to me demons are like cats just doing whatever they want causing problems on purpose, while angels are like hares theyre painfully aware of their place in this world theyve seen the end
in my minds eye
EXPECTATIONS

bliss lane
Xuebing Du
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
noise dept.
sheepfilms
The Stonewall Inn
Noah Kahan
Color Me Curious
The Bowery Presents

oozey mess

blake kathryn

Andulka
RMH
Mike Driver

ellievsbear
One Nice Bug Per Day

Origami Around
almost home

seen from United States
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seen from Türkiye
seen from Singapore

seen from United States

seen from Bangladesh
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seen from Germany
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seen from Türkiye
@nemomus-prime
to me demons are like cats just doing whatever they want causing problems on purpose, while angels are like hares theyre painfully aware of their place in this world theyve seen the end
in my minds eye

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Mammal in a Sunday Dress, by Georgina M. Cox, 2026
Mammal in a Sunday Dress explores the uneasy relationship between femininity, civilisation, and the animal body. At first glance, the figure appears modest and withdrawn. Her posture is composed, her gaze seemingly lowered towards her bare feet, recalling the conventions of nineteenth-century portraiture where women were often depicted as passive objects of observation. Yet as the viewer moves closer, the illusion collapses. Her eyes are not lowered at all. She is looking directly back. The delayed eye contact transforms the encounter. The viewer approaches believing they are safely observing a woman; instead, they realise they have been observed themselves. The work refuses the traditional power dynamic of portraiture, denying the comfort of anonymous spectatorship. Looking becomes a reciprocal act. For Cox, the painting considers humanity's persistent desire to separate itself from the rest of the animal kingdom. The title quietly undermines this distinction. A "mammal" is not another creature—it is us. The Sunday dress, rich with cultural associations of femininity, morality, and respectability, becomes an attempt to distinguish ourselves from nature. Yet clothing cannot alter biology. Beneath lace and ritual remains the same vulnerable animal body. The work also reflects on the historical relationship between women and nature. Across art, religion, and philosophy, women have repeatedly been positioned as closer to instinct, emotion, reproduction, and the body itself, while men have been aligned with reason, culture, and civilisation. Mammal in a Sunday Dress does not reject this comparison. Instead, it questions why proximity to nature has so often been treated as something lesser. Chiaroscuro isolates the figure within darkness, allowing the luminous dress to symbolise the performance of civilisation while the bare feet quietly return the body to the earth. Neither is presented as more truthful than the other. The painting exists in the tension between performance and instinct, refinement and biology. Mammal in a Sunday Dress ultimately asks a simple but unsettling question: if every layer of culture were stripped away, what would remain? Not a king. Not a saint. Not a gentleman or a lady. Only another mammal, looking back.
source
"it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world."
Scenery in Cast n Chill 10/??
Old Wreck Bay - Seals Rest
Having your interests mocked as a kid and general low self esteem will have you insulting the things you like even when they're generally considered very good. Because you like it, and historically when you like something it's stupid and not worth anyone's time. So you will say nonsense like "I recommend this book/game/film, but it's okay if you hate it, it sucks, I really enjoyed it but that's because I'm an idiot" and you are recommending them the Citizen fucking Kane of that particular media type. And importantly: you need to stop doing this it is killing you

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Emerging dragonfly at 1am
personally i do not prefer when stories engaging with complicated topics attempt to make themselves good educational resources on said complicated topics
and i understand that sometimes it's a very thin line between giving a realistic depiction of a serious topic and ending up in after-school special mode, but i also notice that no one is doing this when a character gets the flu (which kills many people every year) and PERSONALLY i don't love the patterns i'm vaguely sensing about which experiences can be depicted normally and which experiences must always be a learning opportunity
The core tenet of Stupidism is that everyone is really hecking stupid.
The core values of Stupidism are
Caution: because we, being stupid and surrounded by stupid people, are liable to do something stupid or be subjected to the stupidity of others at any time and in any situation.
Compassion: because it sucks to be stupid, and we are all stupid together.
Curiosity: because being stupid means having a lot to learn.
I forget this post exists sometimes but every time I remember I love it
#everyone is doing their best #the problem is our best is not fantastic (@astercrash)
Good news: if you’re currently laying around and not producing anything, you are a credit to your species.
It’s recently been found that even hive insects rest. Bees will play with colorful toys. Ants sleep for about 1 minute but they do it so frequently it amounts to a few hours per day. Even trees take breaks.
The only things that work without rest are machines; literally everything that lives requires rest.
EVERYTHING THAT LIVES REQUIRES REST. STOP JUDGING YOURSELF FOR NOT BEING A ROBOT.
robots require very frequent breaks! welding machines generally have it programmed in that they can’t run so long they melt themselves. ive overseen two different manufacturing robots now and each of them were fragile, finicky idiots that require constant maintenance and repair. they pause in between moves, in between jobs. you’re always keeping an eye on programming errors, on coolant levels, on heat. you’re always pulling bits of scrap out of joints, sweeping up debris, washing off nozzles and untangling hoses. and even then it snaps a chain and takes a whole morning’s vacation.
even robots need downtime.
Baa baa backstreets, have you any boys

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Goots (geese)
200x200 pixels, 26 colours, based on this photo.
Finally finished this OMG!!! Probably took me 20 hours in total but also I've been insanely busy and tired...!!
Prints available!!
New Day by Victor Nizovtsev
I lowkey hate when programs talk to me in a friendly way. "don't worry, nearly there!" Shut up. It should say "loading 64.3% completed. Do not turn off device" and absolutely nothing else. You arent my friend you are computer. Act like it
never lose hope. somewhere, a middle-aged, gender ambiguous person with an advanced degree in an esoteric field and a fiber arts hobby could be crashing out and pinning all their remaining mental health on getting obsessed with your otp. any day now, the most elegantly written 100k fanfic you have ever read is going to hit ao3. it could happen. it has happened.

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Human Is is a 1955 Philip K. Dick sci-fi short story where a guy goes to another planet for work and when he comes back to Earth his personality has flipped from an asshole to a sweet, kind, considerate man. Everyone's immediately convinced that an alien has taken over his body, this goes all the way to court, and in court his wife testifies that she's noticed no changes at all and so the charges are dropped.
And then there's a bit right at the end of the story as the wife and the husband are walking out of court:
Jill turned abruptly. "What is your name? Your real name."
The man's gray eyes flickered. He smiled a little, kind, gentle smile. "I'm afraid you would not be able to pronounce it. The sounds cannot be formed..."
Jill was silent as they walked along, deep in thought. The city lights were coming on all around them. Bright yellow spots in the gloom. "What are you thinking?" the man asked.
"I was thinking perhaps I will still call you Lester," Jill said. "If you don't mind."
"I don't mind," the man said. He put his arm around her, drawing her close to him. He gazed down tenderly as they walked through the thickening darkness, between the yellow candles of light that marked the way. "Anything you wish. Whatever will make you happy."
And I. God. There's something there. A soupcon of monsterfuckery. To tell your partner in a moment of intimacy that yes, you're something so inhuman that the lips you're stealing can't speak your actual name. You're a parasite that not only had the ability to burrow under this man's skin and take over his life, but you were so desperate to escape a dead, dry, blasted planet that you did.
And for your partner to then turn around and go "I know, I've always known, and I love you" is just. God I know it's not a great Dick story but something about it is making me lose my mind
Also it's explicitly stated that the guy's consciousness is still alive and preserved on the alien planet. Jill is told this and then proceeds to defend the alien anyways, ensuring that her husband's brain is stuck in a jar on a desert planet. You love to see it
Auguste Raynaud (French, 1855 - 1937)
nice