discipline yokes the human body to time

關於我和鬼變成家人的那件事 | Marry My Dead Body (2022)

I recently purchased this slat back chair from an antiques mall in Maine. My hunch is that it’s an 18th-century chair, made in New England.

It has a decaying woven splint seat and part of the top slat was broken off at some point. You can see the top slat no longer has the middle rise that the two other slats have.

But the chair is still ramrod straight and just as square as can be. Its two front stretchers (the pieces that brace the legs) have a nice amount of wear on them where many many decades of sitters rested their feet.

It’s been at least three colors in its life: first blue (and possibly even green), then red, and then black. It was probably painted black around the first half of the 19th century when Hitchcock “fancy” painted chairs came into fashion. Hitchcock chairs were commonly painted with black lacquer and stenciled with gold.

This little slat back chair would have looked very old fashioned in its red paint compared to the stylish Hitchcock chairs. But instead of discarding the slat back chair, the family that owned it updated it with black paint and gold details. The chair must have meant a lot to the family for them so make such an effort.

You can see the gold detail on the beautifully turned acorn-shaped finials.

You can even see gold detailing along the tops of the slats, which tells us that the top slat must have broken before the first half of the 19th century.

Evidence that the slat back chair was well-loved can also be seen in a repair that was made to its back stretcher. When the original back stretcher broke (did it break at the same time as the top slat?), it was replaced, but it seems the family that owned the chair did not have access to a lathe, so they carved a new stretcher by hand. You can see the ridges in the wood left by the knife, compared to the smoothly turned legs and the other stretchers.

Album #51 found on the Internet Archive:

Release date: 1931

Language: English

Genre(s): Jazz

"You did."

The antagonist sat opposite them, in the back of the van. They were loose-limbed, casual, leaning in slightly with one elbow propped over their knee. At the comment, their eyebrow raised, just slightly.

The protagonist stared back; flat, a contrast of a steel straight-spine and hands cuffed stiffly behind their back.

"Yes," the antagonist allowed, after a beat. "I did."

"Despite the fact you were about to imprison the wrong person."

"Is that why you revealed yourself?"

The protagonist's jaw clenched. They cast their gaze down.

"It wasn't a trap," the antagonist said. "It was supposed to be the opposite of that. For - for both of us. I've been hunting you for years."

"So, what, you wanted the win and anyone would do so long as you got the glory?"

The antagonist sighed. They dragged a hand over their face in the protagonist's periphery vision, shoulders slumping. "So I've been hunting you for years, and you hadn't been caught for years, and people were starting to talk. I always get my target."

"So what I said."

The antagonist laughed; a crack in their perfect composure, a rot. "You're infuriating, you know that?"

"I'm sorry I'm not a more sweet-natured prisoner."

As the silence stretched, the protagonist glanced up again.

The antagonist still looked outwardly lazy, but there was still the smallest pinch in their brow that betrayed them to anyone looking carefully. Anyone who knew them at the start. They would have expected the antagonist to be celebrating! Yet...

"Have you been deliberately sabotaging my capture?" The protagonist felt dizzy, like they'd taken a blow, at the mere thought.

The vehicle jerked to an unforgiving halt at their destination.

Sounds came from the front of van, footsteps tramping, the jarring buzz of aggressive voices.

The antagonist rose to their feet, looming over the protagonist. The protagonist tilted their head back, eyes wide, a dozen different moments and incompetences blurring in their memories.

The antagonist hesitated. They reached out, brushing a drop of blood away from the protagonist's lip.

"You infuriating, maddening fool." The antagonist's voice was rough, almost savage despite its quietness. "You should have been my one that got away."

The van door opened.

The antagonist dropped their hand, and all emotion vanished from them, all traces of flaw. They stepped out into the sunshine, already a tornado of orders, the most important cog of a deadly machine.

or the concept of a pride flag is considered to be inappropriate for 13 year olds.

happy pride 2026. here's a pride flag for when corporate interests of a site run by dogshit transphobes, handwringing pearlclutchers, and "powerless" "allies" tell you that pride and your gender is no one else's fucking business:

FriendProgram 

From Friendship Test

Canonically loveless, aplatonic, afamilial, non-SAM aromantic, and agender

Ryland Grace

From Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

Various headcanons including asexual, aromantic, various places along both spectra, aroace, aplatonic and agender.