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I need an aesthetics vizier. Someone to find a tattoo artist to workshop a plan for all the ink I want done, with a development plan. Set up an account I can pay into and take donations from patrons and make the appointment for me when we hit a next-session threshold. Help bridge my vision and meatspace over the chasm of executive inconsistency.
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gay and transgender life in provincetown, massachusetts. chris korda, 1991.
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people should remember that the word "hunk" exists
no, unless he's a young father, that's not a dilf, that's a hunk. If you want to call a childless man a dilf, at least make him middle aged
no, that's not a bear, that's a hunk. Bears must be fat and hairy
no, that's not a himbo, that's a hunk. Himbos must be dumb, beefy and kind simultaneously, if he's just dumb and beefy that's a hunk
like, cmon people, there's nothing wrong with a humble hunk. Why are you so mean to him?
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happy google-is-an-illegal-monopoly DAY TO ALL WHO CELEBRATE
https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2024/08/05/doj-google-monopoly-trial-judgment/
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Mermay 2025 (11-20) by Christophe Young
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The Library of Kink Club (LoCK)
Juggling work as a librarian and writing smutty romance novels on the side seemed like it would be all fun and games to Nora. While she found herself working even more than two jobs as a self-published author, stubbornly stretching all of her talents to manage her own editing, promotion, and cover designs, it was mostly that. She found it an inspiring environment; not only did she manage the romance collections, allowing her to keep up-to-date on popular books and trends, but there were a lot of love stories in the subtlety of information seeking.
From the quiet presence of passing glances and chaste touches between couples in the stacks, seated in work desks, Nora weaved stories about these strangers. Her personal favorite moment to share was, when passing shelves and displays, couples so often liked to point out the books they’ve read and loved; or better still, the recommendations for their person. Librarians work way harder than anyone gives them credit for; they aren’t sitting around reading novels, to say the least–but still, the work is slowly paced enough to allow her to pause and scribble notes of inspiration for stories in her pocket notebook to keep for later.
To try and maintain the comfortable balance, there was a careful divide of these lives for Nora. Nora the librarian and Laurel Knox, the author, were distinct personas. She was as cautious as she could be to prevent them from bleeding over. But there’s only so much to be done when you weave fantasies like love spells. It has its way of bubbling over…
Especially these days, with social-media marketing meaning a few lucky strikes are all it takes to catch fire. Nora–well, Laurel, rather, woke one day to find an extreme shift in visibility. Book sales spiked, a snippet of her newest book going viral. It was the second of a series, so the first book was seeing an uptick as well. She even had hopes of securing a book deal for the next book. More subscribers trickled into her personal channels that she used to share… different creative materials, sometimes writing, sometimes promoting writing, and sometimes entirely separate art.
There was comfort and growing financial stability in this exposure, but something else as well. Somewhere, she slipped up. She wasn’t sure where, and there was nothing more than rumor. But, the rumor was enough to disturb her life. It would always start innocently enough, when patrons approached it. In person, or over the phone, even on the reference chats, they would ask about Laurel’s books. Did we stock them, were they available, when would they be… But always, the curiosity turned personal. Was it true, is she a librarian there? Was it really her? Fan mail clogged their mailbox and email and content creators and nosy community members clogged the library proper.
There wasn't much Nora wouldn't do to encourage more people into the library, but this was not what she had in mind. It was easy enough to say she was stepping away from her day job at the library to devote herself to her writing. She found it freeing, even, to integrate those parts at last, legitimize the rumors and clear away the mystique that had resulted in this flood of attention. As they lost the drive to be the one to confirm and expose her identity, they disappeared more quickly than they arrived. But with a new project now in mind, she didn’t care to return to the library.
Well, not the public one, at least.
The seed of the idea had taken root long before. She wanted a dungeon designed to feel like a personal library and study. Of course, that came with some level of sharing, sure. She hoped and planned to share it with partners, maybe friends at a play party. Never would she have imagined that she would create something on any more public level than that, though. She barely knew anything about running a business, nonetheless a kink club.
