Yutaka Murakami
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
almost home

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Show & Tell

#extradirty
Sade Olutola
occasionally subtle
todays bird

Janaina Medeiros

@theartofmadeline
dirt enthusiast
Stranger Things
Three Goblin Art
Claire Keane
Not today Justin
RMH
hello vonnie
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

titsay
Mike Driver
seen from United States

seen from Singapore
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Malaysia
seen from Norway
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia

seen from Belgium

seen from Canada
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States

seen from United States
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@booksofmanycolours
Yutaka Murakami

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all my fantasy dagger bookmarks! now available on my store [link in pinned]
I’m bringing this energy into 2023
My little sister's new boyfriend got a tattoo for her about a month ago and he wanted matching tattoos so he decided to get uh. The tattoo on her ankle of her ex boyfriend's name that she hasn't gotten covered up yet
She broke up with him but I also just got the same tattoo
OK my dad also got it
DYLAN!

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My favorite thing about M3gan is seeing the trailer with her dancing and thinking there will be context for it in the final movie, but there is none. Shes just vibing. Love it for her. Go queen
kiss has to be one of the most disappointing bands ever. imagine hearing about this crazy rock band that dresses up in insane costumes and wears face paint and the one guy looks super demonic and has a really long tongue and everyone says they're satanic and then you listen to them and they're just singing about how they wanna bone but it's in a socially acceptable tongue in cheek way that your dad likes
Then they have the Gaul to claim that Rick is dead while Ozzy Osbourne continues to be a huge driving force, ACDC releases a new album that does well, and Nickelback and Saboton are huge.
i really hope you're joking
i have never seen vancouver this snowed up, what a nightmare
wtf
I’ve been contemplating for several days something, and I’ve been trying to distill it into meaning, and put nice little bullet points on how this relates to things that have been bugging me about some common Discourses I’ve been seeing, but at the end, I only really have a story. So here, have a story.
About ten years ago, sometime in the eventful 2006-2007 George W. Bush-ruled hellscape of my identity development, I was just starting to figure out how I felt about my conservative upbringing (not great) and whether I was some brand of queer (probably, but too scared to think about what brand for too long). I was working as a server at a popular Italian-inspired sit-down restaurant that was the closest thing my tiny South Carolinian town had to “fancy” at the time but isn’t really fancy at all.
The host brought a party of four men to one of my tables. It was hard to tell their ages, but my guess is they were teenagers or in their early 20s in the 1980s. Mid-40s, at the time. It was standard to ask if anyone at the table was celebrating anything, so I did. They said they were business partners celebrating a great business deal and would like a bottle of wine.
It was a fairly busy night so I didn’t have a LOT of time to spend at their table, but they were nice guys. They were polite and friendly to me, they didn’t hit on me (as most men were prone to do – sometimes even in front of their girlfriends, a story I’ll tell later if anyone wants me to), and they were racking up a hell of a tab that was going to make my managers happy, so I checked on them as often as I could.
Toward the end of their second bottle of wine, as they were finishing their entrees, I stopped at the table and asked if they wanted any more drinks or dessert or coffee. They were well and truly tipsy by now, giggling, leaning back in their chairs – but so, so careful not to touch each other when anyone was near the table.
They’re all on the fence about dessert, so being a good server, I offered to bring out the dessert menu so they could glance it over and make a decision, “Since you’re celebrating.”
“She’s right!” one of the men said, far too emphatically for a conversation on dessert. “It’s your anniversary! You should get dessert!”
It was like a movie. The whole table went absolutely silent. The clank of silverware at the next table sounded supernaturally loud. Dean Martin warbled “That’s Amore” in some distorted alternate universe where the rest of the restaurant went on acting like this one tipsy man hadn’t just shattered their carefully crafted cover story and blurted out in the middle of a tiny, South Carolina town, surrounded by conservatives and rednecks, that they were gay men celebrating a relationship milestone.
And I didn’t know what I was yet, but I knew I wasn’t an asshole, and I knew these men were family, and I felt their panic like a monster breathing down all our necks. It’s impossible to emphasize how palpably terrified they were, and how justified their terror was, and how much I wanted them to be happy.
So I did the only thing I knew to do. I said, “Congratulations! How many years?”
The man who’d spoken up burst into tears. His partner stood up and wrapped me in the tightest, warmest hug I’ve ever had – and I’ve never liked being touched by strangers, but this was different, and I hugged him back.
“Thank you,” he whispered, halfway to crying himself. “Thank you so much.”
When he finally let go of me and sat back down, they finally got around to telling me they were, in fact, two couples on a double date, and both celebrating anniversaries. Fifteen years for one of them, I think, and a few years off for the other. It’s hard to remember. It was a jumble of tears and laughter and trembling relief for all of us. They got more relaxed. They started holding hands – under the table, out of sight of anyone but me, but happy.
