#trashpunks

[ezilis-respite-farm-sanctuary]

We have been honing our salvage game for sometime now and this has got to be one of the most immediately functional pieces that we've been able to add to the land, for free, from the side of the road.

This beautiful desktop piece had no legs and is only missing one drawer. Titan built in the legs with painstaking measurements, and I decked it out with all of our DIY Veterinary supplies. Because honestly, buying needles and supplements and medicines on yr own dime is a hell of a lot cheaper than a veterinary visit to the farm. And cheaper than losing livestock. Though we do want to try to have a vet visit happen at least once a year if not quarterly.

The craftsman turning barstool work chair we got for $10 at a neighbor's yard sale the first year we moved here. They're flying trump signs now...I haven't been back to a yard sale there since. However, the chair has let me perch and be versatile when I've been on my feet for too long. (Also, the wheelchair is on its way!)

Anyway, super excited about the barn office, veterinary office, and the ISO section is included in here as well.

Feeling a bit more capable, day by day,

KX

[redemptioninterlude]

@trashpunks - apollo gets a starter bc welcome back bitch, t-minus 26 days until we reunited for govball !

nails drum against the side of the scaffolding ; expression hard to read. but he can sense the ANNOYANCE that rolls off of her in waves, perhaps only because it was squarely, and directly, aimed towards him. teeth grit, but she's got her eye on the prize, finger still against the trigger as she's left peering down the scope of her rifle, breath caught within her lungs before there.

squeeze - she makes the shot, not a second of hesitation marked within this as she watches long enough for the body to drop, exhaling in a shuttering gasp. it takes all of that moment for her head to whip to the side, triumph written grimly within her expression. "and that makes FOUR. i think that's our tiebreaker, isn't it?" she lets him come with her on this assignment, knowing he'd know how to handle himself, but what she didn't expect? was the competition of it. but wasn't that why she fucking loved him? violence and all? "drinks are on you, darling."

- @trashpunks

[helldidntwantme]

Every time I see people use brand new paper for junk journals, handmade paper, recycling crafts etc I cringe inside. It hurts. You are missing the point. If you just want to make the thing with new things, then do that. Otherwise you are missing the point

[trashpandapunk]

Received a box of "trash" laptops last year because "your into computer stuff right?" and we have been fixing them up so we can get some working computers into the hands of the local community, instead of the garbage pile. Only had two that weren't functional. Those were broken down for parts, and the other ones got wipes, new operating systems, and put on listing's for the local community.

one of the "trash" laptops this week, an old 32bit Dell, found a new home with a local 🇮🇳 Indian couple. Despite the language barrier, using Google translate, we managed to get their new accounts set up. And walked them through how to use it. This wouldn't have been possible without translation technologies. They love their computer, and Im happy to have made some new friend's. All because someone decided to hand us a box of "trash".

[bucklemonster2]

Beautiful Dystopic Future Dream

I had a wonderful dream tonight. It as about a future where the world were just big concrete street ‘cables’ in the blue air. It was one big collection of cement ‘webs’ above each other in the sky. The ‘strings’ were colourful streets, filled with all kinds of vibrant trash. They were all houses and small apartments under a pile of trash. The overall colour was a soft yellow, with hints of red, rust but mostly all kinds of colours. On the streets walked humans and robots. Teens ran around in gangs, and police with techno equipment tried to find them. The cables would move above each other, as if slowly rotating around something, maybe because of the wind? Above each street (string) would be an electrical cable (giving people electricity further away, I assume). Sometimes there would be a fire, because of all the trash and gasses build within it, the fire would spread rapidly. Then pieces of flaming garbage and stones would fall down. Causing a ‘fire rain.’ This is dangerous it could cause a downwards cascade of flaming streets. People would yell ‘fire raaain! fire raaain!’ and hide inside. I assume, in this scifi / fantasy future the earth was either destroyed into different pieces, causing humans to connect the world with these ‘webs’ which overtime got full of trash. Or people, due to overpopulation, started building huge skyscrapers towards space, connecting them with a fabric of concrete streets. Each skyscraper would be like the center of a web, or a tree. It was wonderful to see trough a dream, but I hope this future NEVER becomes a reality. A world full of trash in gangs, is not something to strive for. If you want to use this world, for a story, game, whatever. Feel free, but please mention my name Emilia Sameyn as an inspiration :)

[kleptopunk]

Trashpunk dirtbag date night, Nomad style ✨👄(*FLUID dress mod by @pinkyjulien!!)

2077.0904._SunsetMotel-RedPeaks-Badlands

[proosh]

yes Gil is a trashpunk metalhead but I do strongly think he's a big fan of jazz and swing and has been from the 20's

[rawvnoisevcruster]

Trashpunker thrash

(Pics by @ edas_camera on ig)

[nekogorogoro]

Well, they changed Zero's look again

AND I LOVE IT!

Like the original, but shinier. Still, the trashpunk look is my favorite. This is far better built though.

Watching Zero go through that though... 💔

[ofchaotics]

hi i feel like .. . . my activity has been so bonkers bc a) i got a new job and immediately got promoted so my entire life has just been work and crying and b) i am in the process of moving to my own lil apartment and have been both mentally n physically drained of my will 2 exist outside of surviving but . . . . . . . . . .

i am Back <3 hope none of u missed me too bad :p

and.... in particular l*na fashion i've decided to go ahead and revamp a few more single muse blogs because i have zero impulse control. though, obviously, mateo is my main focus bc nothing i do can rid me of this brain eating parasite... anywayyayayayayayY!Y!Y!YY!Y!

