i don’t want to be angry anymore i’m never going to hate again unless someone says something really stupid or if i see something i don’t like at all or maybe just whenever i feel like it
almost home
Sade Olutola

Kiana Khansmith
One Nice Bug Per Day
Peter Solarz
DEAR READER

Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Monterey Bay Aquarium

oozey mess
d e v o n
will byers stan first human second
wallacepolsom

Discoholic 🪩
NASA
Three Goblin Art

titsay
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@13th-blackbird
i don’t want to be angry anymore i’m never going to hate again unless someone says something really stupid or if i see something i don’t like at all or maybe just whenever i feel like it

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Persepolis, the ancient Zoroastrian ceremonial center of the Achaemenid Empire, located in Iran
Scanned from Invitation to World Religions: Oxford University Press Textbook
Sexting like “makes sense. sounds good to me.”
"Beneath The Golden Willow"
Ed Perkins.
[the most low energy you have ever seen me] we’re about to go crazy mode

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This is UNTRUE!!!! If you’re new to Catholicism you HAVE to listen to MEEEEEEEEE. Here’s my advice:
Leave
speaking of hedging, one criticism i always hate that's often levelled against people doing media criticism or analysis is variations on "oh they think all their opinions are correct" yeah i'd hope so--don't understand why someone would hold an opinion they think is wrong! i hate the culture of endlessly qualifying everything you say to mollify an interlocutor who feels like your strongly held opinion is an imposition on their free will and i think nobody ought to bend to it. make your criticisms and points with your fucking chest. if you think you need my permission to disagree with me then you will die my thrall and be buried in my tomb
That's a side quest. You're supposed to go find him.
Or at least find his environmental storytelling skeleton along with a unique weapon or piece of armor.
happy birthday america. just one bite of hamburger would begin to degrade my body. much respect
such a beautiful, generous people
The thing about American "leftist" comedians is that they aren't actually leftist, they are the Imperial Court Jesters. They stand on a stage, point directly at the blood-soaked gears of the war machine, make a little tee-hee noise, and the crowd erupts. Not because they are critiquing the machine, but because the laughter is a pressure release valve for the people inside it. Take the video of that stand-up asking the defense contractor if she helped Trump bomb those 160 Iranian school girls, and everyone laughing, including the contractor herself. That laughter is ritual absolution. The contractor laughs because she knows she will never face a tribunal. The audience laughs because they get to feel "self-aware" without having to actually stop anything. The joke doesn't condemn the contractor; it humanizes her, turns her into a lovable scamp who just happens to have a job graphing the velocity of shrapnel through children's bodies. By making it a punchline, the comedian sanitizes the atrocity. The blood is scrubbed off the stage. The audience gets to say "wow, we are so edgy for talking about it" while the person who builds the bombs gets to chuckle and order another drink. It is not satire, it is a team-building exercise for the empire.
Then there is the YouTuber talking about Transformers, casually dropping the "Iraq war aesthetic" like it's a color palette. Desert punk. Military core. A vibe. This is what happens when your country hasn't had a war on its own soil in living memory; the violence becomes media, a backdrop for childhood toys. The explosions are no longer the sound of mothers screaming; they are cool action sequences. They are digesting the visual debris of massacre as a nostalgic fashion choice, scraping the trauma off and compressing it into a genre for their retro-futurist fantasies. The apocalypse becomes a mood board.
And finally, the girl recounting celebrity love triangles from her childhood, flippantly mentioning how the U.S. was "busy with the Iraq war or whatever." Or whatever. That single phrase is the thesis statement of American innocence. Over a million dead, a region destabilized for a century, an endless river of grief; and for her, it was the commercial break between pop culture segments. It didn't raise her rent. It didn't stop her Wi-Fi. The violence is geo-locked to brown skin and distant deserts, just background noise like a refrigerator humming. She has the luxury of forgetting because the machine doesn't eat her children, it eats yours.
Americans don't hate the machine; they love the output. They hate the mess of it. So they turn it into jokes, into aesthetic, into "whatever." Because if they stopped laughing, if they stopped scrolling, if they actually looked at the 4K drone footage of the aftermath instead of the cool explosion CGI in their movies, they would have to realize that the lithium in their phones, the gas in their tanks, and the comfort of their suburban cul-de-sacs are all greased with the fat of foreign children. And they can't handle that. So they laugh. They turn it into a vibe. They call it "the Iraq war or whatever." You can't deconstruct the master's house with the master's jokes, especially when the punchline is the corpses holding up the floorboards.

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Still thinking about this mobile game ad I got. You will f**k increasingly large creatures.
Dungeon Mastery
fantasy stories love to begin with the world's most razeable peaceful little farming village having a big grand festival
but actually genuinely why is the ant sad and leaving with a bindle
thats probably it...

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worry about it kitten daddy fucked up