way in and you gasped. He began slipping it in and pulling it out, “I know you do. And I love how much you need me,” he continued fucking you with his thumb, “How your body reacts to me. Look at you, Y/n…” he dipped his gaze down to where he was thrusting his thumb into you, “Letting me fuck you with my thumb on the countertop I installed. Making a mess of my palm and I bet the quartz under your ass too. Almost shaking you need it so bad.”

You grunted and rolled your hips up against his thumb, pressing him in further and Harry groaned at your little pathetic wiggle.

Releasing one of your thighs he hooked a finger into the bottom hem of your blouse and pushed upward, “Arms up.”

Raising your arms overhead harry pulled the shirt from your torso and then pulled your bra down, exposing your tits one at a time until you were pouring out over the stretchy material. With his thumb still inside of you, he ducked down and wrapped his lips over your nipple, tongue first.

You moaned and closed your eyes when Harry moved to your other breast, pumping his thumb through your walls until it was all gushy sounding. He stood back, pulling his thumb from you and then bringing it up to his mouth, wrapping his lips around it to lick off every drop of you while his other hand worked at his button to get his pants undone.

There you sat at the edge of the counter with your legs spread and your wet pussy on display. Your panties were stretched to the side and out of the way but you could feel the elastic digging into the back of your thigh and your bum.

Harry pulled himself out of his pants, his gorgeous cock already at full mast and ready to split you in half. He cradled the underside of his shaft as he stepped in toward you and held your thigh in place as he smudged his tip into your labia, spreading your arousal through your crease. The dirty look on his face was heated, like he was about to overtake every part of you.

“Hold onto my back, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you on this well-made countertop now,” he smirked at you cheekily.

You would have laughed but you were already feeling his tip at your pulsing muscle and the anticipation of him stretching you open was making your head spin.

He rocked forward, his thick crown penetrating you and opening you up as he stuffed himself in. It took a few pumps of his cock in and out to burry into the hilt. He gasped when he felt your pussy devour him whole.

Your fingers clung to his back as he began to thrust, long and languid, wet and hot.

“Fucking hell… Got me so weak for you, sweetheart. So desperate to feel you around me all the time. Wanted to fuck you on this counter right in front of your ex-architect so he could see who’s fucking you these days, who’s treating you right…”

You moaned with every deep nudge of his cock through your wet channel. But when he ran his thumb over your clit you croaked out loudly, “Fuck! Yes…”

“See? Look how good I am to you… give you the best don’t I?”

You nodded, “The best, Harry…”

He crashed his lips to yours as he worked your cunt with his cock and his thumb and the languid thrusts turned into frantic jerking motions with his tip nudging into your guts, a hint of pain spreading through your insides at the way he bullied his thick length into you. He rocked his hips against you, the sound of smacking flesh and muffled moans between kisses filtered out through the open window onto your porch. Luckily you had no neighbors anywhere near so no one would know the kinds of things that went on in that old house every evening.

Your thighs were trembling with every swipe of his thumb at your clit and every dip of his cock through your insides.

“Gonna come for me already? Yeah? Fuck, baby…” he was swollen and leaking as he shoved into you. The feel of you wrapped tight around him was always heaven. His favorite.

You whined loudly, the build-up of your orgasm was unable to be stopped as you let him ravage your pussy however he liked. Pat-pat-pat… the sound of wet pussy getting fucked was a typical soundtrack in your house just about every night.

Harry ran a big paw over your tits and squeezed as he pounded into you. The counter under you never budging.

When your pussy began to squeeze and flutter and spasm and your mouth dropped open wide you let out a pitiful cry and dug your fingertips into the taut muscle of his back as you gushed on his big cock.

He only increased his pace as he fucked into you and watched your pretty face twist up in ecstasy. He loved watching you come. It only fed his ego to see such a pretty thing with your face all scrunched and lips curled and wet as you quivered in your orgasm.

He hissed to hold himself back as he felt your pussy slobbering arousal all over his dick. He’d have loved to unload his come right then but he wanted to force another orgasm from you before he allowed himself the satisfaction of coming yet.

