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rare vent art from a few months ago

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I understand why a lot of fantasy settings with Ambiguously Catholic organised religions go the old "the Church officially forbids magic while practising it in secret in order to monopolise its power" route, but it's almost a shame because the reality of the situation was much funnier.

Like, yes, a lot of Catholic clergy during the Middle Ages did practice magic in secret, but they weren't keeping it secret as some sort of sinister top-down conspiracy to deny magic to the Common People: they were mostly keeping it secret from their own superiors. It wasn't one of those "well, it's okay when we do it" deals: the Church very much did not want its local priests doing wizard shit. We have official records of local priests being disciplined for getting caught doing wizard shit. And the preponderance of evidence is that most of them would take their lumps, promise to stop doing wizard shit, then go right back to doing wizard shit.

It turns out that if you give a bunch of dudes education, literacy, and a lot of time on their hands, some non-zero percentage of them are going to decide to be wizards, no matter how hard you try to stop them from being wizards.

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today is the 39th anniversary of Chornobyl's Nuclear Disaster.

it is the biggest technological disaster ever experienced by humanity, but before that - it's a tragedy. it's a tragedy of thousands of people across Ukraine and neighbouring countries. it's a tragedy, caused by stubbornness, hypocrisy and stupidity of people in power in the USSR.

it was caused by negligence, flaws in the reactor's construction and criminal pride and secrecy of the USSR's government. it was civilians who paid the price -- more than five million people, most of whom weren't liquidators of the disaster's consequences.

my family was affected too. my great uncle, my grandfather's brother, was one of the firemen taking part in extinguishing the raging reactor. he worked in Pereyaslav's fire department and was sent to Pripyat the night of the disaster. a year later, on the second day of Easter, he died. the cause was written to be a "heart attack due to chemical changes in the blood".

my mother was a child back then, and wasn't too far from Pripyat. she had the ID of Chornobyl's Disaster victims.

Chornobyl is a scar on Ukraine's land and it's people. it's a scar that won't go out for a long, long time — if ever. nuclear fuel will decay, but the memories won't. and they shouldn't ever.

the memory of everyone who gave their life so we can still live here should be honoured. commemorating it is the least we can do.

bringing up the topic of Chornobyl shouldn't be followed by laughter -- it should be followed by a moment of silence.

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a few doors down from me my neighbors have a squirrel bar nailed to the tree in front of the sidewalk, not exactly this but something like this:

it's been there for years and they never "stock" it so it's just sitting there. anyway, i thought it would be cute to make a little squirrel out of sculpey and leave it on one of the stools in the middle of the night. i also made a little sculpey beer bottle with its own label.

it lasted exactly one day and now it is gone. it didn't fall off, i stuck it on with tape. what do you think happened to it? your most fantastical and wrong answers only, please

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“Some years ago, I was stuck on a crosstown bus in New York City during rush hour. Traffic was barely moving. The bus was filled with cold, tired people who were deeply irritated—with one another; with the rainy, sleety weather; with the world itself. Two men barked at each other about a shove that might or might not have been intentional. A pregnant woman got on, and nobody offered her a seat. Rage was in the air; no mercy would be found here.

But as the bus approached Seventh Avenue, the driver got on the intercom. “Folks,” he said, “I know you’ve had a rough day and you’re frustrated. I can’t do anything about the weather or traffic, but here’s what I can do. As each one of you gets off the bus, I will reach out my hand to you. As you walk by, drop your troubles into the palm of my hand, okay? Don’t take your problems home to your families tonight—just leave ‘em with me. My route goes right by the Hudson River, and when I drive by there later, I’ll open the window and throw your troubles in the water. Sound good?”

It was as if a spell had lifted. Everyone burst out laughing. Faces gleamed with surprised delight. People who’d been pretending for the past hour not to notice each other’s existence were suddenly grinning at each other like, is this guy serious?

Oh, he was serious.

At the next stop—just as promised—the driver reached out his hand, palm up, and waited. One by one, all the exiting commuters placed their hand just above his and mimed the gesture of dropping something into his palm. Some people laughed as they did this, some teared up—but everyone did it. The driver repeated the same lovely ritual at the next stop, too. And the next. All the way to the river.

We live in a hard world, my friends. Sometimes it’s extra difficult to be a human being. Sometimes you have a bad day. Sometimes you have a bad day that lasts for several years. You struggle and fail. You lose jobs, money, friends, faith, and love. You witness horrible events unfolding in the news, and you become fearful and withdrawn. There are times when everything seems cloaked in darkness. You long for the light but don’t know where to find it.

But what if you are the light? What if you’re the very agent of illumination that a dark situation begs for?

That’s what this bus driver taught me—that anyone can be the light, at any moment. This guy wasn’t some big power player. He wasn’t a spiritual leader. He wasn’t some media-savvy “influencer.” He was a bus driver—one of society’s most invisible workers. But he possessed real power, and he used it beautifully for our benefit.

When life feels especially grim, or when I feel particularly powerless in the face of the world’s troubles, I think of this man and ask myself, What can I do, right now, to be the light? Of course, I can’t personally end all wars, or solve global warming, or transform vexing people into entirely different creatures. I definitely can’t control traffic. But I do have some influence on everyone I brush up against, even if we never speak or learn each other’s name. How we behave matters because within human society everything is contagious—sadness and anger, yes, but also patience and generosity. Which means we all have more influence than we realize.

