I need a scene in BTSV where Miles is like 'You know Hobie, after all this I can't believe I thought you and Gwen were dating for a second! Lol'
Hold up. Suddenly Hobie Gwen and Pavitr are look at him like
Hobie is like 'You WUT, mate? Why the bloody hell would you think that??'
And Gwen is like 'Yeah Miles?? what gave you that idea?'
As if SHE DIDN'T- AS IF HOBIE DID SAY-
Miles is like
"You're joking right. You said she left a jumper at your place-"
"-And a toothbrush."
"AND a toothbrush-"
"Both of which are still there."
"Oh yeah, I still need to get those-"
"Bruh, please. You're killing me here."
Gwen and Hobie don't see it at ALLLLLL He is her honorary big bro and Gwen is just socially oblivious in general
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There’ve been a few responses to/reblogs with tags on my post about DIY clothing embellishments that basically boil down to ‘I’d love to do this but I��m scared it’ll turn out bad/I’m not a good enough artist’. And I get it, I really do! I also want my art things to turn out nicely. But also...making it badly is sort of the point of punk DIY.
Listen. We live in a world that would dearly love to charge you a subscription fee for breathing. The bastards are doing everything they possibly can to figure out how to turn art - stories, visual art, music, textile/fibre art, sculpture, crafts and creations of every kind - into a neat, discrete, packageable commodity, a product they can chop up into little pieces and stick behind a paywall so they can charge you for every drop of it you want to have in your life.
The whole sneering idea that ‘everybody wants to be some kind of creator now’ and anything less than absolute mastery right out the gate is somehow shameful and embarrassing is a tool those bastards are using. It’s a way to reinforce the idea that only a set group of people can create and control art, and everybody else has to buy it.
But art isn’t a product. Art is a fundamental human impulse. Nobody is entitled to a specific piece of art (which is where this message gets skewed into pitting people who love art against the artists who make it, while the bastards screw us all and run away with the money). But making art belongs to everybody. We make up songs and dances and stories, and paint things, and make clothes, and embellish them, and carve flowers into our furniture and our lintels and our doorframes, and make windows out of tiny pieces of coloured glass, and decorate our homes and our bodies and our lives with things we make and make up, simply for the love of beauty and of the act of creation. Grave goods from tens of thousands of years ago show that ancient hominids gave their dead wreaths of ceramic flowers, tattooed their bodies, beaded their shoes. Making things for the sake of beauty and enjoyment is one of the most ancient and human things we can do.
The idea that we can’t, that we have to buy shit instead, because art is a product and you have to have the bestest prettiest most perfect product, is the enemy of joy. It’s the death of culture. And it means that, instead of whatever it is that you cherish and enjoy and value, you get whatever inoffensive (and to whom is it inoffensive?) bland meaningless samey-samey crap that the bastards want you to be allowed to have. What are you missing and what are you missing out on, if you don’t make or modify or decorate anything for yourself, if you don’t think you can because the product at the end won’t be polished or perfect or marketable enough? What do you lose? What do we lose?
It is a desperately vital and necessary thing for you to make shit. For you to know that you can make shit, that you don’t have to just lie back and take whatever pablum the bastards want to force-feed you (and charge you through the nose for). That the bastards need you more than you need them.
Become ungovernable. Be your own weirdly-endearing punk little freak. Paint on a t-shirt. Sing off-key in the shower or at karaoke night or at open mic night. Make up a story where you get to meet your favourite fictional character and you guys hug or fuck or punch each other in the face. Make art. Do it badly. Do it frequently. Do it enthusiastically. Do it for love and joy and creativity and fun and the spiteful joy of thumbing your nose at some smug motherfucker with a Swiss bank account who wants to track your heartbeat and location for the rest of your life in order to automatically pump AI-generated beats matched to your mood into your earbuds for a small monthly subscription fee of $24.99/month. It is literally the only way we are ever going to have even a chance to save art and our own lives from the bastards.
So. Paint that t-shirt.
(Also support artists where you can, and buy your music from Bandcamp.)
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eddie and venom playing videogames together would be so funny, i think
like i imagine if they play something like the Sims, Eddie is doing your typical "Make the sim as ugly as possible because it's funny" bit. just hideously weird looking with bright pink skin and pieces of the face clipping through each other because he's stretched it so much. he names them Shit Fart.
meanwhile Venom would be working so hard to make as close to a replica of Eddie as possible. Venom has downloaded twenty five mods to allow for larger lips and more tattoos. Venom's got so much custom content in the game to give Sim Eddie the best outfits. Venom buys Sim Eddie the nicest things in the game. Eddie's house is perfect.
Eddie sets his own sim on fire.
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made a playlist of songs that make me want to puke and then a hype playlidt of osngs that make me happy to motivate me to clean my room slayyy duality
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I am not joking when I say I will buy a PS5 the moment Ape Escape 4 releases on it, and I feel comfortable making this wager because I know that Sony will never do it. Because Sony has abandoned simple, lighthearted fun in favor of the overly cinematic and deathly serious.
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