They did get dessert, and I spent more time at their table, letting them tell me stories about how they met and how they started dating and their lives together, and feeling this odd sense of belonging, like I’d just discovered a missing branch of my family.
When they finally left, all four of them took turns standing up and hugging me, and all four of them reached into their wallets to tip me. I tried to wave them off but they insisted, and the first man who’d hugged me handed me forty dollars and said, “Please. You are an angel. Please take this.”
After they left I hid in the bathroom and cried because I couldn’t process all my thoughts and feelings.
Fast forward to three days ago, when my own partner and I showed up to a dinner reservation at a fancy-casual restaurant to celebrate our fifth anniversary. The whole time I was getting ready to leave, there was a worry in the back of my mind. The internet web form had asked if the reservation was celebrating anything in particular, and I’d selected “Anniversary.” I stood in the bathroom blow-drying my hair, wondering what I would do if we showed up, two women, and the host or the server took one look at us and the “Anniversary” designation on our reservation and refused to serve us. It’s not as ubiquitous anymore, but we’re still in the south, and these things still happen. Eight years of progressive leadership is over, and we’ve got another conservative despot in office who’s emboldening assholes everywhere.
It was on my mind the whole fifteen minutes it took to drive there. I didn’t mention it to my partner because I didn’t want to cast a shadow over the occasion. More than that, I didn’t want to jinx us, superstitious bastard that I am.
We walked into the restaurant. I told the hostess we had a reservation, gave her my last name.
She looked at her screen, then looked back at us. She smiled, broadly and genuinely, and said, “Happy anniversary! Your table is right this way.”
Our server greeted us, said, “I heard you were celebrating!”
“It’s our anniversary,” Kellie said, and our server gasped, beaming.
“That’s great! Congratulations! How many years?”
And I finally breathed a sigh of relief, and I thought about those men at that restaurant ten years ago. I hope they’re still safe and happy, and I hope we all get the satisfaction of helping the world keep blooming into something that’s not so unrelentingly terrible all the time.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I’m bringing this energy into 2023
No cartoon from me in today’s @guardian so here’s one from the archive. Also, my book REVENGE OF THE LIBRARIANS is out now and makes a good gift. Details at www.tomgauld.com
You know the problem with reading a book? You get hooked and then it ends and you feel sad
This post is cancelled, I have found a new book and everything is all right again
By Talos this cannot be happening
Okay, I love making a nice thick book, but there's something about boxes that is just SO rewarding. Now, who here has heard of a peller pop-up box? I have to add a disclaimer that even of this post, I have made... three whole boxes, ever. But my personal take is that what's the point of diving into a craft if I'm not gunning for a target far above my skill level? The ambition gives me a thrill, I don't have to feel bad if I fail, and if I succeed, the rush is SUBLIME. And now I have a box with a mechanism (a ribbon) that pops the book out of an inner sleeve when I open it. I'm in love.
This was a learning process and a half! The only instructions I can find for this are some handwritten notes from a class in 1990, and the person who posted those notes also posted a number of critiques of the technique as described in the class. Also, the class notes (and addendums) come from an expert perspective, catering to experts. I'm an enthusiastic amateur who's still learning basic competence with leather. I was smart enough not to do a leather slipcase, but overconfident enough to cover my spine and edges in leather, haha. But even though I have a LOT of notes for what to tweak next time, I love it SO MUCH
I arbitrarily decided to work with my millimeter binding of 'and love unbolts the dark' by blackkat for this experiment, because it's small, it's one of my favorites, I had more of the leather I used for its edges, and I thought I had more of the cover fabric and it would be a good match to one of my yellow marbled papers. As you can probably tell from those photos, things didn't quite go that route!
First, I couldn't find the fabric. It might be in here somewhere, but I have FAR too much fabric, lmao. But I did find a lot of this dark green one, in the same line, and with some lovely color overlap, and a nice aesthetic match for the leather. And then I also realized that the marbled paper was a Lot in comparison to the rest of what I was pulling together. So I left it as a liner for the inner slipcase, to tie into the yellows of the original fabric. Then I dug up an embossed teal paper that matched the dominant palette of the new fabric, and went for broke. And I love this so much, truly, it was a headache trying to wrap my head around the instructions and I still have some minor complaints about the process, but I am so, so pleased right now. I would joke about how little time it will be before I do this again, but... I've already started
I love this idea

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Fuck yeah book haul time
Now I gotta figure out what I want to read first (no I don't have books I'm in the middle of and haven't picked up in months, wym)
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