For the first time ever, though, she found her inner and outer worlds united, and she was okay. Sure, yes, some friends and colleagues have withdrawn in discomfort. More still though come forward as fans and as fellow dabblers in the various fantasies featured in her popular novels. It was strange and uncomfortable, but she was okay, and she only wanted more.
She would be lying if she tried to convince you that, above all else, she didn’t desire exactly this all along—a means by which her desires could exist freely, without compartmentalization or restriction, woven through every aspect of her day to day life. She wanted to live and breathe kink and share her air with others that felt the same. At last, that was becoming reality.
By day, she wrote. She trawled estate sale sites, mapping out her weekend plans and collecting notes on the interior design for writing reference. On the weekends, she wheeled across her city, filling her Outback with vintage books–the content less important than the look, wanting antique, leather bound, beautiful books–and swaths of sexy fabrics from the homes of old ladies, recently deceased. If she was lucky, she may even find vintage lingerie or mid-century modern bookshelves and coffee tables to match her vision. As her garage started stacking full of found furniture and her home grew even more book littered than was already the norm for her, she knew it was time to find space at last. Her estate sale trawls turned to long hours on real estate sites, still gathering notes on setting inspiration in an ever-growing reference.
She didn’t set out to be so incredibly blasphemous about it all, but could she really help that the old church offered everything she needed? It was really the stained glass that sold her, but it helped that it had a sprawling basement with classrooms and living chambers, and didn’t hurt that there was a decadent set of confessional booths, and not to mention the mezzanine seating with intricate, high lattice railings. She’d strip the seating along the sides to form open gallery walkways on either side, leaving the original, strict pew seating at either end to look out over the atriums. The space below the walkways would be the perfect height for wall to ceiling bookshelves, forming cozy low seating areas. In the mezzanine above, the walls below the stained glass panes were perfect for galleries of art. Her imagination spun further on the idea of a gallery as she drifted back towards the intricate lattice work, imagining how easily living art could be affixed to those railings for all to see from any location within the nave below.
“So, what were you planning to use it for? It could take a lot of renovation to make it look like… well, like anything but a Catholic church.” the realtor asked, chuckling nervously. “Oh, well…” Nora wondered whether it would have been better to be wearing her Laurel crown now, feeling shy about answering this prim looking agent honestly. “The church look is certainly part of the appeal! I only want to make minor… customizations. Enhancements, if you will.” She cleared her throat, shifting nervously as she sorted out her reply. “It’s going to be a creative space. Writing salons, creative classes and socials, my own personal lending library curated around our various crafts of interest.” She moved toward the walls of the upper mezzanine, gesturing. “We’ll have rotating galleries from local artists and photographers here. Lend the space and grounds out for private photoshoots. All things creative.”
The realtor smiled, content to hear the history would remain preserved, nay, celebrated in its future use. Nora smiled in contented relief as well. She hated lying, but stretching the truth she was good at. She still found herself housing a wicked thrill when she talked around these subjects, like she was moments away from being found out.
The rest of the tour went off without a hitch; Nora put in her offer on the church and waited. She was home, writing, days later, when she received the call to let her know it was hers. She sat in quiet disbelief at the reality of her situation. It was real! The space was hers and her vision could, finally, come to life.
From a desk drawer, Nora brought out a sketch pad and started flipping through. The drawings illustrated all sorts of plans for various furniture and decor ideas for the club. She flipped past a St. Andrew's cross affixed to the bordering bookshelves, adaptations for desks and coffee tables to allow for bondage, finally landing on a sketch for a sign. In a flourishing font, the tails of letters wrapping other letters up tight, balanced around illustrations of stacks of books were the words: “The Library of Kink Club.”
