HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! 🥳❤️🥳
thank you!! 😋😋😋😋😋
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Sweet Seals For You, Always

pixel skylines
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
trying on a metaphor

PR's Tumblrdome
$LAYYYTER

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⁂
Claire Keane
occasionally subtle

#extradirty
Mike Driver
Keni
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

★
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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DEAR READER

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@abjectarsonist
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! 🥳❤️🥳
thank you!! 😋😋😋😋😋
had the honest to god experience of reading a comment in a random/algo recommended subreddit and thinking "there is no way someone is actually this stupid" before noticing the username and realizing it was someone I knew from once upon a time irl and you know what? they actually are that stupid
the surge of foaming at the mouth wedding trad energy makes my skin crawl the same way it did when my sister got married for the first time when former best friend got married for the first time the way the wedding became a parasitic host in their brains turning them stupid and desperate for the event the attention the man the delusion. I am still fourteen. katie is fourteen at the opening, when this Thing happens to her. there is a wedding involved with that Thing, I'm writing it and remembering and imagining and the world we share reflects that. I remember trying to plan our wedding, how even the smallest task disgusted me, enraged me. a. was in ua and could get away with having no interest. we were having a discernible event to appease parents, but it wasn't what I wanted, which was next to nothing, courthouse and a dinner. I remember googling wedding planning makes me s*icidal in a peak of brat fury. I hated every second of the day, remembering anything about it now makes my stomach twist. I like being married, the permanence of it, love a cozy home, a partner in the other room, but all that is so separate, a different conversation. I remember jj and cc's wedding a few summers ago, it was sweet but it struck me as indulgent, toast after rambling toast. when couples get weepy at the altar I have to dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from running out. this is a deep aversion, at the same level as the children disgust. there is such a conflict within me, so rigid and stark I have to wonder about its origin, purpose.
yesterday, working with the filmmaker, there were such moments of connection. being daring, bold, transgressive, sneaky. that's the honey. and I'm not eager for either/or. but nothing feels as good as writing well, no holiday, no ordinary happy afternoon, no sweet house, no treasured routine. those are pleasures, but they are not the point.
my skin is crawling again but making a wedding into a campy ugly circus feels honorable somehow, more honest to what they actually are. our 10 year anniversary is in a few weeks, still most vivid lingering feeling is embarrassment, regret, annoyance.
no accusation holds weight anymore. what is the point of getting upset over anything? there is no point, and no power either.
Jan Vytiska — Visit to Mom and Dad with Darling (oil on canvas, 2021)
I live a very balanced life of noticing things nobody else does and not noticing the things that literally everybody notices
Lucas Samaras (1936-2024) — XYZ 0540 "Pixel Cock and Bull" [pure pigment on paper, mounted on Dibond panel, 2011]
Shigeo Otake (Japanese, 1955) - Penalty of Thistle (2019)
Alic Brock (American, 1992) - Watch Dog (2025)
my mother sent me a photo where my back is to the camera and for once I don't look like a potato, a fleshy little chud of dough, but my hair looks thin, which is something I've never fixated on before, incredible how seamlessly a new worry slides right into the vacancy, you get maybe ten seconds of peace before it hits you, truly is one thing after another
k.'s experience reading h*xley after nye with charley and big dave, trying to integrate her first clear look at the knot. the first prick of realizing her irrationality is not something to be ashamed of, or feared, or medicated/therapied away
big swelling-chest feelings of holding human history in her head, the idea of language as something that emerged
a stalled, innovation-less art world, connections to the nyt essay from oct 23. the idea of being in the grip of an archetype resonates because she has seen the Story told over and over again. she knows she is but one voice telling it but she might be one of the few who recognize that she is not offering anything new.
"a voice told me" "a vision came to me" -> she's thinking of the knot, the forbidden taboo feeling already morphing, softening, and then is hit with labyrinth imagery. bring in the minotaur.
"we are going to have to force the issue" brings in a grounded urgency. in that moment, the whole group leans forward.
the term "program," remember how the ex-wife used it in the *** documentary. what exactly did it mean to him? the metaphor of an imminent birth chills as it rings true. "it's the poets who have failed us" hits in a certain way. "because they have not provided a song we could all move in concert to" is a pathway toward the blonde troll if I choose to take it. k.'s first moment of focused curiosity about ***.
the shy, giggly moment of everyone looking around at one another. if lm explains meme in this way in 2004, it won't hold the same eeriness as tm spinning this in 1990 but even so, it would be ahead of the curve.
inspiring, uplifting -- more swelling-chest feelings. k clearly confidently associating the knot with the other he refers to.
the first time gnosticism resonates with her, despite coming of age knowing her father's research, papers, courses.
beside her, v. sucks in an audible breath. p*le fire should be quoted here, the bit about being art*stically caged.
again, big chest swelling feelings. should be the same structure, a talk and then q&a, and both end on moments of inspiration and gravity. the situation is serious. it is up to us to do something about it.
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"a true effort to bend the boundaries of art, to create permission for the unthinkable"
"culture is a plot against the expansion of consciousness"
"like it or not, we are the custodians of the destiny of this planet"
I am so radical it infuriates. I am so open I threaten the grand cosmic container. I am so interested I obliterate boredom. I am so full of potential I have already lived more than enough. even if I died today I would go down singing. I am joy and I am language and I am intimate with you know who. never did I expect this.
the thought of outsourcing my understanding to anyone else is so repellant. especially to the fools who are obsessed with lecturing the rest of us. I look back on times in the past when I ceded my mind and reality to people who didn't give a shit about me and feel so embarrassed and just enraged. this is what they mean when they say "in your forties, you know who you are." I am so protective of my point of view. why does it feel like there are endless forces that want to kill it.