No matter who you are, or where you are, or how mundane or tough your situation may seem, I believe you can illuminate your world. In fact, I believe this is the only way the world will ever be illuminated—one bright act of grace at a time, all the way to the river.“

–Elizabeth Gilbert

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Peaceful

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where's that masterpost of quotes that have no right going as hard as they do. I'd like to submit "Protagonism is best left to teens and the insane"

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so about three months ago i finally reached a tipping point in being sick of the "omg we're so cooked" "we're living in the hell times" "the world is burning" "we need a class war" narrative and decided i was going to unlearn doomerism. i've truly come to believe doomerism is the most powerful tool of the powers that be (capitalists, the current US govt, etc etc), because it keeps us meddling kids doomscrolling and not spoiling their dastardly plans.

here are some of the things i used/am using to build my emotional resilience and therefore capacity to contribute to change. this is not an ad and i am not being paid (feel free to change this) nor did i pay for any of this because we 🫶 public libraries.

books

Hope in the Dark by Rebecca Solnit: we hear a new dogshit headline every five minutes, but we've had some incredible victories. sometimes, a victory can look like nothing because the horrible thing that was supposed to be a thing is no longer a thing. updated foreword/afterword addressed the first round of trump.

Not Too Late by var. authors, ed. Rebecca Solnit & Thelma Young Lutunatabua: while there's a long road ahead, we have already avoided the worst possible outcome of climate change and picked up extraordinary wins along the way. includes voices from the global south and atoll nations most affected by climate change.

From Dictatorship to Democracy by Gene Sharp: a manual for resistance used in the arab spring and by other freedom fighters in recent decades. includes a list of 198 things you can do that are not doomscrolling. free at the link and on various other sites in a number of languages.

US people might be able to find the first two from public libraries physically or virtually with the libby app, or buy them from an independent bookstore. non-US people, idk but a sample size of one friend from aotearoa NZ found them at the library.

if you have recs for other hope-centric or practical activist books, please send them my way!

blogs

regularly post hopeful news from reputable sources. i don't follow all of these personally, but blogs and sites like these were my guiding light out of the doomer mindset.

Reasons for Hope @reasonsforhope (personal favorite)

Hope for the Planet @hope-for-the-planet

Dandelion News @dandelionsresilience

@crafting-and-tea under #good news

Wachinyeya @wachinyeya

more in the Good News tumblr community, though i haven't checked it out thoroughly

things to do

this list is admittedly shorter as i live with debilitating long covid and also US-centric bc. i live here. i'm actively seeking out more ways to get involved, so please send me suggestions!

distributing free-to-print tarjetas rojas (red cards) about your rights and what to do if approached by an immigration agent

using 5calls.org's scripts and calling tool to contact my representatives

attending community events when possible (idk where you live, you're gonna have to look these up yourself)

i'll try to update this post as i read more/find more resources/do more things!

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published feb 21, 2025

please read the entire article, especially the section at the end with advice on what to do.

taking care of yourself while staying informed in these difficult times is very important

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Oooo that's a good idea

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What people think why i became a bookbinder: Oh she wants to explore her artistic horizon with those pretty leather bound books of hers. She even gives them out as gifts to her friends. It most likely helps her with anxiety or maybe she just wanted a more special costume made notebook.

Why I actually became a bookbinder: I just illegally downloaded and printed out several of my favourite fanfics and books and started binding them into books cuz I love reading them but looking at screens for too long gives me headaches.

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Oh I forgot to say.

Bug (4) is going to start school now so we’ve been doing literacy practice. One set of exercises was about “opposites” and I drew a card reading “fat”. Ok what’s the opposite of fat.

Bug thought about it and then said dreamily: “meat.”

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We never really talked about it but The Ugly Ducking that grew up to be a beautiful swan was still probably pretty fugly from a duck’s perspective

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The Stunning Astronomical Beadwork of Native Artist Margaret Nazon

Margaret Nazon has spent the past decade building intricate beadwork depictions of outer space. The colorful artworks balance representational and stylized aesthetics set on black fabric backgrounds to depict galaxies, planets, nebulae, and other astronomical phenomena.

Initially inspired by Hubble space telescope images, Nazon’s celestial renderings are part of a lifelong interest in beading. In an interview with Glenbow, the artist shared that she began beading at age 10, but found the density of traditional beadwork to be tedious.

The abstract nature of celestial images allows Nazon to be more interpretive and incorporate different materials like caribou bones and willow seeds that have location-specific or cultural significance. Nazon is Tsiigehtchic, part of the Gwich’in community in what is now the Northwest Territories of Canada. The artist explained that because she is retired, she is able to dedicate significant time to beading, and often rises at 4:30am to begin working. Nazon plans to continue experimenting, including merging her abstract beadwork with her seamstress skills to create artfully embellished apparel.

Nazon’s artwork was most recently exhibited at Glenbow in a group show, Cosmos, and A Beaded Universe at Prince of Wales Northern Heritage Centre. You can read more about her in the Glenbow interview, and explore Nazon’s portfolio on her website.

source article: X

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“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

“I can work with that,” said the witch.

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one of the deans in beijing dance academy rehearses with students