sixty thousand bees howling for blood

inexplicability/unknowability in art is not often understood as an intentional artistic decision, let alone respected as one. I'd almost call it entitlement on the part of audience, but it's not even that, really. it's a complete inability to ask - was this ever meant to be understood in full? is there a reason why it wouldn't be? is it uncomfortable to think about? maybe it is supposed to be uncomfortable to think about.

there is a discomfort often present when you don't understand everything about a piece of art and i feel like many audiences are eager to smooth it over & fill in the gaps with their own understanding so they don't feel uncertain about it. but sitting with that discomfort is so important to interpreting art! even with works that DON'T have an intentional sense of preserving mystery, you just aren't going to understand a piece of art 100% even if you want to. figure out why you don't understand it. think on it. let that sense inform part of the art for you. it will give you a much more rounded approach to media criticism!

oh this comic shows up in a really cool anthology i bought a few years back (and was just rereading in fact) called No Straight Lines. it covers the last 40 years of LGBT comics and the various phases, influences and unsung heroes of the zine scene and more. (such as a chapter that focuses heavily on what art and stories resulted from the AIDS crisis, the clash of the gay sexual revolution and the rise of homosexual monogamy, and more.) highly recommended if you’re interested in LGBT history and comics!

the principal aim of lying is to accomplish your goal in as few lies as possible, and with the least amount of effort necessary to keep those lies going. It follows naturally that the world’s greatest liar speaks only the truth.

the worst thing about those fancy pears is that you think “there’s no way a pear could be worth that much” but if you actually make the mistake of tasting one you will be forced to confront the fact that what you thought was pleasure is but a shadow of a shadow and there is a world out there more real than real that your senses have been waiting for, where the colors are richer and the water is wetter and sleep is refreshing. and you’re not invited.

All dead… all rotten. Elves and men and orcses. A great battle, long ago. The Dead Marshes… yes, that is their name

What?