val-kyrie

[val-kyrie]

I don't know I'm not done talking about it. It's insane that I can't just uninstall Edge or Copilot. That websites require my phone number to sign up. That people share their contacts to find their friends on social media.

I wouldn't use an adblocker if ads were just banners on the side funding a website I enjoy using and want to support. Ads pop up invasively and fill my whole screen, I misclick and get warped away to another page just for trying to read an article or get a recipe.

Every app shouldn't be like every other app. Instagram didn't need reels and a shop. TikTok doesn't need a store. Instagram doesn't need to be connected to Facebook. I don't want my apps to do everything, I want a hub for a specific thing, and I'll go to that place accordingly.

I love discord, but so much information gets lost to it. I don't want to join to view things. I want to lurk on forums. I want to be a user who can log in and join a conversation by replying to a thread, even if that conversation was two days ago. I know discord has threads, it's not the same. I don't want to have to verify my account with a phone number. I understand safety and digital concerns, but I'm concerned about information like that with leaks everywhere, even with password managers.

I shouldn't have to pay subscriptions to use services and get locked out of old versions. My old disk copy of photoshop should work. I should want to upgrade eventually because I like photoshop and supporting the business. Adobe is a whole other can of worms here.

Streaming is so splintered across everything. Shows release so fast. Things don't get physical releases. I can't stream a movie I own digitally to friends because the share-screen blocks it, even though I own two digital copies, even though I own a physical copy.

I have an iPod, and I had to install a third party OS to easily put my music on it without having to tangle with iTunes. Spotify bricked hardware I purchased because they were unwillingly to upkeep it. They don't pay their artists. iTunes isn't even iTunes anymore and Apple struggles to upkeep it.

My TV shows me ads on the home screen. My dad lost access to eBook he purchased because they were digital and got revoked by the company distributing them. Hitman 1-3 only runs online most of the time. Flash died and is staying alive because people love it and made efforts to keep it up.

I have to click "not now" and can't click "no". I don't just get emails, they want to text me to purchase things online too. My windows start search bar searches online, not just my computer. Everything is blindly called an app now. Everything wants me to upload to the cloud. These are good tools! But why am I forced to use them! Why am I not allowed to own or control them?

No more!!!!! I love my iPod with so much storage and FLAC files. I love having all my fics on my harddrive. I love having USBs and backups. I love running scripts to gut suck stuff out of my Windows computer I don't want that spies on me. I love having forums. I love sending letters. I love neocities and webpages and webrings. I will not be scanning QR codes. Please hand me a physical menu. If I didn't need a smartphone for work I'd get a "dumb" phone so fast. I want things to have buttons. I want to use a mouse. I want replaceable batteries. I want the right to repair. I grew up online and I won't forget how it was!

[val-kyrie]

One thing about Van Gogh that people don't talk about is how brilliantly he uses texture in his artwork. The way he uses oil paint is so three dimensional, and he's so aware of it and uses it to his full advantage to add depth and texture. It's not as obvious in photographs or digital versions of his paintings, which is a damn shame because once you see them in person you realize how much it adds to them. There's one in the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam called The Sower with a tree cutting through the foreground, and the majority of the trunk is one flat stroke of paint, ending with a knot in the trunk made bulbous by the end of a brush stroke that was never smoothed out. One of his paintings in the Met, Wheat Field With Cypresses, has the brush strokes very choppy on the top of the wheat, but smooth and almost textureless on the stalks. It's one of the things that I think really separates him from the other artists of the period.

[val-kyrie]

hate an x reader fic do not put me in a situation

[val-kyrie]

https://dieworkwear.com/2022/08/26/how-to-develop-good-taste-pt-1/

From the comments "In my experience clothing on anyone looks best when it is done with confidence. We are all different shapes and sizes. I was really struck by your post on dressing well that included John Goodman in a faded t-shirt and jeans. He rocks it!"

Excellent advice, whatever gender or style one is looking for. Thank you

I'm a trans guy and Derek, I can tell you my wardrobe has improved a huge amount simply by reading your threads. The "dress for your body type" stuff never worked well for me; your threads about putting together an intentional look and for getting a good fit - that's 99% of the game.

[val-kyrie]

narrator who's terrible at social cues & describes every facial expression as "unreadable"

[val-kyrie]

This is a comment someone appended to a photo of two men apparently having sex in a very fancy room, but it’s also kind of an amazing two-line poem? “His Wife has filled his house with chintz” is a really elegant and beautiful counterbalancing of h, f, and s sounds, and “chintz” is a perfect word choice here—sonically pleasing and good at evoking nouveau riche tackiness. And then “to keep it real I fuck him on the floor” collapses that whole mood with short percussive sounds—but it’s still a perfect iambic pentameter line, robust and a lovely obscene contrast with the chintz in the first line. Well done, tumblr user jjbang8

[val-kyrie]

"Genesis", Oil on canvas by Matthew Cornell

[val-kyrie]

Different Stories Resonate with Different People

[val-kyrie]

Members of carnivora paired with their common ancestor, a miacid. 

[val-kyrie]

I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.

[val-kyrie]

one of my favorite twitter accounts that is defunct now is it was this account called like Crazy Optical Illusions or something and they would just post popular optical illusions but edit them so they werent optical illusions anymore and they would just pretend and people would be very confused / angry in the comments

[val-kyrie]

Boar and boar babies

[val-kyrie]

my sister hath sent me. Canned Cheese.

[val-kyrie]

I don’t have that dog in me, I have that gator in me. Bask in sun. Bask in water. Eat fish. Run weirdly. Burry children in sand. Bask.

[val-kyrie]

ds9 meets text posts pt 2 of ????

[val-kyrie]

At the post office today:

Man with beautiful silver undercut and a coach bag: can I get a sheet of stamps please

Clerk: does it matter what kind?

Man, with homosexual despair: EVerything matters to me, unFORtunately.