top 3 hobbies for young adults:
1. borrowing misery from future
2. carrying grief of the past
3. agonizing over the present
AnasAbdin

if i look back, i am lost
todays bird

Origami Around
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art blog(derogatory)

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I'd rather be in outer space πΈ
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pixel skylines
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@ofcourse-leaves
top 3 hobbies for young adults:
1. borrowing misery from future
2. carrying grief of the past
3. agonizing over the present

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the thing about phone in bed is that it's so awesome. almost makes you feel like betraying & destroying yourself for nothing isn't all so bad
kitten Iβll be honest the finality of everything in this world haunts daddy like a second shadow
in happier pride news i actually found this deeply heartwarming
that's solidarity baybeeee
Further context: Durham city council (Reform UK) cut funding and support for Pride. The Durham Miner's Association and other trade unions raised enough money for Durham Pride 2026 to go ahead - a direct call back to when Lesbian and Gays Support the Miners (LGSM) raised money for mining communities when Margaret Thatcher seized union funding during the miner strikes of 1984-85.
At the 1985 Labour party meet, the motion to support LGBT rights as a party was passed due to a block vote from mining unions.
Stephen Guy, the chair of the Durham Minersβ Association, said that when it became apparent Durham Pride was under threat, he took it upon himself to βencourage the trade union movement to step up and do the right thing, and stand shoulder to shoulder with the LGBT+ community [β¦] They not only raised funds for us, but came to our communities, uplifted our spirits when they were down, and showed their solidarity.β

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For those who don't know: Ikumi Nakamura is the woman who was senior artist on Bayonetta, and designed the titular character along with Hideki Kamiya. Their greatest moment of bonding was over their insistence that Bayonetta keep her glasses on at all times. Nakamura cannot go to horny jail. She is the warden.
Happy pride month to her and her exclusively
she made a comic about the experience on twitter
happy pride
An Update from back in October I'm surprised wasn't added to this post. lol
Truly, the level of reclamation and the build-up of Halβs play is giving me chills.
The Pariah blades are no longer hidden away in a museum. Theyβve been soaked in the freed blood and spirit of the people who forged and wielded them.
They are in the hands of Rungjani, clanging in the streets of Dol-Makjar, calling the people to witness a story.
The Hallowed Round is also covered in the liberated blood of Rungjani. Blood held captive for centuries now shapes the forms and faces of Rungjani, captives who strove and died, but did not fail, because their rebellion was a step forward on the path toward freedom.
The play is going forward, with no influence from the Creed. Everyone in the city will see it in its true formβ a story of rebellion.
It makes me think of the Falconerβs Rebellion, another failed rebellion. Two rebellions that failed with the fall of a single great man.
But there were nine blades used in the Rebellion that succeeded. Decades later, the Lloy name is held in highest honor as the creators of the Blades, not the wielders.
It makes me think of Uli saying, βI know now that those who sang songs in this place, even if the words were meant to soothe [Azgraβs] wrath and keep our lives in propitiating his fury; the melody, the dance, the fury and the passion, that was always for us.β
It makes me think of Demodus, saying that things have to start as an illusion first.
It makes me think of Thaisha, speaking a Rungjani blessing, blessing the Conqueror, βfor in his appetite, he saw AramΓ‘n forever changed from what it was to what it might be. A blessing to him, then, that the Rungjani reject peace in favor of a dream.β
Why do we tell stories?
I think I know. And Iβm very excited for opening night.
βThe works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit- and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains. And the smell of rot fills the country. Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putrescence drip down into the earth.
There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificate- died of malnutrition- because the food must rot, must be forced to rot. The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quick-lime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.β
β John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath
In the first poetry workshop I ever took my professor said we could write about anything we wanted except for two things: our grandparents and our dogs. She said she had never read a good poem about a dog. I could only remember ever reading one poem about a dog before that pointβa poem by Pablo Neruda, from which I only remembered the lines βWe walked together on the shores of the sea/ In the lonely winter of Isla Negra.β Four years later I wrote a poem about how when I was a little girl I secretly baptized my dog in the bathtub because I was afraid she wouldnβt get into heaven. βIs this a good poem?β I wondered. The second poetry workshop, our professor made us put a bird in each one of our poems. I thought this was unbelievably stupid. This professor also hated when we wrote about hearts, she said no poet had ever written a good poem in which they mentioned a heart. I started collecting poems about hearts, first to spite her, but then because it became a habit I couldnβt break. The workshop after that, our professor would tell us the same story over and over about how his son had died during a blizzard. He would cry in front of us. He never told us we couldnβt write about anything, but I wrote a lot of poems about snow. At the end of the year he called me into his office and said, βlooking at you, one wouldnβt think youβd be a very good writerβ and I could feel all the pity inside of me curdling like milk. The fourth poetry workshop I ever took my professor made it clear that poets should not try to engage with popular culture. I noticed that the only poets he assigned were men. I wrote a poem about that scene in Grease 2 where a boy takes his girlfriend to a fallout shelter and tries to get her to have sex with him by tricking her into believing that nuclear war had begun. It was the first poem I ever published. The fifth poetry workshop I ever took our professor railed against the word blood. She thought that no poem should ever have the word βbloodβ in it, they were bloody enough already. She returned a draft of my poem with the word blood crossed out so hard the paper had torn. When I started teaching poetry workshops I promised myself I would never give my students any rules about what could or couldnβt be in their poems. They all wrote about basketball. I used to tally these poems when Iβd go through the stack I had collected at the end of each class. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 poems about basketball. This was Indiana. Eventually I couldnβt take it anymore. I told the class, βfor the next assignment no one can write about basketball, please for the love of god choose another topic. Challenge yourselves.β Next time I collected their poems there was one student who had turned in another poem about basketball. I donβt know if he had been absent on the day I told them to choose another topic or if he had just done it to spite me. Itβs the only student poem I can still really remember. At the time I wrote down the last lines of that poem in a notebook. βHe threw the basketball and it came towards me like the sunβ

