#unimaginaries

[ofbutterflies]

closed: @unimaginariies who: elena & jude where: the park

after a t e x t e x c h a n g e, elena met the person claiming to be her son. if there was even a f r a c t i o n of a chance that it was true? she had to see it, to meet him. the vampire was quick on her feet and quiet. her hands hang at her sides, s l i d i n g over her jeans as she approached. ❝ are.. are you j u d e ? ❞

[tyreynolds]

"Uh huh. Don't need you, don't need anybody."

Despite the detached nature of his declaration, his eyes did still flicker from hers down to her lips, the proximity making them look tempting as ever. He has to remind himself that he's on the clock and one more poor decision was likely to end up in him being turfed out.

( He didn't need the money, but he needed a reason for his father to express his innate disappointment in him even less. )

He straightens up to grab two shot glasses, one placed in front of Dilan and the other lingering in front of him on his side of the bar. He decides tequila felt like the right wave for the evening, taking a bottle of Jose Cuervo from the row of options behind him and pouring them each a measure. He puts a few lime wedges into another shot glass that he places between their two, grabbing the salt to put beside it next.

"Customer's always right, so they tell me. Cheers," He grins, licking the back of his hand so he could salt it, repeating the motion so the salt coated his tongue before he lifts his tequila shot and downs it fast.

@unimaginariies

a mock gasp escaped from her lips, bright hues dancing with amusement as her gaze never left his, " RUDE. are you saying you don't need me? and here i thought, i was in disposable. i'm an amazing friend, i provide you with quality instagram content, i'm your bodyguard AND i'm a great lay. " dilan matches his lean with one of her own so that their faces are inches apart, smirk still evident on her features, " where's the loyalty, ty? " she gave a roll of her eyes, " lackluster thank you. free drink would have been better. " dilan hopped up so that she's seated on the bar, thankfully it wasn't a crowded night and the photojournalist could get up to her usual antics without having to worry about ty getting into trouble. " shots first, decisions after. i'm still brainstorming what i want to do with you. "

[saikikthoughts]

Imagine if Kaido found out that dark reunion did exist but it was Saiki, like if he found out that Saiki was the one to spray paint the dark reunion logo on the wall of that empty classroom where that kid stole his homework and wallet, or if Kaido found out Saiki was the one who terrified that fake fortune teller into giving him a refund on that ripoff necklace by making her believe in the dark reunion.

What if Kaido realized the dark reunion was real but only existed to help him, only existed as protection between him and the person he wanted most to be his friend. What if Kaido knew the loner he saw a kinship with in the beginning of his 1st second year of high school knew all along that he wasn’t a real superhero but became the supervillain anyway to support him.

What if Kaido knew Saiki was the reason he got to have superpowers for a split second to defeat Murder Dragoram Snake?

What if dark reunion still was the thing that went bump in the night but protected Kaido from the harms in the light?

[travelinglibrariansdesk]

Two Awesome Picture Books Rather Different in Nature

Another terrific title I could not resist when circulating books today: Dan Santat's The Adventures of Beekle, the Unimaginary Friend. The story opens on the Island of Imaginary Friends (not to be confused with the Island of Misfit Toys!), and this grabbed me immediately - what a lovely idea! Plus - "Beekle". What a perfect name for an imaginary friend. The story is otherwise fairly predictable, the illustrations pleasant, but in a few places, like the whale-filled ocean over which Beekle sails to find the real world, the dazzling sea monster and the glorious tree he eventually climbs to look for "his" friend, the art is dazzling. Likewise, the text is somewhat uneven. Beekle and his friend Alice get to know one another through a series of funny, awkward and creative moments, yet Santat also employs sentences like "He sailed through unknown waters and faced many scary things.". Ugh. Lazy writing frustrates the heck out of me as a teacher of literature. "Many scary things" just begs for elaboration. No decent editor just lets such a sentence sit there, and no harm would have come to the story in a few more pages! Beekle himself reminds me of an adipose - a creature from the "Partners in Crime" episode of Doctor Who - sweet face, the body of a soft rubber squeaky toy, waddling movements. I would choose this book for shyer kids, especially if they already have imaginary friends, because it endorses proactive behavior: if there's something you want, don't wait for it to come to you - go get it!

