Last Seen Blogs
sarah-ross-artcode-blog
Photos by Sarah
gabthechief
The Natural Relief
crystalstoreblog
Untitled
antijenneel
Jensen must will be happy but without Downneel
olmcpymp6
Parish Youth Ministry
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The World As Viewed Through the Lens of Exploration
a collection of photos I took on runs and other journeys into unknown territory, containing whatever seemed the most interesting or important to me in that new space.
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Creative Act
FLODOROTHANIAN walks onto the scene, an active operating room, as Hubert, the head surgeon, is talking to FUBERT and GLUBERT, his assistants.
FUBERT: ...the nerve damage occurred.
HUBERT: Which means that the patient only has 5 minutes to live, and since the procedure will take 3 minutes, we only have 2 minutes of leeway.
GLUBERT: Gee Hubert, this sure sounds like a precarious- wait, who are you?!
GLUBERT, HUBERT, and FUBERT turn to the door to see FLODOROTHANIAN walking around the room aimlessly. He picks up a scalpel, forceps, and retractors, and starts juggling them.
FLODOROTHANIAN: Knock knock!
GLUBERT: Wait, are you going to explain how you even got in here? This is an active operating room! Did you do something to security?!
FUBERT: Who’s there?
GLUBERT: Really Fubert?! We have a patient here!
HUBERT: This could be a very important learning experience Glubert. Listen to the knock knock joke. I can feel his mastery and expertise on the topic emanating off of him.
FLODOROTHANIAN puts down the tools, and proceeds to pick his nose.
FLODOROTHANIAN: Interrupting cow.
FUBERT: Interrupting cow who?
FLODOROTHANIAN walks out of the room, completely silent. Simultaneously, the heart monitor flatlines.
GLUBERT: Oh my god! What just happened? Are we going to get sued for medical malpractice.
HUBERT: That joke was absolutely masterful. Avant-garde, even.
FUBERT: It was experimental.
GLUBERT falls to his knees crying, while HUBERT and FUBERT nod in agreement.
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“…the nerve damage occurred…”
“Bro but imagine going to the doctor with that problem and theyre like yeah we cant really help with that maybe you should just kill yourself instead.”
“I’m like the charlie of our law group…”
“Do you think the Israel-Palestine conflict is canon in Fortnite?”
“As soon as I got home last night I devoured a head of lettuce.”
“I just smelled something in the hallway that I heavily associated with the game Poptropica in my head.”
“I don’t know what made me say that or what meaning was behind it.”
“I am absolutely goosing over here.”
“It’s the best book or books or whatever.”
“it was experimental.”
“This dude lil baby taste good as fuck.”
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Fuse Story
When my grandma died, I felt exceedingly disconnected at her funeral. She meant more than I could explain in words, but I could not find the feelings within me to cry for her. As everyone around me displayed their immense feelings of grief, I sat still, staring up at the seemingly unending ceiling of the church. I felt sad, yet not nearly as sad as everyone around me appeared to be. It was an out of body experience, one that made me feel discordant with the harmonious feeling of grief I sensed around me. I was able to understand that I was out of place, but was unable to fully relate to the feelings of the people in the room. At the time I was only 9, and leaving the funeral without crying left me feeling shameful and unfulfilled. Situations like these have followed me throughout my life. For a long time, it was incredibly hard for me to form close bonds. To me, it felt like I had to understand what someone was feeling in order to relate to them, and the fact that I couldn’t was frustrating. How was I to form close relationships with people if I couldn’t even understand their feelings? With no way of learning to understand the complex emotions that people feel yet struggle to explain, the accumulation of my frustration to fully relate to people slowly started to leave me feeling hopeless. The thought that I may have to go my entire life without making a single meaningful connection never left my mind, and I truly feared that I was doomed to live an unfulfilling life. However, It was at the lowest point in my life that I finally found what I needed to lift myself back up: music. I always had a soft spot for music, but at a certain point found myself writing entire essays about songs that felt special to me. Little did I know, this hobby I picked up on a whim would go on to save my life.
About 5 years after the death of my grandmother, my grasp on life was slowly leaving me. I felt no reason to go on living if I would never be able to connect with anyone. It was at this same time that I finally was able to cry for my grandmother, and due solely to an experience with music. My hobby of listening to music had led me to David Bowie, and hearing his ghastly voice reminisce on his inevitable death on his song Lazarus allowed me to think about death in a way that I never had the ability to previously. Up to that point, I had never had a way of gaining a new perspective. Everything I knew was limited to my own knowledge of my emotions, and I had no way of extending my knowledge past that. It was at this exact moment that I started to feel a glimmer of hope, one that felt almost foreign to me because of how long it had been since I last felt it. Music provided me with a way to supplement certain emotions by giving me something to relate that complex feeling to. I had never understood the concept of grief and death, but hearing Lazarus gave me an idea of what it feels like to be dying, and how permanent death really is. I cried for hours that day, but it felt like I had finally fulfilled the feelings of my 9 year old self. For the first time, I felt genuine excitement at the prospect of trying to connect with people. It was a moment defined by death and sadness, and yet it became the very thing that convinced me of the potential for happiness in life, along with the subsequent value of it .
below is a write up I did on a song ("Azucar" by Earl Sweatshirt), that deals with a very similar topic.
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