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Cats by Léo Forest

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something about how censorship and capitalism are so closely intertwined. that the slow push of right-wing conservative ideals are closely mirrored by corporate rebranding. how fast fashion restyles "femininity" into ever-more-modest aesthetics. how sydney sweeney can say my jeans are blue in a re-formatting of an advertisement that originally featured a child; but meanwhile corporations are halting DEI initiatives in their tracks.

but okay. i can't say fuck in my instagram poetry, that's fine. it always bothers me when a content creator changes their closed captions to a different word - HOH/deaf communities aren't composed of infants, and can read a swear word without fainting. but you have to censor if you don't want to get shadowbanned.

can't make a video about a person who is being violent, abusive. but the president of the united states can literally say whatever he wants, forever. you can't even really say that you think the president is a pedophile - pedophile is a word that the AI will flag.

marx wrote about how capitalism alienates us from ourselves and from others. social media continues to enhance that alienation, and now there is another layer happening - one where The Corporation gets to decide how we talk/think/interact. (don't even fucking get me started on how tumblr loves to see trans people as a threat.)

books are getting published that include the "word" unalive. this gives you a strange disassociation for a moment; feeling like 1984 exists in the real life. is this for maximum profit? but also - who could possibly be seeking out a book where violence takes place but is also the type of person who does not want to name the violence? is that even a significant portion of society - someone who wants to read the hunger games but, like, without all the child killing and anti-capitalist critique. or maybe, who knows. that fucking post about how disco elysium should be about a witch.

you watch as the late night show gets cancelled because god forbid anyone critique The Corporation. in the past year, you've watched media slowly back down from "making a stand" into bland everybody-wins gruel. you've watched plenty of corporations switch from saying (in rainbow font) "we'll always protect our FAMILY" to saying, "we value differences, but you're not a right fit for our team". in job interviews, HR is forced to talk around their policy, not wanting to specifically say identity. it's eerie.

one of the first rules of resisting fascism is "do not obey in advance."

and what is the next step anyway? will ticketmaster stop selling tickets for concerts that use swear words? will mastercard no longer cover art sales for any form of nudity, regardless of the context? god forbid there be violence in your violent video games. god forbid a person interacts with anything, ever, that might make them uncomfortable in any small way.

it reminds me of how the rest of life has also become less colorful (literally). how you need to keep your car pristine and undamaged with no bumper stickers, what if you resell it. how you'll never afford a house, so your apartment is a palatable resell-value grey. how you don't even own the tv you enjoy.

it's just - it's not enough that capitalism controls what i eat and where i go and what i do. these days, the terrible white & bloated body of capitalism is shoving his hands down my throat and holding my tongue. i need to be a brand, somehow. i, as a person existing on this site, need to reflect the brand ideals of this site.

they need to make a buck off of me, somehow.

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Weelee!

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gift ideas for the holiday season:

giant inflatable Lugia that barely fits in the house

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Shop , Patreon , Books and Cards , Mailing List

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gouache friends

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children are so fucking funny man. i just overheard a kid go “i just learned a new way to pinch, wanna see it? it hurts a lot more!” followed by a loud, notably pained scream

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leave your laundry on the floor for them

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English added by me :)

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Growing up, my brother and I deeply dreaded going shoe shopping. It took hours, especially if it was for winter boots. My dad would examine the stitching, the brand reliability, the temperature recommendations, every piece of information he could get his hands on, and then when he'd finally found the right brand, it was on to making absolutely dead sure they fit properly - he had a particular way of poking the toe of the boot to ensure our foot was where it was supposed to be that always drove me nuts. This was always on a weekend, and it was about the worst punishment we could imagine.

Years later, I found out that he'd spent his entire childhood on the Canadian prairies with cold feet. My grandmother just bought whatever boots looked like the best value, regardless of whether they'd keep anyone warm. They'd kept him from frostbite, probably, but never, ever comfortable.

The reason my grandmother never had a thought about this was because she was buying her kids real boots. There was a sort of magical quality about real, purpose-made boots that meant that of course they'd work, because when she was growing up on the Canadian prairies, they had the kind of no money that meant you just stuffed some newspaper into your shoes and soldiered on.

The last pair of winter boots my dad bought for me was 15 years ago, in preparation for a three-month stint living in northern Quebec in midwinter. They cost $200 then, or something like it. I've worn them every year since, driving out to the remotest locations on the Canadian prairies and never once thinking about my feet.

When I read the Vimes Boots Theory for the first time, it rang a bell that reverberated back three generations.

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me: I wonder how some of these bog bodies got created, like, how do you just fall into a bog and die?

drunk guy in the late Iron Age:

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When a small mammal scrunches up and cleans its face and whiskers with its little hands very rapidly. I just wanted to give you that thought for a moment did u like it.

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Just the essentials!

Music credit: "Cinema Blockbuster Trailer 7" by Sascha Ende Link: https://filmmusic.io/en/song/329-cinema-blockbuster-trailer-7 License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license (CC BY 4.0)

[Video Description: A 26 second video. Orchestral, cinematic music plays. Text reads The library is on fire! Grab the most important things!

A librarian at her computer spins around in her chair in slow motion, a look of horror on her face. Video cuts between various librarians frantically rescuing items. Each scene is labeled with the item:

The South Shore Posters: A librarian completely obscured by a framed South Shore Line poster she is carrying backs out of a room.

The hand chair: A librarian hauls away a large red plastic chair shaped like a hand.

Patron holds: A librarian shovels patron holds off the holds shelf onto a cart.

Benny the library skeleton: A librarian princess-carrying a large skeleton dressed in an oversized t-shirt frantically looks around for an exit before dashing away

The cardigan pile: A librarian almost completely obscured by the pile of cardigans in her arms runs toward the camera.

3D printer: A librarian dashes up to a large 3D printer and attempts to lift it off the table

Cecily the giraffe: A librarian pats a life size baby giraffe statue and then grabs it by the leg and begins slowwwly scooting backward to slide it across the carpet

The library tree: A librarian grips an enormous planter out of which springs an entire tree and pulls with all her might. It doesn't move.

James Patterson books? : The librarian carrying Benny sprints into frame between shelves loaded with endless Patterson books. Record scratch. The sound of a clock ticking as he considers the books for maybe two seconds.

Text changes to "Not enough hands". The dramatic music resumes as he sprints off frame with Benny.

End card with the library logo. The words 'Not actually on fire. Everything is fine.' are typed across the screen. End description]