Keni
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Xuebing Du
Peter Solarz
Love Begins
One Nice Bug Per Day
izzy's playlists!
dirt enthusiast
tannertan36
Three Goblin Art
$LAYYYTER
noise dept.
Sade Olutola
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Cosimo Galluzzi
Show & Tell
KIROKAZE
macklin celebrini has autism
cherry valley forever
seen from Guatemala
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seen from South Africa
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@cat-citizen
this is so late renaissance early mannerism. the controversial male nudity? the lighting and value on the figurenof emphasis?? him bathed in light and placed ABOVE while the police are clad in dark and BELOW?? Uh HES HITTING THE CONTRAPPOSTO??
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I think kafkaâs diaries are the strongest evidence that journaling is not necessarily good for your mental health
it's because he didn't use washi tape
came back from death wrong trope? you can easily avoid this by just never dying at all (stays alive wrong stays alive wrong stays alive wrong stays alive wr)
i love when i'm in the car at night and i look out the window and the moon is following me. it's so romantic. we've been doing this since i was a child
ghosts are often presented as cold, which makes sense given their association with death, but personally i think that they should be hot, at least at first. hot with excess life, with blazing spiritual essence; scorching white-hot clouds of gaseous vapour shedding their vitality into the void like blood from an open wound.
ghosts should start out hot and painful to look at and gradually grow colder and diminish, like candles, or dying stars. you understand.
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im sorry i said that i wanted to replace your tendons and muscles with thin spectral cords of myself so i could draw you up and pull you around like my puppet. in retrospect that was kind of a weird thing to say and most people donât wanna get possessed or whatever. could i instead coil myself around you like snakes and move you how i want with more brute force? is that more normal
more stuff about becoming a god being inherently dehumanizing pls
too much focus on Ascension or becoming Greater not enough focus on what is Lost of you
you're not a person anymore, just a personification. you're a concept, an abstraction. all neatly defined boundaries and borders, none of the vagueries or blurring of lines or grey areas that come from being mortal.
you can never change, now. never grow or evolve, you are this, forever, stagnant. and the thing you've been made to embody might not even be your best trait.
shoutout to offputting autistic people
i am so sick of âsocial communication difficultiesâ being painted as like. haha i said something out of turn! haha i talk too loud! haha i was silly when i shouldâve been serious! im so weird lol.
shoutout to people who get told they stare and their eyes are too wide and they always look nervous or too intense. shoutout to people who donât know why the conversation dies right after you interject. shoutout to people who never know how to get your thoughts into words. shoutout to people who need clarification so much no one ever tells you things. shoutout to people who always feel resented. shoutout to people who donât know how to be in conversation. shoutout to people who struggle with social function in a way that canât be uwu-ified.
You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
The stone was immovable, in the past. Indestructible. A spire of granite no mortal hand could even alter.
But mortal hands build clever tools, and these last few hundred years I have lived in dread that they will break this, my sacred stone, the last link that preserves me, a faint shadow of a forgotten god. While my sacred stone stands, I do not, quite, fade away.
I am in a park, now, clipped and tamed, my forests long gone. But they landscape around me and my stone, admiring its beauty, so I do not complain. While they take pleasure in the stone, I am safe.
There is a playground a few lengths away, and the laughter and happy shrieking rouse me a little from my sleep. I watched over children, once. Itâs nice to hear them again.
But I donât truly awaken until the Offering is made.
Little hands touch my stone, with curiosity and a sort of reverence that only the very young feel now. For a child young enough the world is still a mystery, and even an ancient granite stone provokes wonder. So I stir, when she touches the stone, becoming hazily aware.
And then, solemnly, the child places a tiny colourful object in the roughly shaped alcove in the stoneâs side, the place where offerings were laid two thousand years ago and more, and I awaken. Many people have put things in that alcove, of course⌠to take pictures, usually, these days, or putting a lost object where it will be seen. Merely to place an object in the alcove isnât enough. A true offering is given as a gift, with intent.
As this is.
Afficher davantage
When I say âschool should be disability accessibleâ, I donât just mean we need handicap rails and EAs. Kids should be able to miss a day without failing out of school. You shouldnât be dismissed from clubs because your attendance record is âspottyâ (true story). I once missed an entire week of school because of a terrible, unending migraine. I was expected to keep up with my studies despite the blinding pain that came with working on my computer. When I heard my teachers say that you couldnât miss exams, I asked what I would have to do to be excused from them. Their response? âEither get a doctorâs note an hour before the exam or death of an immediate family member.â
I cannot express how rigid this expectation was. First of all, with my condition, I wouldnât have enough warning about my sickness to go to the doctor and request a note. For many people, this is exceptionally difficult, especially with the current shortage of medical professionals. Next, it ignores the fact that my schedule may not line with theirs because of my medical needs. Once, I had to visit a hospital a province away (which I was on the waiting list of for over a year) on the same day as an exam. I begged my mother not to take me because I was so nervous that I would be marked as an automatic fail. I was lucky enough to make it work, but thatâs only because of my spectacular support system consisting of family members and wonderful doctors.
