[gently takes you by the shoulders] we need to get out of here and feel the rain on our skin. no one else can feel it for you. only you can let it in. no one else. no one else
why is trying to make a new friend so embarrassing. hi. me again. asking for your attention once more even though i am literally just some random person to you. it's because i want to be not just a random person to you. please understand
Chekhov wrote it before Camus
Please Pour Some Rain! (2018) by Taiwanese textile and quilt artist, Lin Hsin-Chen (born in 1974)
911 does anyone have that comic that has an animal metaphor about Irish/German/Scandinavian immigrant identity being swallowed by conformity with the WASP supremacy mindset and they’re depicted as mice or rats and then (animal farm style) end up mimicking their once-oppressors? I feel like it might be an excerpt of Maus but it used to be a post on here
algonquins
Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023)
She actually says this out loud. I'm not joking.
final solution?
FINAL SOLUTION?
my brother in christ how the everloving fuck do you not see the BLATANT NAZI RHETORIC RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR GODDAMN EYES THAT YOU ARE SPEWING. AND WHY ARE PEOPLE NOT QUESTIONING THIS???
I think this was aimed at me when I first started liking jacks
Believers and astonished visitors in the Asamkirche in Munich (St. Johann Nepomuk Church) 1909 by Carl Wilhem Anton Seiler (German, 1846–1921)
a few quick studies (quick as in “don’t zoom in thank you”) of shots i like from the terror. this show is gorgeous and the ships in particular
does the mortifying ordeal of being known guy know that his paragraph from a six year old NYT opinion piece about emailing pictures of goats to coworkers has become God Tier Tumblr Gospel ? like does he KNOW though
WOW thank you @inkstrangle for bringing it to my attention that as of last August, which is to say the chronological peak of the “mortifying ordeal” meme on tumblr, tim kreider absolutely DOES know and in fact wrote an entire brilliant essay reflecting on the phenomenon:
But what I wish I could tell all those children of the internet, holed up in their rooms, isolated online, is that they can only imagine the worst of relationships: they think that what another person will learn about them is what they see in themselves — the squirming, icky, insecure mess inside. They don’t know yet that the ways in which they’re secretly screwed up and repulsive are boringly ordinary. The issue isn’t that you’ll be despised for who you really are — that, as a friend and I used to say about girls we were dating, “she’ll realize.” It’s scarier than that: it’s that you lose control over who you are. Other people get to decide. And it may turn out that you’re not who you thought you were.
As an artist, you don’t get to decide why people love your work. […] I would describe my reaction to seeing my writing reanimated as meme as “nonplussed,” maybe “bemused.” It always does some slight violence to a writer’s intentions to yank a sentence out of its context and present it as if it were a complete, isolated thought, like a maxim or commandment. I am not in the business of pretending to be in possession of any wisdom, or of telling other people what to do: this is the realm of self-help and advice writers — in other words, of charlatans. Part of me worries it’s an indictment of my prose that it should lend itself so well to Tumblr memes, the digital equivalent of needlepoint samplers. […]
But the things people love about you aren’t necessarily the things you want to be loved for. They decide they like you for reasons completely outside your control, of which you’re often not even conscious: it’s certainly not because of the big act you put on, all the charm and anecdotes you’ve calculated for effect. (And if your act does fool someone, it only makes you feel like a successful fraud, and harbor some secret contempt for them — the contempt of a con artist for his mark — plus now you’re condemned to keep up that act forever, lest she Realize.) My last girlfriend found my flaws, the things that annoy even me about me, amusing. When you break up with someone, you don’t just lose them, but a version of yourself. You don’t even get to know what your children will remember you for; it probably won’t be what you thought were the important moments. […]
As The Velveteen Rabbit teaches, we don’t become fully real except in other people’s eyes, and in their affections. At some point you have to accept that other people’s perceptions of you are as valid as (and probably a lot more objective than) your own.
Anton Repponen / Tokyo, Japan / Photography / 2023