Kabir Sehgal and Surishtha Sehgal's book The Wheels on the Tuk Tuk takes the familiar song "The Wheels on the Bus" and adapts it for India (though it could be almost anywhere in the developing world - most of them have tuk-tuks of some sort). The fun in this book is the details of the adapted song, though I enjoyed the art as well. But lines like "People on the street jump on and off", "Tuk tuk walla says squish in together" and "Tuk tuk walla sips-sips chai" just created a happy feeling, reminding me of all the tuk tuks I've jumped on and off of. Even if this book is alien to your own (American) culture, the song is practically an earworm, and songs are a terrific way to teach anything, including the details of another culture.

There's one other book I'm going to comment on today: Bettina Love's Punished for Dreaming: How School Reform Harms Black Children and How We Heal. I haven't read an education book for a while because it seems fruitless and painful to fill my head with ideas (which is what happens when I read books on education) of how to improve my teaching when I'll never see the inside of a classroom again. However, since I agree with the premise, I snatched the book. Since probably the majority of school reform ideas come out of the heads of white, reasonably well- or over-educated politicians, they very often don't take into account variables well-known to the teachers of underprivileged, black, brown or simply poor rural white students. This mismatch leads to thousands of misspent dollars and hours on ideas that had no hope of affecting the students they (possibly) intend to help. I'm looking forward to Love's new ideas, even if I can't implement any of them myself.

[hcfiles]

Epstein and P. Diddy are both the tip of the iceberg. They are pawns sacrificed to keep the real Hollywood business and popes underground. There are many others like them in Hollywood. When Epstein was arrested they tried to avoid the media from exposing their secrets by creating the suicide narrative, giving the illusion all the problems were gone and solved with his death (?).

No one spoke about the financial deals behind the scandals of the outrageous abuses against minors (Horrible crimes!), used as a diversion to hide much more. But, like Epstein, there are many others in Hollywood to whom a certain freedom of action is given so they can feed the greed, the vanity and Ego of politicians and celebs as a bridge between them and suppliers, when actually being a distraction to hide the real deal behind the celebs and politicians' pornography and drug use habits.

There is something much bigger going on behind cameras, weird sex habits and drug addiction. And this glamorous Hollywood world of fame is just a parallel business hiding much more hideous secrets and crimes. The truths behind what's seen and heard is unbelievable and unimaginary. The scandals you see and hear about, are real, but used as distractions to deviate your attention, make you look the other way and avoid you from seeing the truth.

Concerning this P. Diddy "thing", for example, all of a sudden, many celebs are coming out to tell their stories and experiences at P. Diddy's parties, of course, trying to clean their rep afraid of being named as participants of the after-party stories, but also building a distraction, while tape audios of the supposed after-parties are being exposed. Have you wondered why?

Simple. People love a juicy sex tea and, while they are entertained with the thought of which celeb shared the bed with P. Diddy and which used his baby oil, other questions are avoided, the real deal remains secretly locked and no one realizes there are some others like P. Diddy, Epstein, and others above them on the chain, managing and commiting much scandalous and hideous crimes.

[the-unaliver]

Reader X Unaliver Fanfic

By be :)

Part 1: Planning (581 words)

Detective Ramírez is pissed. Like, pissed pissed. So pissed that even the yellowest of pisses would still crown him the pissiest.

He is staring at you while clutching a small red folder (a colour usually used to identify unalivers, you recall). 'So, y/n. You have been arrested due to shoplifting.' Ahhh, yeah. You just felt like picking that ATOMSTACK X20 Pro 130 W Laser Graviermaschine 20W Leistung mit F30 Pro Air Assist Kit 3 in 1 Offline wifi Bildschirm APP Gravur mit R1 Roller Gravieren von unregelmäßigen Gegenstände, for some reason, and hid it in your bag. Unfortunately the guy that owned the shop wasn't stupid and brought you to the police. Anyways.

