i hate when people defend those horrible monoculture lawns because they don't want bugs outside. like we don't live on planet bug
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Origami Around
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if i look back, i am lost
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Keni

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shark vs the universe

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One Nice Bug Per Day

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@theatreghostcat
i hate when people defend those horrible monoculture lawns because they don't want bugs outside. like we don't live on planet bug

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do u wanna come over n just lay on the cold floor n hold hands n there’s no pressure to talk
"Is squirt pee" brother who CARESSSSSS. Worst case scenario u made a woman feel so good she pissed herself how is that a net negative to your image
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 At first glance, the figure appears modest and withdrawn.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.
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“I can see your nipples through that”
You’re welcome?

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did you know having sex with your friends is literally awesome and cool?
Wanna hang out naked and free-use each other a bit? You know, as friends do?
comic by @hausofdecline

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Nostalgia is a coping mechanism for a "culture on decline", which is a term used by annoying people to justify the world we live in where there's no real monoculture to hide behind. For the last 50 or so years, a greater monoculture has existed which allows those who are wimps to hide behind. There were and always have been subcultures, but they've been the punching bag of people who were in the wider mono. You listened to Sonny and Cher and made fun of the guy holding a Jefferson Airplane album in the 60's. Same for the 70's, and 80's and definitely the 90's. If a withered Gen X'r tells you how good music was in his time and he mentions Limp Bizkit, shoot him on sight. This is a man who spent his formative years eating from the trough of common culture, and has not atoned for it. The internet hath obliterated the monoculture, replaced with algorithm backed weirdos who are consuming weird shit at unprecedented rates, and the wimps aren't happy about it. They are too concerned with looking "weird" still and refuse to have fun, and they cling to anything that lets them maintain this wimpy approach to life. Legions of sad sacks are proclaiming how good 2002 was and are trying to emphatically tell you Puddles of Mudd were a shining example of musical tradition that "they" took from you. They took buttrock from me and gave me the ability to listen to not shit music, I'm not gonna mourn the loss of a genre that we all collectively gave up on after the Battle of Fallujah. Lock the fuck in and develop some taste, and stop waiting for society to feed it to you.
sucking on a worthless original
I’m the first and last person in my bloodline with a tumblr blog
free the nipple has to make a resurgence for a number of reasons but bro look at our upcoming eternity of wet bulb temps youre smoking straight up cock if you think im keeping a shirt on when it hits 105° in new england
you dont have to be a parent to understand the horror of walking into a room to discover that the baby crawled out of his crib and onto that pottery wheel you forgot to turn off, and while the baby is spinning around and around, the dog is sitting there all calm, like a person, gently using his paws to fashion the babys soft cartilage head into something a little more modern. it might be the classic tale of bad parenting, but lets see where the dog is going with this
This post is from 2013. It has less than 100 notes. Together we can revive this work of art that tragically ahead of its time. We’re ready for it now

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The train is a Girl that brings you place to place
I especially really like it when she gets all fast and starts going AAAAAAAAAAAAAA