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βSubvertingβ Catholic art? Oh, okay. I see, you think this has nothing to do with you. You log onto the internet and you post about how βWound of Christβ from Psalter and Prayer Book of Bonne de Luxembourg, attributed to Jean le Noir, c.1349, for instance, looks like a vulva because you're trying to tell the world that you enjoy Catholic art and imagery in an alternative, queer, risquΓ© way that challenges Christian beliefs. But what you don't know is that that stigma isnβt just a vulva. It's not just a mandorla. It's not just yonic. It's actually intentionally erotic. And you're also blithely unaware of the fact that around 1297, Saint Angela of Foligno experienced a vision of Christ himself, who called her to put her mouth to the wound in his side and lick the freshly flowing blood. And then I think it was Saint Catherine of Siena who drank blood and a clear liquid from the wound before receiving a ring made from Christβs foreskin? And then graphically erotic encounters with the side wound of Christ quickly showed up in the writings of eight different mystics. And then the yonic interpretation of the stigmata filtered down through the illuminated manuscripts and then trickled on down into some pseudo-intellectual corner of the internetβ¦where you, no doubt, fished it out of some Pinterest board. However, that interpretation represents hundreds of years and countless visions of religious ecstasy. And it's sort of comical how you think that you've come up with an idea that exempts you from Christian theology when, in factβ¦you're posting an image that was sexualized for you by the very Medieval saints you think youβre so different thanβ¦from βsubvertedβ Catholic art.
βcome, let us march against the powers of heaven, and set black streamers in the firmament to signify the slaughter of the godsβ is such a raw line youβd think itβs from Shakespeare, but itβs actually from the slightly earlier Elizabethan dramatist Christopher Marlowe
I fucking hate it here
For those of you with android devices, you can use the Android Debug Bridge (ADB) standalone app control program to get rid of all the bloatware, data mining, and AI crap - no coding needed!
save
There are also Android-based alternatives like GrapheneOS and LineageOS, which are pretty easy to install. These are unfortunately available for a more limited range of devices (Graphene is ironically Pixel only, while Lineage supports more), but it's very worth checking out whether one of them might work for your phone.
GrapheneOS is a security and privacy focused mobile OS with Android app compatibility.
LineageOS Android Distribution
Typing this from Graphene now, in fact. But, both of those take the Android Open Source Project, without all the bloatware--and largely de-Google the whole thing. They give you much more control over privacy and what the apps you choose to install can do and access on your phone.
I know Graphene sandboxes everything, including the optionally installed Google Play Services which a lot of apps unfortunately require to run. (Lineage uses an alternative to Play Services instead.) So, you can install what would normally be unacceptably intrusive apps and just lock them away from pulling any funny shit with your data, or phoning home. Including the couple of Google things I do still keep around.
I also prefer running much more transparent, privacy-respecting open source apps where possible. Besides the transparency, I'd rather avoid the shitty tech corps entirely where I can. There are pretty good alternatives available for a lot of the usual suspects.
AlternativeTo lets you find apps and software for Windows, Mac, Linux, iPhone, iPad, Android, Android Tablets, Web Apps, Online, Windows Tab
An alternative app store:
F-Droid is an installable catalogue of FOSS (Free and Open Source Software) applications for the Android platform. The client makes it easy
Also just going to leave this here.
Continuing the legacy of Vanced.
π Application to use ReVanced on Android . Contribute to ReVanced/revanced-manager development by creating an account on GitHub.
This lets you pretty easily patch some of the worst offender corporate apps to make them behave better.
Text of tweet under the cut because it is loooong.
But... Stochastic Parrots.
This is the paper. It's excellent, highly recommend reading it.
I remember reading about Gebru's firing but I had no idea this was the paper she was fired over.
the GPU is a tiny and simple minded wizard who can cast one spell very fast: linear algebra