Ramírez lets a tired sigh out, as he rubs his temples. He clearly does not want to be there. At all. 'Usually we'd just iniciate a long and very tedious process of lawyers, judges and so on, but I- really need someone's help today. I need someone as bland, boring, and normal looking as possible, and you are precisely that.' You do not know if you should feel offended or not, but you let him continue. A way out of prision? Yes, please.

He slides the folder over to you. You can see that, written over the red cardboard in ballpoint pen is the name 'Gregor Ansa'. A small picture of a random guy holds to it thanks to a paperclip. The guy looks like someone who'd sell insurance to old people, but there is some weird spark in his eyes as he smiles at the unimaginary camera, or fourth wall, or, well, you in this case. 'I need you to arrest this man for me.' Ramírez says through gritted teeth, tapping the picture. 'He is one hell of a slippery bastard, and, truth be told, I don't think I could stand even seeing him without it ending with me in HR again.' He does not elaborate.

You look back down at the picture, considering your options. One, either go to prision yet again, and risk your mortal enemy, the Rattler, spotting and killing you (well. She's everyone's mortal enemy, truth be told. But still.) Or, two, go through whatever plan the detective has, and go back to your cave.

'I'll do it.'

Ramírez doesn't even look relieved or anything. He nods in silence, and flips the whiteboard next to him with a flourish (you bet he had been waiting to do that). A rather elaborate looking scheme has been angrily scribbled onto it, with big blue bold letters stating 'GET HIS ASS: GAY BAR AND VIOLENCE'.

Ramírez, looking rather proud of his little scribbles, looks back at you with a frown. 'You are going to pretend to date that bastard and then knock him out the moment he lets his guard down. He may act all stupid, but, do not be fooled.' He grumbles. 'I am sure that damn fucker might be one of the smartest and most dangerous guys in this damn century. Maybe even more than the Rattler.'

Ok, wow, that's a rather- big statement. But sure. Whatever. Anything to keep out of jail.

You give the picture a final glance, before reading through the files the detective has given you.

The picture, yet again, stares back. You don't know why, but you feel like tonight's going to be memorable. And, judging by this Gregor guy's smile, he probably feels like it is going to be fun as well. Well. The picture does, at least.

[zorkaya-moved]

“   i’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.  ”

@etherealguard

The journey across the worlds will take a toll even on the toughest of minds when their soul and their body have gone through unimaginary mutations, changes, and continue to feel like a cracking shell. There is an endless path paved for her to walk, following the flower buds and hearing the gentle singing of bells behind her back. The sight of gemstone eyes of Origin will always remind her of the promise made and a need to go forward until the final chapter will be reached.

The understanding of reincarnation puts a saddening layer over her interaction with Dan Heng. Reincarnation or expys, she wonders if he was actually her son in her own world with how she'd seen people who looked just like her dearest comrades, friends, enemies, and even ... lovers. Was he just like those faces one she already encountered before? A strong gaze, a soft-spoken voice with power laced in each note and syllable, and a familiar tall height and dark hair. The sharpest of spears, such a familiar and nostalgic sight but she cannot remember the face. Not anymore.

"I was thinking of giving some of my memories to the Garden of Recollection," the woman speaks up, looking outside at the stars flickering outside of the Astral Express. If she will lose them altogether in the mud of her own existence, why not crystalize what Garden of Recollection wants so desperately? Not all memories will be allowed, but Dan Heng must know that her even thinking about it means something quite dire. For Zarina Sokolova to give out anything of hers? Especially something so personal? A truly tragic event to witness. "Fifty thousand years... My memories are blurry in some cases at best, but maybe Garden of Recollection can keep them protected from forgetting."

The story of the Thirteen must not be forgotten.

"Would you give Fuli your memories if it meant they'll live forever, Dan Heng? The people you've met, the stories you've heard, the experience you've gone through. Or would you want for those stories to die with you in this incarnation?" It must be different for him as a Vidyadhara. It seems both like death but also not. A new existence and a new person will rise up, but the same appearance. No, it's still death. It's still death and a new person will arise, not anyone who you meet. "There is a story... I don't want anyone to forget, not even myself."

