#and i'm fucking poor

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[nouverx]

Vox won the hottest Hazbin Hotel character poll on twitter against Lucifer in the final round and I can't stop thinking about it I love my pathetic TV Girl he deserves it

[lazylittledragon]

did somebody say dadkarios

[kedreeva]

When I first got Stan, I wasn't sure he'd make it more than a few days, but he did. When I first took him to the vet as a baby, they told me not to expect him to make it to maturity, but he did. The last time I took him to the vet, a different vet from his usual vet saw him and had to sort through the list of known health issues to get to what was wrong this time, and was impressed he was even alive, and that was over a year ago. He's beaten a lot of odds, he's gone farther than even the most hopeful of speculation.

Unfortunately, a line in the sand comes for any animal Time doesn't take. For us, that line was him losing his ability to walk, or his ability to see, and both have been slowly worsening over the last year. Today, it has finally come down to the latter, as his vision has gone completely in his remaining good eye. For peafowl, that's a hard-line quality of life factor- it affects their ability to get food and water (which would mean stressful and uncomfortable tube feeding sessions 3x a day), as well as their ability to move into or out of shelter, and their ability to socialize. As they are HIGHLY social creatures, feeling like he's constantly alone would be absolutely miserable for him. I can't put him through that and still call myself a responsible owner, so he'll be going in for his final vet appointment tomorrow afternoon.

I know a lot of you have loved Stan over the past 7 years, and I know you're going to miss him nearly as much as I will. He's been a Very Good Boy, and this place is just not going to be the same without him.

[tapeworrmart]

Hole in the head 🕳️🧠

[weezardthewizard]

You start out thinking Shane is the zany cryptid and Ryan is the sane one. And then you learn more about Ryan.

And you realize they are the same level of insane in different directions.

So you think ah, it must be Steven then! He's the genius businessman who keeps the ghoul boys in line. He must be the sane one.

And then you learn more about Steven.

[camplease]

i feel like this is a hot take, but it's clear to me that so much of ianthe's outward projection of superiority is a deeply ingrained — really, formative — sense of inadequacy. it's to prove to everyone, even the people who were supposed to love her, who were supposed to inherently value her, that she does actually have value — in fact, she has the most value because look at what she can DO!

and i don't even think she's entirely internalized that, but that kind of projection kind of falls apart if you show even a moment of self-doubt

and i know ianthe isn’t supposed to be sympathetic here, or at least i’m assuming she’s not to most people, but can you imagine the body horror of being inextricably tied to and irrevocably altered by the guy you grew up with and didn’t even really like and who didn’t like you either (but who served you because that was his Role, and, who, even though you’ll never admit it, you maybe even cared about a bit because at a certain point that’s kind of unavoidable - i know she tried to convince palamedes she didn’t, but she is a known liar prone to sentimentality), but it was fine because you knew you were better than him, too?

except now you're not exactly, not entirely better than him, because he's not just fueling you, you didn't get to just use him to become someone who matters. instead, he's part of you, and you still don't matter?

like from what she says about her parents' reaction to the canaan house aftermath, even that part didn't work. she didn't earn mommy and daddy's validation, admiration, anything

and she's running his empire, but she's still third place to surrogate daddy, too. if she even places!

ianthe naberius is very much the consequences of her own actions, i’m not going full apologia here, just imagining being in that position and. goddamn

[jellogram]

reblog to kill it faster

[deoidesign]

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[howlsnteeth]

Oh no, That’s the path that you chose, A true hedonist indeed.

[fishareglorious]

Remember that all of chapter 1 and 2 happens in the span of 2 days.

Vertin met Schneider for that short of a time (on Valentine's Day, no less) and managed to have to most whirlwind goncharov ass doomed tragic could-have-been with each another in prohibition era Chicago; has to watch her almost die in her arms; ends up traumatized by oranges because her; then goes into a actual coma after watching her actually die in her arms.

Tender is the Night? WRONG. more like Painful is the Night.

I'm never emotionally recovering from this im suing bluepoch.

[friend-crow]

I HAVE JUST HAD AN EXPERIENCE

So I'm outside putting cozies (rags and duct tape) on the faucets and it's starting to snow, and a hummingbird comes up and is all up in my shit, so I'm like "okay boss, one refill on sugar water coming right up."

So I take down the hummingbird feeder, and the little dude comes and lands on it while it's in my hand. It keeps flitting away and then coming back to see if it is somehow refilled now. Zero apparent fear of me (it might be the hummingbird who has nested in my back yard the last couple years, or one of its offspring, but at any rate it seems to know that I refill the sugar water, and am generally on its side).

I can't WAIT to put the feeder back up, but I have to wait for the sugar juice to cool down a bit first.

[linusbenjamin]

Wanda Maximoff + “that’s when she knew she fucked up” moments

[dootznbootz]

Menelaus rambles a lot about not only Helen, but also Hermione. About how she used to say Olive like "Olifs". How she lost her first tooth running too fast and running into a low branch while out with Helen. How he'd sometimes wake up to Hermione leaning over him and poking his face to say, "Dad, can we go see the horses?" even though it was barely daylight. How she was much nicer waking Helen and how he thinks Hermione did that on purpose because she found "dad's face funny". How her favorite color was every color.

And Odysseus listens.

And he thinks about how his son only had a few teeth coming in when he left, teething on everything. How he could only say one syllable with his babbles. How his son needed balance to stand but Odysseus was so proud that Telemachus was very good at rolling over. How his son loved pulling at his and Penelope's hair.

How his son would be talking, walking, maybe even lost his first tooth by now. And he doesn't even know if he'll ever know his son's favorite color.

[yudol-skorbi]

just a little guy on his way to get his 3 am sip of water