UPDATED BLOGROLL : @trashpunks / @flwrschild

[bestfuckinmusic]

C.F.D.L. - Trashpunker Thrash - 2009

Great Japanese hardcore, opener is a real slow, grower. Song 3 is called “Tofu Song” - so what’s not to like???

[beepboop260]

Read Gokushufudou (Way of the House Husband) for funny slice-of-life married to a former yakuza kingpin, or read Dorohedoro for visceral art depicting adult magical combat in a trashpunk universe.

Oh I do actually want to read way of the househusband! Ty for reminding me.

I do enjoy me some good gore. I do also know dorohedoro has an anime adaptation that I think I may have access to.

[a-demonic-duck-of-some-sort]

Just described myself out loud to my roommate as a “trashpunk girlfag” and while I’m not wrong in my assessment I may need to be put down

[garretschuelke]

This month, Garret heads out the farm--a QUAKER farm, in fact--to meet up with farmer, activist, counselor, and performance artist Scot Miller, to talk about The Sandhill Project--its beginnings, mission, core values, and how it operates--, his coming to the Quaker faith, and his friendship and experiences performing with trashpunk legends LOSER CANDY. On top of all that, Scot shows Garret one of the biggest cow turds he has ever laid eyes on :O

Recorded at The Sandhill Project farm in Hastings, Michigan, on Saturday, February 4th, 2024.

Intro Song: “Poopin' on the Clock" by Jester of No Court

Outro Song: "The Cemetery" by twin deer

All songs used with permission.

Rest in Peace, Wayne Kramer

[keepitsharp]

@trashpunks liked for a starter !!

There was something about trying the food of a competitor.

Waiting for it to be delivered, Carmen pulled the lip of his cap lower to obscure more of his face, and adjusted the sleeves of his coat to hide any telltale tattoos. Not that he thought he'd be recognized; the photo from the award he'd won more than a year ago was, in the face of everything else people were famous for, completely inconsequential to the public at large. But... he liked the feeling of anonymity in this city. It wasn't a method of recognition prevention so much as the principle of the thing.

And maybe he didn't want to be recognized as just himself either. Some old neighbour or acquaintance from high school who would call out 'Carmy, is that you?' and then proceed with small talk until they got to the inevitable 'I'm sorry to hear about your brother.' There was a strange sort of expectation that he'd rush in to fill the awkward silence afterwards to make the other person feel good about bringing it up. Why the burden of segueing from death to casual chat was placed on the person who hadn't brought it up in the first place was beyond him.

But food wasn't. Beyond him, that was. He knew it intimately in a way few people did; yeah, taste was important, but there was so much more. Texture, temperature, presentation, garnishing, aftertaste, complementary dishes. He knew mints weren't just for fresh breath - the best restaurants made sure they were made with true peppermint because it was a digestive aid, and if you felt good after a meal it made your memories of it fonder. If you were making something using chilis, you should balance it out with something sweet post-meal to dilute the capsaicin in your system. Olive oil was important; most of the cheap shit from stores was actually expired, but if you used fresh stuff—imported from Italy was best—it could make or break a dish.

He knew... so much. Not everything, but enough, enough that when the place's signature was put in front of him, he could tell this wasn't some uninspired restaurant created by a failed chef looking for a quick buck. The presentation was crisp, and a quick stab of his fork told him the texture wasn't all messed up by cooking too long or too short. This called for him to pull off the cap and drop it on the chair beside him out of respect, keeping his head down as he took a first bite.

And...

Fuck.

His first thought was that yeah, he could beat this motherfucker. If he went back to his kitchen now, if he started from scratch, he could come up with something better. He wanted to. His stomach burned, his breathing was off, and a general feeling of unstillness had him rubbing the sweat from his free palm on his jeans. Sleep could wait, the outside world could wait, he wanted to cook up something better right fucking now—

No, no, no. The stress of being that competitive wasn't healthy, it could burn a person out. Yes, the chef behind this dish was a pro and it tasted so good Carmen wanted to throw himself headfirst into doing better, and yes, there was something adrenaline-inducing about having to prove he was the best, but this was just about seeing what was around. It was for The Bear, it wasn't personal. And The Bear didn't need to be the best, anyway, it just had to... to work out. He had nothing to prove.

"Yo!" he called to a server, unable to stop himself. Shit, this was stupid. It made him feel dirty to ask, like he was a junky scratching at pocked skin and pleading for a fix, but his voice forced itself out against his better judgement. "The, uh, the chef who came up with this dish, head, executive, whoever made it. They here? Can I see them for a sec? Only if they've got the time."

[savagecuhnt]

@trashpunks​ liked for a starter

 an unlit cigarette lies between bloodied knuckles as the which leans her head back against the cool brick wall. There’s an half empty bottle of whiskey between her legs and an obvious wound on her thigh, but she could care less of the damage she’s taken, at this point there’s only one thing she needs... “Hey!” she calls out to the other, “Yeah you...you got a light?”