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Do you think Clark Kent's first few major articles were about the continued presence of lead pipes in parts of Metropolis' water system
(Average Metropolis reader after investigative reporter C. Kent's 452nd article on yet another case of landlords/business owners/factories' continued use of lead pipes/paint/gas/glass knowingly exposing the public to dangerously toxic lead levels) what the fuck happened to this guy
One day Bruce Wayne mentions in an interview that heroes like Superman are overrated, as the most effective way to reduce crime is to provide public resources and improve local infrastructure, then cites how neighboring city Metropolis has effectively lowered their violent crime by 13% after addressing their outdated water system and investing low income housing. the reporter conducting the interview suddenly starts looking a little uncomfortable
To be clear, Clark is still a fantastic investigative reporter. He still has to track down the sources to prove all this shit
"Who, Clark Kent? Yeah, we're pretty sure he's a Meta. Is he a superhero? Like what, "Lead-detector guy"? "Captain pipes?" Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy and it's a handy trick, but it's lead detection, not laser vision. He's not about to go running around in tights any time soon."
I just love the idea of a cape maintaining their secret identity by pretending to be a completely different and less impressive kind of parahuman.
everyone assumes that kent is so squirrely around superheros because heβs just desperately hoping not to be conscripted to the JLA to fix their plumbing
Local Metropolis Reporter Publically Recognized For Contributions To The City; Awarded Medal Of Distinction
They tried to get superman to present the medal but he was offended at being called "overrated" in comparison to Clark so he declined
Counter offer: Bruce Wayne disguised as Superman
beating this dead horse with memes
nine sols is so wild. you are a three foot tall catboy. you have to smoke a fat one to heal. all the main bosses are your former coworkers. humans are livestock. a guy calls you pet names while torturing you. you have to repeatedly feed a different guy poison to save his life. someone is winnie the pooh style naked the entire game and this is never commented on. people turn into flowers when they die. some of the enemies are robots and when you hit them they bleed. there's an entire area dedicated to making freaky meat babies that cannot be killed through normal means. they grow fish corn in the greenhouse. the final boss is an old woman with more health than god. your best friend has a crush on the guy who tortured you. lao tzu is there and he's also a catboy.