When you felt him slow his thrusts you could hear him cooing at you, “Good girl. Fuck baby almost made me come you look so pretty like this.”

You lulled your head up to look at him and he smoothed his lips against yours as he stilled his hips, cock lodged deep inside of your tummy.

“Gonna have you bend over now, okay? Put your feet on this stool if you need it,” he dragged the stool next to his foot toward the counter for you. And with wobbly limbs, you adjusted your seating, turning over so your hips were face down against the counter top and Harry quickly placed his big palms on the round of your ass, pulling you apart so he could see your pussy and anus.

He inhaled sharply as he ran a finger through your folds and you jolted from being so sensitive, “Easy, sweetheart… This is gonna feel good once I get going. You ready?”

You nodded into the crook of your arm and let out a muffled yes as he nudged his cock against you again.

His fingers dug into the meaty soft part of your thighs before he split you open, burying in balls deep on first pass.

You grunted and braced yourself as he began to plunge through your insides, wet strokes of his long cock filling you and then pulling back to his tip on repeat.

“Ooh… shit, sweetheart. So fucking pretty…” he pulled at your ass cheeks and railed into you. You knew he was sweating already, he was giving it his all, using his strong muscles to fuck himself into you and panting breaths every time his balls smushed into your pussy.

You began to feel that fuzzy little prickle spread over your core with every stroke of his cock. The ridges of his bare dick always fit into your crevices and little spots like he was made to snug inside of you and get you off just like that. Your g-spot was never left unloved with the shape of Harry’s cock, his tip always dipping right into it with every pass.

He began to grunt with every glide of his hips, his cock being massaged by your warm walls making his balls tighten and his heart pound the closer he got to his end.

The sight of your pussy sucking him in, lips wrapped around his thick shaft and leaving creamy arousal along his length was just as hot as the way you felt encasing him. But of course, there was the scent and the sound as well. It was lewd. All his senses were burning and singing as he fucked into you.

“Ahh!” You moaned and began to push back against his thrusts, desperate for your next orgasm as it was approaching fast.

Arousal dripped down your inner thighs as he rutted into you, his pace growing sloppy and erratic as he could tell you were about to come.

And the moment you gurgled a wet moan and he could feel you clamping down he gasped and gripped onto your hips, moving you over his cock like you were a toy to fuck, he pulled your ass against his hips and then upward along his cock before slamming you against him again, smearing your pussy juice on the countertop as he did so. You cried out and convulsed around him as Harry finally pumped into you, pulling you back against him until he was stuffed into you as deep as he could reach and released every drop of himself into you.

He groaned as he came into your warm, cozy pussy, pumping strings of his come through your slimy arousal-coated cunt.

Harry made getting off easy. You’d never been one to come so fast or so easy but you were convinced his cock was shaped exactly like you needed. You reached back to take his hand as Harry leaned over your back and kissed your neck, “Pussy fucked and stuffed and countertop sturdy as a rock,” he laughed.

You giggled and arched your back to attempt to move yourself, the position was not the most comfortable after all.

Harry helped you down and held onto you so you wouldn’t fall and you both laughed again when you turned to face him, knowing you had mascara down your cheeks.

He cupped your face and grinned at you, “This is the best housewarming party I’ve ever been to.”

You pointed at the counter he’d just fucked you on and chuckled, “And that is the sturdiest kitchen counter anyone will ever see.”

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[hrrtshape]

If u had to write a shifting essay with 500 word limit, how would u write? What would u write?