[jesterjamz]

[autoimmunechronicles]

Recently, I find myself having to 'prove' my disease, symptoms, and pain to others as though to make them and myself believe that it's INDEED real. (to my fellow warriors, your disease and pain is enough-- you're enough)

I feel in my bones the doubts and judgements (even myself) that sows the seeds of negative emotions affecting my mental health.

Why does my disability have to be recognized and supported in the first place?

Here are my thoughts:

I DO NOT have to prove my pain and disease to anyone -

My "invisible" but very real, unimaginary illness exists. I feel pain 24/7. Some people do not (even try to) understand and have a distorted and disproportionate expectations.

2) We just want the support of the people dear to us.

People surviving with chronic illness face challenges that are inconceivable to normal and/or healthy people.

Often times, family and friends tend to make insensitive or thoughtless remarks or even requests that exhaustively impact our well-being.

3) We are dis-ABLE-d

Inspite of the awful unpredictable nature of autoimmune diseases, there are moments, hours, or even days of "low pain". Sometimes it lasts for a short period of time, sometimes not.

Personally, whenever I do not feel crackling pains, (chronic & extreme) fatigue, weakness and have all the limited energy (SPOONS) to move around and carry out chores, I DO THEM. I AM ABLE TO DO THEM.

To put it briefly, even through pain, I can carry out chores that I DEEM AM ABLE TO ACCOMPLISH. Otherwise, I will NOT carry through or postpone the tasks / activities.

In my experience, I do feel that I am a burden when it comes to contributing to house works and chores nowadays. I am not WHO and WHAT I used to be -- as much as I want to move I feel extremely guilty for not being able to do so. But I do remind myself that autoimmune in general cannot be prevented and there's only so much that I can do.

THAT IS WHY when I CAN, I DO.

4) Stop putting labels and words in our mouths:

When we are trying to help out and contribute, please do not be so insensitive as to say what we CAN and CANNOT do.

Believe us when we say we wen and DO NOT ASSUME THAT WE CANNOT.

Example: You see us washing the dishes then suddenly you would remark "You are not able to do that." YES WE CAN, WHEN WE CAN.

Yes we are disabled and each and every one of us have different diagnoses, symptoms, limitations -- but we continue to fight and make things work everyday. Chronically ill people are creative, smart, innovative, and are masters of life!

We are only disabled because of our illness and its complications which might prevent us to perform, live, and interact with the rest of the world in what's perceived to be in a normal way.

But please, we will appreciate it if we you can also give us the space to fully appreciate being ABLED.

Caveat: Please do not gaslight or get AGGRESSIVE and make degratory remarks or make your loved one feel guilty for not being able to perform normal tasks that may seem easy, fast, or normal to you.

In my case, I am able to cook, clean, and do chores but in a very, very slow and painful phase requiring rest every 5 minutes as I tend to be fantastically exhausted.

(Yes, 10 steps is exhausting enough for me. Legs crack up, lungs requiring deep breathes. But I STILL DO, I endure when I can.)

5) We appreciate all the emotional, physical, and financial support extended to us

Every single effort to help, support, and understand our condition is wholeheartedly appreciated!

Most importantly, especially to the family members, it would mean a lot if we can make an effort to really learn and work on knowing the specific autoimmune disease your loved ones have.

We are also trying to learn more about our disease everyday. Autoimmune is still a big mystery even to the medical community.

6) We DO NOT NEED unsolicited advise or opinions you heard online from herbal doctors or those who are "HEALED" or "CURED" of the disease

We do understand that a healthy and balanced diet is important but you also have to remember that:

+ Autoimmune diseases are incurable. It can only be managed.

+ Each patient / fighter are experiencing different symptoms. No TWO LUPUS patients' experiences and symptoms and treatments are the same.

+ There is no "GETTING BETTER." We do not enjoy the pain, but realistically, this only upsets us.

