Joxtaposition Art

I hope this message finds you and your family in good health. My name is Eman Zaqout from Gaza. I am reaching you out to seek your urgent help in spreading the word about our fundraiser. I lost both my home and my job due to the ongoing genocide in Gaza and we are facing catastrophic living conditions. 💔

I kindly ask you to visit my campaign. Your support, whether through donating or sharing, will help us reach more people who can make a difference. Thank you for your continued support for the Palestinian cause. Your dedication brings us closer to freedom. 🙏🕊

Note: Verified by several people as 90-ghost and aces-and-angels. ☑

https://gofund.me/b141d50f 🔗

Dear Supporter,

I hope this message finds you and your family in good health. My name is Marcos Vazquez from the United States. I am reaching you out to seek you urgent help in spreading the word about our patreon. I lost my home, job and family due to the ongoing human right violations in the United States and we are facing catastrophic living conditions. <3

I kindly ask you to visit my patreon. Your support, wheter through donating or sharing, will help us reach more people who can make a difference. Thank you for your continued support for the Gays, Trans, Black and Neurodivergent cause. Your dedication brigs us closer to freedom.

By Jocoso

Oh! You are here. Came to see the burning man? I heard he burned forever; I saw his fire span. His flame grew tall; his shadow cast, A nature's freak with pain amassed.

I would give the world to hear him cry again, To gather and see ruin scar his skin again. To whisper in his ear, words of gasoline, And watch his flames dance wild and keen.

How cold the night has grown, Now that his fire is gone. How bitter the truth, our suffering still, Was the price of the burning man’s will.

But one day, his flame was gone, Leaving only ashes and bone. How pitiful now, don’t you agree? What becomes of us—what will we be?

Without his ever-burning spirit, Or the scent of scorching pyres near it, Without his moans to haunt the town, Who will guide the lost ones down?

Friend: "I want to speak to her, the cow.."

Me: "Why? The cow has nothing to say to you. You don't even have speak to animals or animal handling."

Friend: "I will speak to her."

Me: "Fine... you try speaking to the cow... Roll two... 1d20 and add your charisma modifier to one, and religion modifier to the other."

Friend: *rolls*

Friend: "Seven and one"

Me: "Mmhm seven and one, seven and one, seven... Eek! Sorry mate. In a twist of fate now everyone can speak and understand the cow except for you and she fucking hates you now. Her purpose in life has suddenly become to destroy every semblance of a reputation you could have ever had. For some unnatural reason, maybe the gods or maybe it was faith but because you spoke to this particular cow she will do everything in her power to make sure everyone in the village knows two things VERY clear. One, that she can fucking talk and two, is how much you like to torture animals with your incessant, boring conversations. She will tell the villagers that it was your nonsensical, cringy, crackhead behaviour that made Tyr grant her the power of whole sentience so she can defend herself from your incessant babble. To twist the knife, she will even spread rumours that you killed her husband by boring him to dead! Leaving her and her two girls to fend for themselves in THIS ECONOMY! How does it feel? Aren't you happy you talked to the cow, Stanley?

By A Devil You Don't Know

There is a rat, living inside my brain.

It doesn't matter what room of my cranium I am in,

it appear out of nowhere. Intruding without permission; almost like death itself.

It crawls up and down its palpitating veins, always finding the thoughts victim to my ponders.

And once it finds it, It positions itself like a cat with a paw on something important and fragile that you accidentally left too close to the edge. At a distance close enough to perceive it, yet too far for me to stop it.

To label such creature is a fool errand. All descriptions cannot describe but a minuscule fraction of a terrifying whole. I try, with all my might to protect my thoughts. But, instead, I utter the abstraction of a whisper: 'no'.

I am but a mere mortal begging a god for mercy.

It knows i can't kill it. I can't barely fight it. It is very aware of its power. It knows it can do whatever it wants with me.

Ignoring my pleas, the rat will open its black furry mouth and say in the voice of Sponge Bob: "I'm weird, I am a weirdo. Have you ever see me without this stupid hat?"

I'll cry. Beg the creature my mind conjure to please leave me alone, as I see the thoughts I've been working so hard to build destroyed and burned in front of my weeping eyes. The rat closes its mouth in response, and then disappear.

By A Devil You Dont Know

If your job forces you to skip lunch in any way, for any reason, put some amount of money away every time. Once you have enough saved to find another job, tell your boss you can't continue working there unless they enforce a protected lunch hour during the day for every employee .

How you decide to proceed from there, is up to you.

As per usual make sure everything you do leaves a papertrail. If managers are snakes and workers rats, papertrail is the trap you make (as a rat. Bear with me.) that may cut their heads off if they try something funny. It can be weaponized if needed is what i mean.

Unless you need your previous boss' opinion of you to get another job. Which I imagine brings a sense of nostalgia to women with male bosses everywhere. In such cases, just kindly resign and then, after you get another job, if there is a day you choose violence, put the papertrail you should be always keeping for every second you are expected to work, as a comment in every review site you can find. You have dates? Even better. Of course, no names or real information. Be mature, you are a professional goddammit! It may not help but does feel good ngl.