Can we see a little shifting essay from u.

my silly little shifting gospel. how i walked on water (and into another reality).

let's start with the premise that reality is less a fixed structure and more a negligent landlord. a shoddy little shoebox of perception held together with cognitive duct tape, flickering between objective and subjective like a dying lightbulb. that’s the thing about shifting!!!! once you realise the scaffolding of your own existence is essentially papier-mâché, all it takes is a particularly determined gust of wind to knock you into another version of the same tragicomedy.

now, the theory. ahem. where are my fancy glasses. quantum jumping, reality shifting, reality immersion. pick your poison, they all circle the same drain. the idea that you can, enough intention, enough delusional self-assurance, step sideways into a different narrative. maybe it’s a marauders-era england where the air permanently smells like ink and chocolate. maybe it’s versailles, a perpetual dusk of powdered wigs and carefully orchestrated infidelity. maybe it’s a twin peaks of your own design, all red curtains and whispered prophecies. because, you know, the owls are here or whatever. regardless, the mechanics remain the same: you assume the role, you construct the thoughts, and if you do it confidently enough, reality takes a bow and lets you through the stage door.

people will ask. for obvious reasons. (how) does it work? which is a question with the same absurdity as ‘is art real?’ does shifting work the way a microwave works? no. but does it work the way a poem does? the way a performance does? the way love, grief, nostalgia work, messy, unquantifiable, felt more than seen? yes. shifting is not the scientific method, it's not like it's peer-reviewed. it is the theatre of the mind, and the critics are you, yourself, and the occasional manifestation coach with a three-hour youtube video explaining how water holds memory.

the brain is an unreliable narrator at best, a full-blown method actor at worst. we already shift, constantly. slipping into reverie mid-conversation, feeling like a different person in a different city, mourning something that never happened but should have. so why not take the con further? why not dress the part, rehearse the lines, make the lie so elaborate it turns into truth? manifestation is nothing more than the stubborn refusal to acknowledge the existing terms and conditions of being alive.

it is, to be perfectly clear, deeply unserious. and yet. so is the universe. einstein called time an illusion, descartes doubted his own hands, and let’s not even start on plato’s cave allegory, which is basically just ‘the truman show’ for ancient greeks. if reality itself is built on a shaky premise, what crime is it to write yourself a better one?

shifting is the art of treating reality like an improv scene. yes, and. yes, and i will slip between timelines like a card shark palming an ace. yes, and i will recalibrate the coordinates of my own existence because what is the alternative? to sit in the audience while the play goes on without me? to let the director’s cut be final? no. absolutely not. i want to be the one with the flowers in my hands.

in the end, shifting is not about physics, nor is it about dreams. it is about authorship. about stealing the pen back from the hands of whatever lazy ghostwriter has been in charge of your script thus far. it is not escapism. well, if you wish it to be, then so it shall be. but. it is creative direction. you are not running away, you are rewriting.

and if you do it right, if you really commit, you just might wake up one day in a world that finally feels like yours.

take a bow. curtain call. lights out.

[felikatze]

the more i try to interpret art of any kind the more i grow to hate "it just doesn't make sense" as criticism

because very often it's not used to talk about fumbled execution. it's not about scene-to-scene inconsistency, it's not about contradictions, it's denying intent

criticism like "it just doesn't make sense" "it's just bad writing" and similar are ways to shut down any attempts to actually interface with a given work. it is denying it any authorial intent. it is denying a work coherence, it is denying a work purpose, impact.

"it just doesn't make sense" does it? or are you refusing to draw conclusions out of what is given to you?

"it just doesn't make sense" and does that matter? does the beat by beat sensicality of a work matter if it still manages to draw a reaction out of you? did you understand what themes it talked about? did it make you feel something? did it provoke thought in you?

well. did it? if so, what does it matter? many "nonsensical" works flirt with the esoteric on purpose, prioritizing impact over coherence, and that is not just "what drugs were they on when they made this", it is a deliberate choice.

"it's just bad writing" is a related, albeit still different, complaint, that also shuts down intent. similarly, it regards a work as Inherently Flawed. Just like lack of sense must be merely shoddy construction in all cases, bad writing cannot deign to tell any story at all.

so much of criticism is just a refusal to meet stories and art as a whole from the place it is speaking from. i fucking beg. think about the works you engage with. what do they make me feel? what aspects of them make me feel this way? what message is it trying to tell? how is this being told?

YES flawed execution and genuine plot holes (as in, failure to convey information to the detriment of the work) do exist and do deserve criticism, but even if a work is flawed in this way, try and look beyond that, to see what it does deliver on. because a lot of the time, you can still find that grain of good in something slapdash and terrible.