+ If there was one single herb and diet restrictions that works, all of us would have been cured, healed.

Nonetheless, we know your intentions mean well! :)

[libidomechanica]

Then there is obsolete

Their Gods disgrac’d, and thus, ye meadows sear! And join’d to pique herself, or other realm of sea. Lived and poor; the publick Scorn. How lang and toss in the morning stars go out when we saw the embattled square, or ear, or no; or whether than finding the mind proves their fan, to catch a dragon in a noted weed, the tame flow on with thanks to all already for those, only for the unimaginary. Then there is obsolete.

[shrineofprophecy]

A black car stopped in front of a large, white, two-story building around 8 in the evening. The back door was pushed open and a young lady, no more than 17-years-old, stepped out with her sports bag on her shoulder and headed to the entrance. Home, she called it. A place where she was always greeted warmly by her mother to ask how her day was. At this time of day, her father was sitting on the couch and showed his curiosity by wishing to know how figure skating went. A big competition was coming up and it was no thanks to him that they could afford this training in the first place. There was nothing better than moving her body to the sound of music.

Unfortunately, their conversation was short-lived as a few men entered the living room to speak to her father, who was their boss. They were always friendly enough to greet her as if she was like a younger cousin to them but whenever she saw them, they didn’t give off the best vibes. Yet she couldn’t quite place her finger on it…

Leaving her father to work, she left to take a shower and do some homework before getting a well deserved rest. It was how most of her days went, scheduled yet peaceful enough to not stress too much about anything.

How the girl named [censored for protection] wished it could stay like this forever.

It was four days before the competition that her house was raided by the police. Files were taken from the office and put into boxes. They took everything they could find that was potentially useful and the rest was treated like dirt and thrown onto the floor. Her mother was having a meltdown while her father was taken into custody for criminal activities, leaving the two of them behind in confusion, anger, desperation… The unimaginary made a reality.

It wasn’t long before word spread around her family, how they financially ruined people, injured them or even killed them. But she knew nothing. What was the truth and what was a lie? It didn’t matter. Her neighborhood had formed their opinions and vandalized the walls of her home with spray paint. Filthy rats, pests should be killed and much worse. It all became too much for her poor mother who had fallen ill from the stress, another innocent victim from her father’s actions.

The man who ruined their life. Who sat behind prison bars until his judgment day would come.

Except it never came.

He ended up escaping prison, no, walking out as if it was a minor inconvenience. Someone had taken the fall for him and he was a free man again. Yet rather than making up for the damages caused, to reassure them that they would be fine, he left the country to save himself. That backstabbing bastard saved his own sorry ass while they were struggling to live! 

[name] returned home from work one day, a side job she had picked up to help their finances. It wasn’t much but they could eat and pay for basic facilities with it, her dream of becoming a professional figure skating disappearing as quickly as the life they had built for themselves. But it was fine. They had each other. Together they could achieve whatever they wanted, if they just worked hard, if they just-

“Mom? Are you home?” The lights were off even though the sun had set a long time ago. Strange. She was always indoors, unable to work from being burned out but still ready to greet her with a sad, painful smile. Yet it was completely silent. Eerily so. 

Panic was quick to set in and [name] was frantic, the light buttons pressed before she looked around the rooms she crossed in panic before she found her. Lying over the table with her upper body, head resting on top of her arms. ���Mom?” Stepping closer, her hand was placed on her mother’s shoulder yet there was no response. Shaking it lightly, quickly picking up the pace before realization set in. Her feet slowly brought her backwards before her legs gave up and she fell on the floor. Tears streamed down her face when it became clear to her that she truly was left alone in this world.

The place she once called home was no more. The chapter of her childhood is closing as she will become a legal adult soon. Ready to spread her wings and live her own life. A life that would end up unlike anything she could have expected or prepared herself for. But one thing was for sure:

They would pay.  

