#ordinary objects

i planned on making an object show called “Ordinary Objects” which was a slice-of-life instead of competition

the characters would be instead based off of the objects i have in my house such as the three characters above (who are also the main trio)

there wouldn't be much drama except for comedy purposes similarly to nichijou nor would there be any hidden deep dark lore

@wild-selenite-caffine for you <3 Just some fresh-brewed whump prompts to start your morning off right. Enjoy~

Whumper bringing a hot cup of coffee to a shivering Whumpee’s lips. It scalds them instantly, but Whumpee knows they’ll die if they don’t get warm fast.

“What? Did you expect sugar and cream? Get used to disappointment.”

Whumpee is starving, twitching and curled up on the floor. They immediately brighten when Whumper sets a cup of coffee down in front of them. Then their face falls as they realize it’s stale, over-brewed, and cold. They can barely choke it down and all it does is add to the churning acid. 

Whumper throwing scalding coffee on Whumpee. Whumpee writhes and screams, trying to swat it off of them while Whumper calmly pours another cup.

“You don’t need sleep. Here, have another cup.”

Whumper offering Whumpee a sip of coffee. When Whumpee accepts, Whumper takes a sip themself, then presses their lips to Whumpee’s, directing the morsel into their mouth.

Whumpee forced to make coffee for Whumper. Whumper dumps it on them if they aren’t 100% satisfied with the quality.

"More. I want it boiling."

Forcing Whumpee’s hand over the brewing coffee as it drips down - blood eventually mingling with the brew as Whumpee screams.

Grounds ground into open wounds.

Caretaker brining Whumpee a cup of coffee in the morning without really thinking about it, and Whumpee just….staring at it. Someone just offered them something. Not because they had to or because Whumpee earned it. They just…gave them something. To share in a moment with them. Whumpee can’t comprehend it.

“How much of this would you have to drink before your heart gives out? Nevermind - let’s just see.”

Forcing Whumpee to eat coffee grounds. 

Whumper’s hands shaking with the excessive caffeine - it makes the cuts jagged and tearing.

Whumper wrenching Whumpee’s head over their cup of coffee, letting the cascading tears drip into it before throwing Whumpee aside again. Drinking it silently while they watch Whumpee sob on the floor.

Sewer.

I thought the sewer assignment was challenging, trying to show an ordinary object in a creative way. It was complicated to come up with different ideas that involved a sewer.

Our class had to shoot 25 different pictures of a sewer. Each picture had to be unique. 

Okay but what kind of TV though? I'll do this both for old box tvs and flatscreens.

Have you seen Scream? Nice death in there.

Slamming whumpee's head through the glass. Zap zap.

Dropping it on their head.

Let whumpee collect static from the screen, then shock them. Little pricks of electricity, but still enough to surprise them and make them gasp.

Just strap them down and set it on top of them. How long can they keep their muscles taught enough to keep it from squishing them? How long can they force air into their lungs under the pressure?

Drop it on their legs. Toes. Hands. Crunch crunch.

Pull out the dials and stab the bolts into Whumpee's flesh. Then twist.

Cut them with the broken glass from the screen. Trace the line of their throat with it and watch them tremble.

Curb check! Make them bite the corner of it, then hit the back of their head hard to dislocate the jaw and/or break teeth.

Use the wires to strangle them.

Restrain them.

Pull them into stress positions.

Strip the wire in random places, then tie them up, THEN plug it in. Zap zap.

Gag them by using the chords as a bit.

Stab them with the prongs from the chord plug.

Throw them into it and let the broken pieces slice their shoulder and back.

There’s a particular mood attached to practical objects that live close to the body. Not glamorous, not decorative, not the sort of thing anyone puts on a shelf to admire. They belong instead to the private architecture of a day: the things that make routines possible, the things that turn intention into habit.

A name like Humulin 30/70 Cartridges doesn’t arrive wrapped in romance. It sounds procedural, almost spare, as if it has already decided that emotion is beside the point. And yet names like that often sit at the center of very human stories. They show up in drawers, bags, kitchen counters, quiet morning rituals, and the small negotiations people make with time. They are part of the language of getting on with life.

