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In Gassed there is little suffering. Or rather, what suffering there is is outweighed by the painting’s compassion. In spite of the vomiting figure the scene has almost nothing in common with Owen’s vision of the gas victim whose blood comes ‘gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs’. What Sargent has depicted, instead, is the solace of the blind: the comfort of putting your trust in someone, of being safely led.
Maybe my favorite nail trend of the year. Happy 250th USA! Who knows if you'll get another, but the algae will be doing just fine.
Used a mix of old del sol colors that I think used to be sliver/gray to red solar colors that are now all some shade of green.
Polished for days - I wish I had wings
Holo Taco - Playing with Sapphire
And my unknown vipera color used for the base and everything swirled together on top.
Also, shout out to Nailtiques Formula 2! Usually when I take off my old polish there's a lot of nail peeling at the ends. Saw Nailtiques recommended on Reddit and I've used it twice under my base coat. Now no peeling at all! Amazing. Highly recommend.
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as a child i assumed that martha’s vineyard was a fancy private vineyard owned by martha stewart and the reason rich people vacationed there was because they were friends with martha
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You ever wake up and not know if it's am or pm? I haven't slept that great in ages, even though it was under 3 hours. (I woke before the music video I was listening to ended, which was 3 hours long.)
I also said a sort of prayer and reblogged something as a signal before trying to sleep. Even was thinking of an intentionally vague post to write, as I was falling asleep. Basically, please don't curse someone or they won't be able to finish the task you asked. And that they can still reach out if they have something to say.
Part of my dream involved crosswalks and misreading the signals, not understanding which path led where.
Another part was that I had become a steward to a magical building and had to attend a socialite party. I wore clear platform sandals with a yellow rubber duck embedded in the platform. No one took me seriously, so I could sneak through the crowd as myself. I heard a lot of folks speculating who the new steward would be. I laughed a lot, knowing I would disappoint their assumptions.
Once I was exposed the next day, everyone was trying to kiss ass. A music company staged a kpop boy band to serenade me at the elevator, then tried to ride in the elevator car with me. I refused to get in with them, saying I'd rather take the rickety single person emergency car (more like a dumb waiter?) than ride with them.
There was also a Backrooms element, where I discovered these immense archives of things from my life. My dad also lived in this place with me, and he had saved my old school papers, just being so proud of me. My journals were on my side of the mansion, archived as eras, with physical copies of the pages separate from notebooks and computer screens.
Oof, I keep almost drifting off again, as I try to type on my phone.
Basically, I felt freedom to be myself and supported by this magical mansion. Enough room that I don't have to cull my stuff yet. The magic organized everything to be easily found. My waking life needs me to wash and put away laundry, in contrast.
I def felt like the mansion was an entity by itself, a single personality, but this also reminds me of the invisible servants in "Eros and Psyche" and "Beauty and the Beast". I can't remember specifically, but it might also happen with other tales also that motif, like "Hans My Hedgehog" and "East of the Sun, West of the Moon".
Why was I given stewardship of this mansion if it could do everything without supervision? Idk, but I know it was happy to see me comfortable as myself, and it could feel my appreciation. The mansion provided the rubber ducky shoes, so maybe it appreciated my whimsical side? I was also talking to it out loud as I explored - thanking it, admiring its wonders, appreciating the conversation it was trying to hold with me.
That reminds me: language barriers and slow attempts at communication are a recurring theme in my stories. The Little Mermaid and Project Hail Mary are examples, along with my changeling character being mute at times. Maybe it's also about the patience and dedication to keep trying.
Ugh, still drifting off. I keep seeing images of butterflies and pupas conflated with the underside of plant leaves - green with purple-red veining, like rhubarb.
if I just had the presence of mind and the wherewithal and the chutzpah and the bandwidth and the executive function and the energy and the mental resources and the spoons and the right attitude and the capacity and the gumption and th
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