[aiwatanabe]

Hugues Vincent Tribute Live

8月31日（土）　20:00- Start

¥2,000

岩瀬久美（Cl.& Sax.） 任炅娥（Vc.） 渡辺愛（Electronics）

programme

岩瀬久美：Planète naine （Vc.& Audio）

渡辺愛：Unimaginary Landscapes（Sax.&Audio）

ほか

Hugues Vincentが生前Radio Franceで録音した"Planète naine" の日本初演をはじめ、作曲作品の上演を中心としたプログラムです。

[sujalpumps]

Industrial Pumps Manufacturer and Supplier in Malaysia

The increasing construction activities in Malaysia are expected to drive steady growth, with accretive investments towards construction and building along with water infrastructure, and consistent expansion in water supply and sanitation systems - the demand for industrial pumps is increasing day by day.

This raises a call demand for industrial pump manufacturers and suppliers in Malaysia to meet the industrial needs.

Industrial pumps give a smooth flow to numerous work processes with their efficiency and significance. Still if the questions are like these - what are industrial pumps? Why are they so important? And what do they do? The answer is simple - industrial pumps help to move the flow of different fluids and liquids.

Being an industrial pump manufacturer and supplier worldwide, we might help you with brief answers to all your questions related to it. With that, we’ll also give you a look at the selection guide for the best industrial pump manufacturers in Malaysia.

Make sure you stick to the end of this blog!

The Role of Industrial Pumps

Industrial pumps are mechanical devices, designed for heavy-duty use to move fluids from one place to another Various materials can be moved with the help of industrial pumps including; water, wastewater, chemicals, gas, petroleum, oil, sludge, slurry, and food.

Industrial pumps consist of an inlet tube, motor, impeller, and outlet. Basically, these mechanical devices convert the mechanical energy of their motors into hydraulic energy to move the fluids. However, the functionalities of industrial pumps might differ with the different types and applications.

Pumps execute plenty of tasks, such as; Transporting fluids Providing necessary pressure for industrial processes Mixing and blending fluids Directing the flow of fluids Removing the impurities from fluids From transferring water from a reservoir to your tap or enabling the production of medicines or chocolates - the role of pumps is unimaginary.

To Know More : Industrial Pumps Manufacturer and Supplier in Malaysia

[skinnypaleangryperson]

All I ever wanted in life was to be someone and that was seen by someone deeply or even just a group of friends, to be known and recognized and to be seen as an individual and not a replaceable cog or a faceless person online on terrible apps like Reddit. I just wanted to be seen and to love someone deeply romantically and to start a family and to love our children deeply, and it will never be anything but unimaginary thought or scenario for me like every single minute of every day of anything of any sad excuse that I've ever had for identity has ever been so much to the point that it's driven me to literal psychosis and insanity overthinking about identity and if I was ever anyone at all even to myself. I think the answer, especially now at 30 with nothing left to do except to be used for my body not by the men that did it for sex when I was young but now for a job that is even more crushing, is obviously no

The worst part about this feeling in some ways is how repetitive, unoriginal, and astoundingly unremarkable it is, just like everything about me and everything that I've ever thought or I've ever been or done or thought about or have ever been ever was. All that it continues to babe. And that's all that my life will ever be, and all that it ever has been, if it was ever anything, even to myself and my neurotic, crazed, only make believe sense of identity and headspace that was barely ever known even to me, because my head space was always too modeled up and depressed and manic and unhealthy and unbalanced ever really even perceive even my own self.

My life was a miserable waste of a strange miserable person who only became even more so from being a kid outcasted to being a faceless adult that was nothing but a system number to keep corporations running, and could barely even perceive their own self once they were truly drowned by how devastating that was. Only 4 years of doing this and I already feel like my humanity and anything that made me me has now been taken away beyond anything that will ever be redeemed, and I will never be a mother, I will never be someone's wife, and I will be working for the rest of my life for a life that I can't even afford completely alone and detached from everyone and everything. My own mother doesn't even bother to dress up my life as something worth living anymore, she just dismissively tells me that it's hard, and she's right, it is hard, if you're a complete worthless failure of a human being like the way that I was from the beginning of my conception. The mental disorders in the thoughts that I have have become so complex and so negative and so deep, I can't even be bothered to keep up with writing them anymore. It would take me all day and it would never stop, but they're all telling me that I am miserable, utterly f****** miserable and alone, incapable of relating to or connecting with anyone and that I'm too far gone now, and the world agrees. And to think that I'm only staying here for my mom, that I haven't been gritting my teeth everyday for 4 years to not be here anymore, which should in theory be my right and I can't even have that and I've said this so many times that I'm so sick of saying it but there's nothing left to do or to think about. There never has been.

