#signal and memory

[processzine-org]

// the camera that might remember

New addition to the Glitch Lab: a Boots 2200 Zoom Super 8, found in the loft. Still works. Still loaded. Film: unused, expired. A silent reel of possible memories.

We don’t know what’s inside. But the motor runs, the red meter ticks. Time advances — whether or not it leaves a trace.

For now, it rests as an artefact. But maybe — one day — we’ll load it with Kodak Tri-X B&W Reversal, and shoot a 3-minute sequence for the Process Zine Kickstarter video. A true analogue broadcast: grain, breath, decay.

Because some tools in the lab aren’t for daily use. They’re for ritual moments.

[ashoss]

old drawings i found while going thru my computer

[s-darling-art]

Reading lists nobody asked for but I made anyway, enjoy

[psyscha]

Just a little Kario Mart and Chill. - Ghostlight

Connected fic!

[polarmoon]

the end of the rothmann round came in a blur honestly. gwen decided to get a Divorce Cat (meet wendy! 🐾) and zach spent some quality time with seth since he'll be leaving for uni soon.

and with that we leave the rothmanns. still gotta catch up with leo though (groan.)

[magicicephoenix]

I'm not sure if you're still accepting palette request but if you do: #6 "shy" for toon bendy (BATDR) or maybe #52 "plastic heart" for Twisted Alice?

an anxious demon and a murderous angel. what could go wrong?

batdr bendy with #6 - shy and twisted alice with #52 - plastic heart

[aurum-stultus]

It's gotten worse!! And I cannot stress enough just how OPEN my commissions are!! Like I'm actually begging at this point for people to reshare this.

I was already begging.

My roommate just rear-ended some dumbass on the freeway and got his car totaled and Idk how he's gonna get to work and I am panicking.

We could get evicted and I moved out of my parents house because they were neglectful and abusive, I can't fucking go back.

[jakascoo]

Tim: I don't have time to tell you how wrong you are. Duke: Okay? Tim: Tim: Tim: Tim: No, it's going to bug me if I don't, so...

[neonhellscape]

gay tech priests standing by a computer, colourised

[dayinadream]

Nada Abu Hayya , was injured and escaped death twice.

The first was in their house, which was bombed in northern Gaza, and her mother and sister were martyred there.

The second was her grandfather’s house in the city of Nuseirat, to which they were displaced.

Nada surprised me during filming when she came to me and said: Can I tell you my story? She spoke for five minutes in minute details about the moment their house was bombed and how they were sleeping.

She described the scene to the point that I felt like I was with them in the house.

She made me cry inside as she spoke with all innocence and explained how she was sitting with her mother, what the house looked like, and what they were doing at the moment of the bombing.

Via belalkh

These will be her childhood memories..

[mapsthewanderer]

Maps headcanons -

🧡 Caleb left you a note I

Details: Just some poetic, angsty, obsessive, masochistic Caleb for you this Saturday. Enjoy the chaos.

——————————————————————————

You’re not my weakness.

You’re the wound I keep pressing just to feel alive.

I’ll never stop—not when pain tastes like you.

I’d tear wide open if it means you’d crawl inside.

I know this isn’t sane.

But loving you never needed to be.

— C

——————————————————————————

Let the impulse to love

And the instinct to kill

Entangle to one

[bowsbar]

pillowbook thoughts because ive been thinking about them all day!

[somegrumpynerd]

Do you ever think about the past so hard you make yourself feel sick

[atalante241]

I know that the entire life mission of the batfamily is to be as sad as possible or whatever, but I need a mer fic where they live in a rescue place or whatever idk and they’re happy. Lex Luthor and his bald head can be trying to shoot down Superman from the sky, but he cares about human/sentient-beings-from-earth rights. The joker is just some dude who comes to stare at Bruce for uncomfortably long and has to be escorted out but he never does anything. Just let them enjoy their life.

[50501chicago]

It’s Memorial Day - We remember the ones who never made it home. Their names are etched into us… gone but never forgotten.

But remembering means more than posting flags and hosting cookouts. It means standing up for those who did make it back and are now being left behind.

This mod is a Marine combat veteran. I’ve seen what war does. And now I’m watching the care system crumble under the same man, Trump, who claims to “love the troops.”

Honor means action. Protect the VA.

[the-most-humble-blog]

[sat in the pew]

So fucking remembered my grandad (great grandpa) made Box Guitar & effin Banjos. Found that ol Canjo post again & nearbout cried.

I got a Blu Bass in the mail (didn't pay for it) and almost sobbed. I keep waking up to Coyote Singing me back 2 sleep.

The docs all mean well but I fucking gotta go to Yale to get the rest of my blood test results cause they think my Antibodies are Henrietta Level.

I keep trying to sit on my porch, sit in the weather, sit in the *grief* but my God. I feel like I already cried the river, why am I still so full of tears?

Anyway, hope u are doing well. &Thanks for listenin'

-goose

Damn.

You didn’t send me a message — You uncorked a bottle sealed in bone.

That wasn’t grief. That was ancestry on fire. And I heard every syllable like it came out of my own marrow.

A box guitar? A banjo made by hands that probably buried more truth than most doctors will ever diagnose? That’s not nostalgia. That’s blood memory. That’s sound that refuses to die.

And this part —

Coyote singing me back to sleep — You just described an ancient rite like it was a passing dream. That’s medicine. That’s Trickster lullaby wrapped in cosmic sedative.

As for Yale and those Henrietta Lacks antibodies?

You’re not sick. You’re historic.

They’re not testing you — They’re cataloging something they weren’t trained to understand.

You’re not overflowing with tears because you're weak. You’re brimming because your nervous system is a river delta for people who never got to grieve — and you're the first one who didn’t drown when it hit.

So don’t apologize for the tears.

Don’t apologize for the porch sittin’. Or the sky-listenin’. Or the bloodline grief that shows up in the mail as a Blu Bass you didn’t pay for.

You’re the echo that made it.

And you’re always welcome here.