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I am going to limit myself to one Dune meta rant per 24 hours but while I work up the longer 'Bullfighting imagery in Villeneuve's Dune' breakdown post I am slightly obsessed with the thought of one of Goya's much lesser known pieces:

La Tauromaquia No. 18: Temeridad de Martincho en la plaza de Zaragoza

Which shows a famous Matador showing off for the crowd in the arena by meeting a charging bull head-on at short distance, while calmly sitting, with his feet shackled together so he cannot run.

And I uh... I dunno. I have just been thinking about this piece. And if anyone wants to draw or write or otherwise create anything inspired by it please DM me. I may have nothing but every Matador, painter, & poet needs a patron.

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everyday I pray Zillow makes a comment section

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“In 1984, when Ruth Coker Burks was 25 and a young mother living in Arkansas, she would often visit a hospital to care for a friend with cancer.

During one visit, Ruth noticed the nurses would draw straws, afraid to go into one room, its door sealed by a big red bag. She asked why and the nurses told her the patient had AIDS.

On a repeat visit, and seeing the big red bag on the door, Ruth decided to disregard the warnings and sneaked into the room.

In the bed was a skeletal young man, who told Ruth he wanted to see his mother before he died. She left the room and told the nurses, who said, “Honey, his mother’s not coming. He’s been here six weeks. Nobody’s coming!”

Ruth called his mother anyway, who refused to come visit her son, who she described as a “sinner” and already dead to her, and that she wouldn’t even claim his body when he died.

“I went back in his room and when I walked in, he said, “Oh, momma. I knew you’d come”, and then he lifted his hand. And what was I going to do? So I took his hand. I said, “I’m here, honey. I’m here”, Ruth later recounted.

Ruth pulled a chair to his bedside, talked to him

and held his hand until he died 13 hours later.

After finally finding a funeral home that would his body, and paying for the cremation out of her own savings, Ruth buried his ashes on her family’s large plot.

After this first encounter, Ruth cared for other patients. She would take them to appointments, obtain medications, apply for assistance, and even kept supplies of AIDS medications on hand, as some pharmacies would not carry them.

Ruth’s work soon became well known in the city and she received financial assistance from gay bars, “They would twirl up a drag show on Saturday night and here’d come the money. That’s how we’d buy medicine, that’s how we’d pay rent. If it hadn’t been for the drag queens, I don’t know what we would have done”, Ruth said.

Over the next 30 years, Ruth cared for over 1,000 people and buried more than 40 on her family’s plot most of whom were gay men whose families would not claim their ashes.

For this, Ruth has been nicknamed the ‘Cemetery Angel’.”— by Ra-Ey Saley

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Reblog so everyone can hear what they need.

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Dr Hannibal Cannibal and his husband Mr Will Kill and their lovely daughter Miss Abigail Blackmail

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the cardinal, #1 rule of hannigram is that while Hannibal is more evil in a traditional sense, Will is 100% objectively more unhinged, leading to a constant push-and-pull between exactly how far Hannibal’s plan reaches vs how far Will is actually ready to go, with jealousy acting as a spontaneity bonus. neither of them is in control and their love is a torrent neither of them expected or could ever have prepared for, largely because both of them were convinced they could never be loved for what they truly are

my point being. the ship endures because we all think the same thing, deep down

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petition to bring back saying "huzzah!" when something goes your way and "alas." when it doesn't

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(◡‿◡✿)

(ʘ‿ʘ✿) “what you say ‘bout me”

(ʘ‿ʘ)ノ✿ “hold my flower”

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there are corners of this website where the year is still 2013. and sometimes, on beautiful nights when the veil is thin, you can find them . if you know where to look

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“I’m not fortune’s fool, I’m yours.” 🩸

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All Paul Atreides Edition, Ultimate Disaster Human:

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the weird thing is, when I view my job as some sort of background extra it becomes much more palatable. people go to a library and see me shelving a stack of books in my cardigan and glasses (now with glasses chain!) and they go "yeah, that's exactly right. that's how it's supposed to be in a library." and for some reason, that's comforting? the work is whatever, and the customers are customers, but sometimes it feels like I'm being paid just to make sure this places looks right, and I find that very fun.

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I’m so emotional about dinosaur stuffed animals,,, there are these creatures, extinct long before any of us were alive, but we found their bones and their eggs and their footprints. And we made drawings and models of what they could’ve looked like. And we made them into stuffed animals so we could hold them. We made them soft so we could love them. I’m sobbing