You managed to give expressive posing to an abstract shape what the fuck

i don't like to yuck people's yum but i have to say that my least favorite thing to come from the current state of Artists on the Internet is the idea of a sketchbook as something nice and pretty and shareable. like i love me a notebook full of gorgeous art don't get me wrong but that is NOT what a sketchbook is. a sketchbook is my friend who i carry around everywhere like a purse chihuahua. it is the physical manifestation of my notes app. it is the container into which i wring my brain out. it is my therapist. and most of all it is filled with absolutely terrible sketches that should never see the light of day.

this post is making the rounds again and the amount of people saying that the pretty sketchbooks phenomenon ruined sketchbooks for them is HEARTBREAKING and i stand by my opinion that sketchbooks should be like a jar you put your OCs in. and then you shake them around in there. that's what they're for

do you want a warm, weighted, vibrating plushie that acts like a heat seeking missile and intermittently stabs you? What I have just described to you is Felis catus and there is a dark secret to it

Miss Piggy tied to the mast while Statler and Waldorf heckle her from the sea

i sent this gif to a black cowowker at work then later asked my white manager if he likes apple fritters and he was like "i fuckin love apple friters" and she laughed so hard she got a migraine

Oh we're all feeling this one aren't we?

and that much ado? it's about nothing

DPC and DPL.  Dead People’s Clothes and Dead People’s Leather. Their toys, their paintings of half naked, naked, screwing men.  The statues.  The leather.  The sling.  The posters.  The … all of it. We’d literally Straighten homes.  Depending.  Some families knew and were fine. Or more ok.  But pictures of other guys on phones was the least of it. I have… leather that’s been passed through three or four men who’ve died before getting to me.  They’re the heirlooms now, passed down chosen families.   Sometimes there were crews.  We’d show up as soon as possible, as a unit.  We’d hit the bedrooms first.  Clear out closets, under beds, bedsides.  We’d donate, throw out, take mementos.  Pass on.  Secret lives and secret, us only treasures.   Then we’d leave.  For some family’s you never talked about it.  They never knew.  It was better all around.   I have vests, gloves.  A belt.  Arm bands.  Paintings.  T-shirts.  Photos, undeveloped film that’d I’m still somewhat terrified to try to get developed (lol).  We live on in the living rooms of others.

Transcription: So back in the late 80s and early 90s, when I was 20 and there was another friend dying of AIDS like every three weeks. Yeah, seriously those days were terrible. Young gay men now will just never know what it was like. But when a friend would die we would ALL know exactly what to do. We’d get to their houses as fast as possible (most of us already had a key) and we would know EXACTLY where the smut was, we would know EXACTLY where the stuff they didn’t want their family to find. We would get it and we would destroy it. OR we would keep it for ourselves if it was cool, or we would donate it to…something. I dunno. It’s kind of a messed up memory, but uh, back then we all just had to have each other’s backs and uuh, yeah. This video just reminded me of that.

It's Wednesday Homer Wednesday