Bordem Kills Me

The blood, the desperate clutch, the crying and the pose all suggest something religious, making the post all the more impactful with its drawing- The caramel frappe does not answer the subject, just as God does not answer the subjects of paintings who depicted the same theme.

It’s also intriguing where OP chose to put details. In amostly minimalist creation, the (relatively) detailed frappe, hands, and face guides your eyes in a a dynamic way- from the frappe to the face, then follows the line of the body out to the end of the legs- making the art more interesting to the eye.

Do you think she felt a pitching, gut-wrenching horror when she realized that he was alone?

Do you think she thought back to that day that she forced him to go, soothing herself with the reminder that he at least wouldn't be alone, and realized that, no, she not only sent him to his death but she sent him utterly alone with two corpses?

Do you think that she remembered the fact that Grace had always been forcibly alone: ostracized from his communities, humiliated into silence, and realized she was only compounding on that?

Do you think that, upon hearing about Rocky for the first time, she felt a wash of relief rather than wonder or awe or surprise?

I want that for us. I so want that for us. I want to be the generation that has seen fucking everything and is like a MRSA bug and unfazed and when that Cheeto finally dies, I want us to. Plant the gardens and clean the seas because we can and we want to and we remember some joy, some time of trust even when it got broken and we can say to the 20 somethings "let us show you what we can build, how it can feel."

So we tried to make sure someone called her every day, so she would have some kind of interaction, and one time my spouse asked how she was doing, and her attitude was basically, “Yeah, this happens sometimes.”

Because that was her life. She did live through the depression, she did lose three siblings to the last pandemic. She did live through WWII, and sent a son off to Vietnam, and made a family and a household and a career while knowing one slip of a button might wipe out all life on earth. And she lived through it; she survived.

And so 2020 wasn’t the end of the world, for her. It was just another thing. Because life is made up of sunshine and rainbows and puppy dogs, AND ALSO fascists and violence and rancid millionaires living high while people starve. And when you are in the middle of the shit times, you acknowledge that they’re shit, and also that they are not exclusively shit, because they still include spring days and new flowers and people taking care of each other.