art: Mac Baconai

ellievsbear
Xuebing Du

izzy's playlists!

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Stranger Things
hello vonnie

Andulka
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pixel skylines
dirt enthusiast
Cosmic Funnies
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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titsay
Monterey Bay Aquarium
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Game of Thrones Daily

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@0112lung
art: Mac Baconai
Ginza Sugiura Hisui, Dog barking at the Moon
reminds me of
perro de luna by rufino tamayo
Every day I handle more money than I will ever make. Every day.
At the start of my employment, my boss showed me videos of people stealing, and we both had a chuckle about it. How silly they were! There was a camera overhead, and it’s not to watch the shoppers. See, we can’t actually stop shoplifters. They get away with it maybe nine out of ten times. But we, who are watched and tallied and witnessed? We are always caught.
At first it was hard to hold one hundred dollars bills. An amount I had never seen before. An amount that didn’t exist in my household. It’s normal now. Here is something that is not for me.
“What the hell, I’ll take another,” says the man, pondering our 200 dollar watches. What the hell. Total comes to 580 and not even a flinch in his face. I have been working for 11 hours today and made only 110 dollars. It will go to my rent. Today I work for free, it feels. When I get my check, I will have 35 dollars left for food and saving.
The six hundreds he hands me go into the cash register. For a moment, I imagine having money. Then I put it away, counting out his change.
I know for a fact we sell our products for double what they are worth. That I could be making commission. That they could hand me those 580 dollars and change my life and not even mark the difference in their checkbooks. He’s not the only sale they make today, but I am the reason they made it. He’s not the only one spending 600 dollars, but if I hadn’t spent two hours with him telling me about his life, he wouldn’t have spent any. I go home. I don’t own a watch.
I have watched and rewatched a video on how to make salmon four ways. My shopping list is always the same. Pasta. Rice. Tuna. If I can afford butter it was a good week. I dream of the world I will never walk in, where I can throw the best fish fillet in the cart with a shrug. I hold hundreds in my hand and look up at the camera. I put them under the cash drawer.
I go to work. I scrap together my savings. I eat my bowl of rice slowly. My manager takes a paid week off from work just for his birthday. He owns a yacht.
I’m not worth the cost of a watch.
i wrote this while i was working at orlando’s walt disney world parks.
i was part of their college program. i moved to the state for it. they legally owned the building i was living in and still charged me rent. i ostensibly was being charged to work for them. it was a 2 bedroom apartment and they placed 6 adult women in it in forced triples.
as many as one in ten disney employees have experienced homelessness while working for the company. despite huge efforts to unionize, strike, or otherwise demand fair treatment; disney has refused to increase employee quality of life.
disney admits publicly that a good portion of their success is because the employees (“cast members”) are dedicated, passionate, and selfless. this is never reflected in pay. even “face” characters (ie those that are princesses etc) make barely above a minimum wage.
at the time that i worked there, i made $8.50 an hour. at one point i was asked to create a human shield around a bag because a bomb dog had alerted to it. for eight fucking dollars an hour.
i now work a very cushy office job. i have bought the salmon and cooked it all four ways.
i go to the store. i am nice to the person behind the counter. she looks up at the camera while she counts out my change. there is nothing fundamentally different about her and i.
we are both worth more than the watch, anyway.
i’m okay i am just sick as much as i try to deny it and run from it and change it lol
Henri Martin La Pergola (Gloriette), 1920 signed Henri Martin (lower left) oil on canvas 31 ½ by 37 ⅛ in. 80 by 94.4 cm.
lmao why are they doing this why is it so threatening. like yes thank you i did do that on purpose actually
Mo Nong
i want to die
i should be allowed to walk into the hospital and tell them i want to die and they can use all my organs. maybe skip the lungs tho.
all i am is depression
it’s fucking hard to hear your mother using her old sweet voice with your son. i haven’t heard her voice in years and i haven’t heard that voice in decades.
and still i wish for death even tho i know it won’t do anyone any good
i feel SICK and i want to DIE and if i didn’t have ernie and trip i would off myself no problem im so sick of being me and i feel horrible that i roped them into my bullshit
The New American Gothic (2017) by Criselda Vasquez
From Criselda Vasquez's Instagram (3 April 2026):
Hi everyone, Thank you for taking the time to read this. On Tuesday, March 31,… Jorge V needs your support for Help Bring My Father Home
the thing that prozac weekly does best is makes it easier for me to take a pill regularly because daily is too hard but weekly is okayish. but the best best thing is that it keeps ppl off my fucking back. from acting like i’m crazy without it and if im taking it and raising a stink, there’s at least one less tool in their belt to use against me. the way karen and grandma were about me just getting back on a med again rly shows they don’t know shit about me. ernie though, he sees. it rly didn’t make that much of a difference. it takes the edge of my emotions yes. a little bit. and that’s lovely. but i got decent at coping and handling and ernie saw that. so that was nice. i really am so fucking grateful for him. i could not do any of this without him.
prozac weekly wasn’t discontinued by all companies after all. it’s still available. (internet fucking lied and still isn’t clear on it) so i’m back on it.
i’m a wreck right now. so aware of being in a body. you know that come down off a gross drug ? that’s how i gotta move through my days again. i’m so mad that i didn’t know it was still being made. that no one could give me that info til i got a doctor that took a ganderrrrr at the list. i don’t understand. but this is like not even the worst of my medicine battles in life. this doesn’t even make top 10. im just so fucking aware of being in a body right now and not used to it. not enjoying it. i also can’t relax where im at anyway. grandmas house is a blessing but also she’s clear that im not to rely on it. haha. it’s a lil sad. to have to keep myself from being attached to “grandma’s house” but no one’s gonna see it from that angle. it’s her house. i wish she saw it as a blessing though. this place depresses me in a way that prozac has no chance to alleviate anyway. i feel like we feel sorry for each other though (the house and me). not feeling the love from grandma. getting support and care but only in emergencies and not too much.
had some time to myself and went to a used book shop and got a huge pile of books. was thumbing thru them under the shade of a tree. truly enjoying myself. then a bird shat on the book. at least it missed me. i’m told it’s lucky. so now ive got a lucky book.