#what it means to love

[just-art5]

Love and Grief

My grandpa passed away a few months ago. This man was more than a father to me and I miss him everyday. I honestly feel like a part of me died with him.

During a recent conversation I had with my grandma, she told me how much she misses him and how she wakes up in the middle of the night thinking that she can hear him breathing and sleeping near her. That she sometimes wakes up to check that he is still covered with the blankets so that he doesn't get cold. Only to be disappointed when those milliseconds just after she wakes up pass and she remembers the truth, leaving her feeling disappointed and vastly sad.

She also told me about a widower she met at the cemetery, as grandpa and this man's wife are buried next to each other. They died only days from each other. He told her how unbearable life is without his wife by his side. He told her about how he visits her in the cemetery in the middle of the night because he feels like he cannot breath if he is not near her.

This is what love and grief look like.

[lordrahlprotects]

A year on I'm still obsessed with this album.

I spammed this album to death on my old blog but tumblr nuked that. So I'm obliged to torment you all again.

[noknowshame]

why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. the night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?

[ao3feeddestiel]

what it means to love

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/kUaG30Z by thisisaboringusername Castiel learns what love is. Words: 128, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 18 of Destiel Poetry, Part 16 of 365 Days of Destiel Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Castiel/Dean Winchester Poetry, Poetry, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Love is Toxic, or I accidentally made Cas a masochist read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/kUaG30Z

[petrichara]

‘Love is the one thing that we’re capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space.’

“Eulogy from a Physicist” by Aaron Freeman, with quotes from Interstellar by Christopher Nolan, and images from NASA, Interstellar, Getty, Petrichara, and Reuters.

1- NASA: GOODS-South.

2- NASA: NGC 1850.

3- NASA: Iberian Peninsula.

4- Christopher Nolan: Interstellar.

5- NASA: From the Earth to the Moon.

6- Hannah La Folette Ryan: Subway Hands.

7- Adams Evans: Heart Nebula.

8- NASA: Exploring the Antennae.

9- NASA: Crescent Moon from the International Space Station.

10- Petrichara.

11- Getty Images.

12- NASA: SMACS 0723.

13- Reuters

[medusummer]

yeah

[hedwig-dordt]

I'm sorry I forgot to post this link earlier. In my defence it's been A Month for me so far.

Here's @drchucktingle in conversation with the ever lovely Sarah from @smartbitches

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[aarchimedes]

for context: I read the hobbit first over the course of two years when I was like 13, but I'm only now starting to read lotr. having a blast tho!

anyways, reblog if you feel like it 🙌🏻

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy Thistle Debut Day!

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

hello, sexiest man alive committee? yes I'd love to nominate Lou Wilson and Brian Murphy for attempting to speed-write an actual in-universe 300-word essay in 5 minutes of real time as Fabian and Riz posing as Fabian with complete earnest and a 120 percent commitment. both this effort and the incredibly smooth hand-off in the middle of it was maybe the most attractive thing i've ever seen a man do

yes it's a dungeons and dragons show. don't put me on hold. hello

[mipexch]

I WAS MADE FOR YOU // YOU WERE MADE FOR ME

[qadmonster]

@specimen-jar you can legally steal it

[quirinah]

she dun on my geon till i meshi

[auteurdefeu]

Lucifer throws rubber ducks at Alastor to shut him up.

It actually worked for the first few times too, because it was so random that it caught him off guard, as very few things do. With his large collection and how very few of his creations he was actually proud of, Lucifer had a lot of ammunition. He wasn’t about to embarrass himself by scrambling to get them back afterwards, but he did wonder what happened to them. Incinerated, he would guess.

But no, Alastor likes entertainment, and after he got over the fact the literal King of Hell’s best line of defense was rubber ducks, he was very entertained by the little things. There was a growing collection in his radio tower, and he had learned quickly that there was more to them than met the eye. He’d been quite displeased when one had left his coat singed from spitting fire, but despite all their tricks, none were particularly harmful.

Alastor hadn’t been sure where these ducks were coming from, but after plucking one off the floor that had a remarkable resemblance to the Radio Demon himself, he was beginning to suspect they weren’t exactly off the shelf. And wasn’t that a thought, the devil himself spending hours meticulously crafting toys. Even more so interesting that he spent some of that time making one of a demon he hated so much. But he keeps them all the same.

Chucking them at Alastor’s head becomes a whole lot less effective at getting him to shut the fuck up after a while. That didn’t stop Lucifer from wanting to throw things at him, and it wasn’t destructive to the hotel in the process. Probably not a bad thing, to be clearing out his room of so many ducks. And if a certain gothic tower is now full of them instead, well… who’s to say.

*quack quack* I’m losing my mind, can you tell