Disabilities arenât always about needing a bus that can accommodate wheelchairs. Itâs already difficult enough for many of us to maintain school attendance without the harsh punishments involved for skipping a day. We need to be able to miss school without being punished. Only than can you claim that the school is âaccessibleâ
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every holocaust memorial day, i always ask people to keep romani people in their thoughts, but this year iâd like to clear up some misconceptions that i see every year w/ a psa
romani people are not white. weâre south asian (from northern india), and each subgroup has a unique racial makeup of asian/white/etc, in different amounts. this is also why we vary wildly in physical appearance/skintone
we still face oppression. what we face, especially in europe, can still be constituted as attempted genocide, as weâre forced to live in hazardous conditions or to give away our children, be sterilized, etc just for the crime of being roma
the âg slurâ isnât just an american issue. the reason some european roma prefer the slur is because, in many countries, there is no term for roma that isnât a slur, and itâs either the g slur or the literal translation of the n word. iâm romanian, and if you used the slur in my hometown, youâd get slapped, since we just use âromaâ.
we live in every continent across the world. some of the largest romani populations exist in south america, predominantly in brazil. they are no more and no less roma than their european counterparts, and they, like romani in asia, africa, etc all face unique challenges and oppression.
weâre the largest ethnic minority in europe, and yet have almost no political power, no land ownership power (in some places, weâre forbidden from owning land entirely), etc. with very few reputable charities- a lot of us reject charity by principle, as well as there being a general lack of education about us- the best thing you can do to help romani people is to just spread information, and help individuals when you can.
we need more vampire stuff thatâs set really really far north on the planet. the potential⌠we donât have any sunlight for a couple of months every year so they would literally be able to walk around during the day and no one would knowâŚ
"Oh but its so cold-" vampires literally wouldn't care. They would be attracting their victims by being dressed too lightly and people would be all like "oh no you are too cold, you are already cold to the touch, come inside" and then the vampire could be all "bleh!"
Much of my childhood was spent grappling with the impression that I was somehow failing at being a child and trying, ineffectively, to imitate the kinds of things that real children did.
Real children had things like pet rocks, and imaginary friends, and all sorts of quaint and charming behaviors that embodied the kind of innocent youthful exuberance and creativity that adults seemed to admire. Real children cried about silly things and had ridiculous worries about the world that adults were always eager to sooth them about. I wanted to be a proper child like thatâI wasnât concerned with âfitting inâ with other children so much as I was with passing as a child at all.
And so I made myself select rocks to keep as pets, dispassionately bathing them in little bowls and tucking them in to mossy beds with pussywillow pillows. I dutifully dreamed up a pair of little dragons to be my imaginary friends (their names were Tim and Violet) and forced myself to play with them. I said irrational things that I thought adults liked to hear. All the while I felt bitter and self-conscious and disgusted with myself for being a phony and not able to truly inhabit the role of âchildâ, at least not in the way that appealed to adult sensibilities and nostalgia.
I also realized that my imagination was a valuable social commodity to adults who wanted to observe their children playing creatively with others. That I could doâand well. Sometimes Iâd sacrifice the ideas I actually wanted to explore in favor of pretend scenarios that I knew adults would romanticize and appreciate. Iâd subtly nudge other children into more fanciful storylines because I knew their parents were listening and would be more sympathetic towards a game of innocent adventure than whatever they were naturally inclined to.
Using dissociate instead of zoning out. Describing a hobby as a hyperfixation. Saying nonverbal when you want a bit of quiet. Saying intrusive thoughts because that must mean an urge like to buy coffee or hair dye. Do you know feeling off sometimes is a sign of autism? Lying is gaslighting. Everyone I dislike is a narcissist.
All it means when people say âyouâre speaking from a place of privilegeâ is that youâre likely to underestimate how bad the problem is by default because you are never personally exposed to that problem. Itâs not a moral judgement of how difficult your life is.
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i hate it when someone asks me what my favorite work of art is because i can't say "the one of the woman chilling on the rocks with a dragon lying in her lap and giving off powerful big dick energy" but how else am i supposed to describe it
this is the definition of living deliciously
This is Dragon Resting It's Head On The Lap of a Woman by Robert Leinweber
A heavily wounded man crawling towards you begging you to kill him but then he hears an ice cream truck jingle and gets up and runs towards the truck yelling âICE CREAM! YIPEE!â but his leg is terribly broken so its just swinging everywhere while he runs amd blood is squirting everywhere and it gets oin the truck and all of the meenu on the side but he can still order his favorite treat and eats it happily licking it like a cartoon character while giggling But when hes done he collapses and goes back to trying to get you to put him out of his misery like nothing happened