My life has been nothing but an empty void of plastic consumption and of the various mental disorders that I obtained from that to keep me entertained in my head with the profound emptiness that comes along with someone as unimportant as me. I am so tired and my life is done outside of being a literal flesh dance for the sake of my mother's comfort because I've seen too many times the way that I traumatize her when I actually act on these feelings which is all that I want but can't have at least not for the next decade or two. It's an unfathomable hell, having to stare the emptiness and the failure in the mundane day of my unimpressive personhood and a life every single day for the literal void that it is left behind now that I'm past my prime to make something of myself. I am manic and I am screaming every moment of my life. The strangest thing is that I feel like I'm completely alone in my personal devastation of the way that things are which just makes me feel like I'm the only one that has failed this deeply as an adult. On being anything human in general other than going to work and sitting around waiting for the parents to age so that they can peacefully and quietly go to f****** finally after years of waiting, possibly even a lifetime of waiting depending on how you look at it.

I was never made to be loved, to have connections, to date, to have a lot of friends or maybe even any friends at all most of the time. I'm less than human, and I feel like it every moment. I go on social media and it's just plastic, naive childlike s*** posting and garbage that I can't relate to and that has nothing to do with the profound suffering every single day. I've been confused and aimless looking for anyone, literally f****** anyone, who understands for years that isn't an abrasive sociopath. That person doesn't exist. It's just me and myself holding my hand in my grief until it's time to go, being surrounded by a plastic s*** posting world and people with the headspaces of 14-year-olds until I can go.

[nishitha-mga2021mi6014]

some art styles

I looked at many children's books which won prizes for their illustrations like

"Where the Wild Things Are" by Maurice Sendak

Caldecott Medal (1964)

"The Polar Express" by Chris Van Allsburg

Caldecott Medal (1986)

"Tuesday" by David Wiesner

Caldecott Medal (1992)

"The Invention of Hugo Cabret" by Brian Selznick

Caldecott Medal (2008)

"This Is Not My Hat" by Jon Klassen

Caldecott Medal (2013)

"The Adventures of Beekle: The Unimaginary Friend" by Dan Santat

Caldecott Medal (2015)

"Du Iz Tak?" by Carson Ellis

Caldecott Honor (2017)

"The Wall in the Middle of the Book" by Jon Agee

Caldecott Honor (2019)

"The Bear and the Piano" by David Litchfield

Waterstones Children's Book Prize for Illustrated Books (2016)

"Flotsam" by David Wiesner

Caldecott Medal (2007)

[memoriallibrarytmc]

Top Ten(ish) Tuesday: TMC Easy #9

Continuing with the tie, we have our selection for #9: The Adventures of Beekle: The Unimaginary Friend by Dan Santat. This story puts a unique twist on the concept of imaginary friends... by being told from the perspective of the imagined creature! It also won the Caldecott Award for the best illustrated children's book.

Some others tied at #9:

The Color Monster by Llenas

The Cow who Climbed a Tree by Merino

The Crocodile and the Dentist by Gomi

The Curious Garden by Brown

The Empty Pot by Demi

The Greedy Triangle by Burns

The Grouchy Ladybug by Carle

The Hat by Brett

The Lion & the Mouse by Pinkney

The Little Ice Cream Truck by Cuyler

The Lunch Thief by Bromley

The Mixed-up Chameleon by Carle

The Orange Shoes by Noble

The Patchwork Quilt by Flournoy

The Quiltmaker's Gift by Brumbeau