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Artist Unknown, Wyvern Weathervane, c. late 1800′s

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this just in: local man believes he is irreparably damaged and eternally doomed

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Jayme Lawson as Pearline.

“She is a performer. She is a sharecropper who was married off young to an older gentleman and seeks to find her life in these kinds of juke joints. That’s where she seems to come alive. That’s where she tends to have some level of freedom.”-Jayme Lawson.

Sinners (2025) │ Directed by Ryan Coogler.

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“my heart beats for you”

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Audre Lorde and May Ayim in Schöneberg, Berlin. by Dagmar Schultz [x]

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“St Sebastian” by Reed 013, scanned from “Fetish Mode,” 2003.

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person who's never been aware of anything ever, sharing experiences for the first time: "this reminds me of nothing"

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since my phone is already listening to me at all times it should at least have a function where upon detecting that im trapped in bad conversation it plays a ringtone or manufactures an urgent text from a family member and if the conversation is still happening 15 seconds later it detonates

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guy who's profiting from it: look, i don't like it either

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always complain about things. okay, you know how programmers explain their code to rubber ducks when it's not working? same principle. an appliance breaks down. I get pissed off, try everything, go through the various stages of despair etc. I complain about it to a friend and explain why it frustrates me so bad, and suddenly I'm thinking 'wait I should try unplugging it and then doing a factory reset and then—' and I go home and do that and it starts working again. I keep losing my earrings. I complain about it to a friend, about how I keep them all in a little dish but then the specific one I want always dematerialises the moment I want it. my friend says 'I just keep them on the little card backs they came with' and I think well shit, I always throw those out. but then I think aha I can make a bunch of pinholes in a decorative postcard. genius. I read a story. it's about something I'm usually into, but for some reason I don't like this story at all. I complain about it, I figure out what irritates me about it, I have a great idea for a way better story. I try a new recipe, it doesn't come together. I bitch about it like crazy, about what I thought I did right and how it failed, and before I know it I'm explaining out loud which parts I'm inexperienced at or didn't understand or adjusted wrong. I need a little table for drawing on. I complain about it in the group chat, two days later someone says 'hey I spotted the kind of table you're looking for on the side of the road, do you want to come pick it up'. I complain, endlessly. my life is enriched. the art of complaining.

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