the mortifying ordeal of committing to the bit

roma★
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
tumblr dot com

Janaina Medeiros
🪼
Stranger Things
Misplaced Lens Cap
Claire Keane

Origami Around
taylor price
art blog(derogatory)
Not today Justin

oozey mess

#extradirty

★

PR's Tumblrdome

JBB: An Artblog!

Andulka
Acquired Stardust
DEAR READER

seen from Türkiye

seen from United States
seen from Brazil

seen from Türkiye

seen from Singapore
seen from Canada
seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Israel
@adhdplanner
the mortifying ordeal of committing to the bit
Salmon Cycle
July’s print for print club!
Lovers, 1982, by Harry Holland
janet jackson for glamour magazine, 1993
LGBT = Lets Go Buy Tix for the MOVIESSSSSSS
playing around with tattoo transfer paper
Vulva Pilgrim Badge (14th c.) ◆ The Netherlands ~ A vulva on legs, staff in hand, off to find salvation
Eileen Myles, “Peanut Butter.” I Must Be Living Twice: New and Selected Poems 1975 - 2014
My Love, Don't Cross That River (2013) dir. Jin Mo-young
Han Kang, “White Hair.” The White Book (translated by Deborah Smith)
Marguerite Duras, The Lover (translated by Barbara Bray)
Basel, Switzerland, 2025
Brian Eno and photoshop (1995)
you will struggle to say the unsayable thing for five years straight. and then it will suddenly become easy on a Wednesday morning
When my son was about to turn two, strangers would offer condolences. There’s a collective cultural dread of toddlers, who get described more like animals than people. Kids in their "terrible twos," I was warned, are illogical, unregulated, and feral. "Good luck," people would say. "He'll grow out of it."
I'm lucky: My son is a very easygoing kid. But I remember the first tantrum he threw for me. He was standing by our front door and asked to go outside. So I opened the door and grabbed his shoes. But as soon as he stepped onto the porch, he pointed back into the house.
"Inside," he said.
"Okay," I said. I picked him up and brought him inside.
But as soon as I shut the front door, he pointed outside.
"Outside!" he said.
You know where this is going. We went back and forth, inside and outside, again and again. He got more frustrated. And I got more frustrated. Eventually he wound up straddling the threshold of our house, sobbing. When I tried to comfort him, he screamed at me. "You go wherever you want!" I said. He just got madder. I felt trapped, convinced he’d concocted the whole episode as a pretext to unleash his rage at me. It was ridiculous. I consoled myself with the thought that he was just being a toddler.
But later I kept thinking about him wailing at our front door, one foot inside, one foot outside. His misery wasn't unreasonable, or trivial, or silly. My son was experiencing the agony of wanting two things that were impossible to have at the same time. What a fundamentally human sorrow! My son wasn't being a toddler; he was being a person. Adults may not walk around howling, but that same pain rages within us. In that moment, as a father, I was powerless to solve my son's problem. I told him he could go wherever he wanted, but of course I was wrong. To be where he wanted was impossible.
Make Believe: On Telling Stories to Children by Mac Barnett
mesopotamia, iraq