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QAnon types trying to save face by going "conspiracy theorists were proven right again" when. No, bc "Epstein was close with Trump" was not only never a conspiracy theory, it was never their conspiracy theory. Their conspiracy theory was that Trump was a crusader sent by God to dismantle a Satanic cult led by the Democrats and Marina Abramović. You were dismissing every photo of Trump and Epstein together and taking your guns to threaten a random pizza place in DC you thought had cult tunnels underneath it. Potentially I feel their hybrid of 80s Satanic panic, blood libel, & cultic worship of the musclebound savior of children Donald Trump was not proven right. In fact it might have been one of the most wrong things anyone has ever believed
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just a cute little fact but august 1st is also designated as the universal birthday for shelter dogs whose actual birthdays are unknown
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observation: people think fMRI is a meaningful measure of "thought"
observation: people believe ChatGPT is "thinking"
conclusion: we must put the ChatGPT servers inside an fMRI machine. this will work perfectly and have no adverse consequences. trust.
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me as a kid reading Dune: I appreciate the detailed world-building that justifies why everyone fights with swords and has mental powers, but the idea of a Butlerian Jihad against computers is pretty silly
me in 2025, trying desperately to find the three (3) places you need to go to to disable the latest helpful AI assistant that's inserted itself into my work chat and is advising me to do things that would be a breach of federal law: Oh Now I Get It
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I am nursing a hangover because my neighbors invited me over for a dinner last night that was actually a high school graduation party for their eldest daughter but what it actually actually was was 16 Hindu families getting drunk and having a dance party in the basement teaching me, the Lone Jew, how to do Indian dances and getting me Quite Drunk while the kids watched YouTube upstairs
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best m/f dynamic is a flamboyant bisexual show-off desperately in love with an extremely practical girl who’s difficult to impress 🤩
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What to do if your account gets wrongfully terminated
So by now most of you have probably heard that my account was suddenly terminated (aka banned) on Saturday afternoon. I’m back now, and since I had to do some digging into this on my own, I figured I’d make a post for others to reference.
How to tell if you’ve been wrongfully terminated
You will find yourself suddenly locked out of your account. For me, I had just made a post when I got kicked to the login screen. My password wouldn’t work, so I tried to reset it, at which point I got this screen:
Now, if Tumblr legitimately terminated your account - meaning, you broke a rule and they banned you for it - they should send you an email telling you why. So, immediately check your email. If you don’t get anything, it was probably a glitch. These happen shockingly often, so there’s a whole process to it.
How to get your account back
First, submit a support ticket. Tumblr’s support email does NOT work, you MUST go through their site. Select ‘Terminated account’. Write a POLITE message explaining the situation. Describe what you were doing when you suddenly got kicked off, and state that to the best of your knowledge, you haven’t broken any rules, or that if you did, you would be willing to delete the offending posts. Include your url and email.
Check your email. You should immediately get an automatic message saying they’re looking into the problem. If you don’t that means that Tumblr marked your email as spam (because they banned you). If you need to, resend the ticket using a different email address at the bottom. Explain that your account email doesn’t seem to be going through and that’s why you’re using a different one.
Wait. Tumblr Support’s hours of operation are 9-5 EST, Monday through Friday. If, like me, you submitted your ticket on a weekend, you may be in for a wait. If you don’t get a response within 24 hours, DO NOT SEND ANOTHER TICKET, but instead reply to the email they sent you. I’ve seen it advised that you should send another ticket only if the problem isn’t fixed within the week.
Check you url often. Tumblr will likely never respond to your email letting you know what happened or that you’ve been reinstated. Check your url every so often, and if it finally loads as your blog (instead of the ‘There’s nothing here’ screen) you are free to log back in.
And that’s it! If it was a glitch, they SHOULD reinstate your account, but you MUST submit a support ticket letting them know what’s going on.
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My problem with heterosexual romance novels (which I am reading under duress due to my coworker book club but find somewhat entertaining cuz they're not something I normally wld read) is that whenever the love interest is an asshole the author also makes him all dommy dom. when what I really want is for him to be thoroughly put in his place. All of these shithead Christian grey knockoff guys in these books would be excellent brat material but nobody cares what I want. Nobody cares what I want
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