What interests me isn’t the technical side of a product name like this one. It’s the way a plain label can suggest an entire world of repetition, attention, and invisible effort. We live in a culture that loves transformation narratives, dramatic before-and-afters, big declarations. But most real life is held together by subtler acts than that. It’s held together by the ordinary. By keeping track. By noticing. By returning, again and again, to something that probably never feels cinematic.

The quiet personality of useful things

Useful things have a strange social life. The more essential they are, the less people tend to talk about them in a poetic way. They’re discussed in practical tones, filed under necessity, flattened into function. But function has its own emotional texture.

There’s patience in it. Sometimes irritation. Sometimes relief. Sometimes a very modern kind of gratitude, the kind reserved for systems that mostly work and rituals that can be depended on. A cartridge, a container, a refillable object, anything that suggests continuity rather than spectacle—it all points to a life organized not around novelty, but around steadiness.

That steadiness is easy to underestimate. We often praise spontaneity because it sounds freer, more alive. But routines are what allow many people to move through the day with some sense of rhythm. Not perfect rhythm, not elegant rhythm, just enough structure to keep things from fraying at the edges.

And maybe that’s why even a simple listing for Humulin 30/70 Cartridges can feel oddly revealing. Not because of what it explains, but because of what it implies: a repeating need, a familiar object, a place for it in the ongoing choreography of ordinary life.

We rarely celebrate maintenance

There’s a bigger cultural pattern here. We are very good at admiring breakthroughs and very bad at honoring maintenance. We like stories about the dramatic moment someone changes everything. We are less interested in the long middle, where life is mostly made of tending, restocking, remembering, adapting, continuing.

Maintenance is not flashy. It doesn’t photograph well. It doesn’t always produce a neat lesson. But it may be one of the deepest forms of realism we have.

To maintain something—health, a home, a relationship with time, a sense of personal order—is to accept that living is cyclical. The same tasks return. The same objects return. The same questions return, too. Not because we have failed to move forward, but because life is repetitive by design. There’s tenderness in recognizing that instead of resisting it.

That tenderness matters, especially around products and routines that can otherwise be reduced to inventory. A label might look impersonal on the outside, but the life around it is never impersonal. There are moods attached to it. Weather. Timing. Forgetfulness. Relief at finding it where it should be. Annoyance when a routine gets interrupted. The small comfort of familiarity.

The emotional weight of the unremarkable

One of the strangest truths about adulthood is that the things carrying the most emotional weight are often the least visually interesting. A calendar reminder. A charger. A container in a drawer. A product name that sounds like it belongs in a spreadsheet rather than a memoir.

And still, these objects become part of a person’s private map. They collect context. They absorb routine. They end up meaning more than their packaging ever suggests.

Maybe that’s why I find these quiet product worlds so compelling. They remind me that a life does not become meaningful only through grand gestures. Meaning also gathers around repetition. Around what we make room for. Around the objects we stop noticing precisely because they have become woven into survival, continuity, and the shape of a normal day.

There’s something almost moving about that invisibility. The goal of many useful things is not to become the center of attention, but to make attention available for other parts of life. For conversation. Work. Rest. Family. Errands. Daydreaming. The ordinary future of an afternoon.

Maybe that is their real character: not dramatic, but dependable. Not expressive, but quietly present. And in a world that constantly asks to be noticed, there is something profound about what chooses instead to simply remain useful.

Not every important part of life arrives with a memorable story. Some of it comes in plain packaging, with a practical name, and waits patiently inside the routine.

Times Artist Transformed Ordinary Objects Into Eye-Catching Pieces Of Art

Haider Ali, a talented Pakistani truck artist, transforms ordinary objects into stunning, hand-painted works of art. Using bold colors, floral patterns, and intricate designs, he turns shoes, cars, scooters, and even building walls into something truly unique and meaningful.