my blog which i mainly use for nin, music, fandoms, sharing random posts i like, find funny or relatable and yeah basically my brain on the internet. might go on long breaks of not using Tumblr then obsessively using it
More consistent stuff below the cut;3
Expect:
Music(especially NIN(a nin fanpage at this point))
as said, nin, depeche mode, chappell roan, Los campesinos, and whatever artists i decide to obsess over next, overall rock and metal and electronic music but also kpop sometimes(barely)
art!! (digital and traditional, possibly gcse/alevel art!!!1!11!11! Also fanarts)
games (tomb raider, TLOU, sonic, rdr2)
shows(whatever im watching really)
BUT shows im obsessed with and ull prob see:
hannibal, good omens, doctor who, stranger things, gravity falls
also movies i love bones and all(fav), fight club and interstellar
random ppl i obsess with like hugh dancy, david tennant or trent reznor(especially him)
idk shit posts and me complaining ig
in conclusion, all my interests that come and go in phases LMAO
my spotify
tt : whosrumaiq or rumaiqs.archive
i do art! heres my linktree
anyone can dm at any point they want about anything 😽 i am awkward as fuck but always open to new ppl and interactions are VERY welcome, annoy me all u want cuz its not annoying to me <333
ask me anything button is also for anything, questions, silliness, doodle requests, anything
tag me in anything u want or think i'll enjoy, especially u moots i love interacting with all of u<3
ppl are so annoying “you can’t paint ur bedroom pink you’re an adult” i did not spend my entire life waiting to grow up and control my life to paint my bedroom beige
when I first bought my house, I announced my decision to paint my bedroom purple. I had wanted a purple bedroom for thirty damn years, you fucking bet I was gonna have one now. My friends decided, for some reason, that I meant what one of them referred to as “14 year old girl purple” (through what’s wrong with the colors a 14 year old girl chooses, I don’t know, even if they’re not what I want as an adult). They didn’t believe me until they saw the color on the actual wall, even thought they helped me pick out paints. My mother, meanwhile, decided to get worried that if I painted my bedroom a “dark purple”, it would be “depressing”. As if, with an entire house to live in, I would spend all my time in the bedroom, which I wanted to be dark because I would be sleeping in there. In the damn dark.
I had like one, maybe two friends who were all like FUCK YEAH YOU PAINT IT WHATEVER COLOR YOU WANT, PURPLE BEDROOMS ARE AWESOME.
But when they actualy saw the finished bedroom, every single one of them was like, “Oh yeah, that’s really pretty.” (Well, the ones who supported me from the beginning were more like WOOHOO.)
And the moral of the story is: Fuck ‘em, please yourself. Either they’ll come around, or you can safely ignore every question of taste they opine about for the rest of time.
This applies to other adulting activities, too. When I was a kid, I decided that I wanted to have a wedding cake made of doughnuts. When I got older, I figured that I would be “mature” about it and get a traditional cake, which the older adults approved of. Now that I’m 25 and facing the possibility of actual marriage in the near future, I’m just like “marriage is a social construct but it comes with tax & insurance benefits, so just give me that goddamn doughnut cake.” If they don’t like it then they don’t have to come to my wedding.
I’m thirty and my first big furniture purchase was a custom coffin shaped coffee table that opens up and is lined with purple crushed velvet. I would have loved it at 13 and I love it now. Growing up doesn’t mean you have to abandon what makes you happy.
I have told this story before, and I will tell it again, because I am An Old now and repeating stories forever is our prerogative:
When I bought my house, the kitchen was multiple shades of dingy white. It was dismal, but it was now mine! So went to the hardware store for paint (well, several trips, painted swatches on panel, etc — I’m very picky. But this was the final, ‘real’ trip). It was a busy day in the paint section. There were at least five people behind me in line.
Now, remember, latex paint is slightly lighter and brighter when wet than it is when dry. And I’d decided to paint my kitchen candy-apple red. The hardware store employee took my gallon off the Paint Jiggler and cracked it open to put a dab on the top, revealing the most incredibly deep pink, and behind me I hear the entire line of people say,
“Oh my god.”
…in perfect chorus.
I did not realize up until that moment that shocking a crowd of strangers with my paint color choices was a life goal, but at that moment I felt an absolutely overwhelming sense of achievement.
When I first moved into my place, I painted the spare room, that eventually became my office, lime green, the kind of lime green that glows down the corridor when I open the door - The colour was only available as an “accent colour” in the section of paints intended for children’s playrooms, and in the shop I got a lot of “Oh your son will love this!” And from people I knew I got a lot of “Oh well, you’re 21 now, you’re basically a teenager, this is a terrible idea, you’ll hate it and need to pull out all the furniture to repaint it.” And I have to report that I am now in my forties and my office still looks like this, and it makes me smile every time I see it.
not decorating trends; those have always existed. but the idea that color and decoration is inherently childish
this is the dining room at the Eustis Estate in Milton, Massachusetts, from 1878 (where I used to work, briefly). the walls are TEXTURED MICA SHIMMER on a green background. Adult Space For Adults!
A jewelry shop in Paris c. 1901. kids can’t buy jewelry!
who can forget the classic 1950s colorful bathroom? I’m not a huge fan, but still! adult space! bright colors; decorative designs!
meanwhile “you’re immature if you like Art Nouveau” is a hot take I’ve really, seriously seen on this webbed site (only once, thank the gods). I don’t know who started this, but I’m going to kill them
I think a lot of it stems from the ubiquitous Waterhouse prints that were sold on college campuses for 20 years. like why would I get a free pass if it were Monet instead Western culture is stupid. The entire point of being an adult is breakfast for dinner and cake for breakfast and dying with the most toys.
The examples of decorated homes above are both either modern or upper class, which makes it easy to dismiss because “sure the rich people have beautiful homes” and “sure, modern middle-class people have lots of color in their homes.”
So here’s two examples of traditional Norwegian farmhouse interiors. You know. The kinds of places peasants live in.
This type of painting is called “rosemaling” and today you usually find it on, like, carved wooden bowls and such that are only used for decoration. But back two centuries ago, it was very common to find the interiors of homes covered in it, in projects that were painted little by little over the decades. Because it’s beautiful to look at, paint is the cheapest way of decorating your house, and what else are you going to do on the long winter nights when it’s too dark and cold to work outdoors?
But mostly, they did it because it made them happy, and it was beautiful.
The Kim Karsashian Cult of Beige is a stain on civilization and I cannot believe I have to fucking live through it swear to gos WE’RE APES OUR ENCLOSURES NEED ENRICHMENT FFS
Tonight I am thinking about how during the performance of Piggy in And All That Could Have Been, someone jumped up past the barricade and reached out to touch Trent’s hand, and instead of ignoring them, he took their hand and later in the song climbed off of the stage and sang to the crowd. And about how everyone was frantically grabbing onto him. And about that specific girl at the front of one shot who was very obviously screaming his name even though his microphone never picked it up.
i cant help but think about how trent said during the fragility tour, he’d find himself envying and even hating the crowd because they got to have fun outside of the concerts and he didn’t. so to be trent, in this moment, dozens upon dozens of hands reaching out for you, belonging to young people (mainly women, it seems) who don’t quite understand what you’re going through and maybe never really can, but they still love you anyways. and maybe they’re going through something too; maybe that’s why they’re so desperate to reach out to you, to feel you, to know you. you make yourself vulnerable, and so they make themselves vulnerable. or they make themselves vulnerable, so you make yourself truly vulnerable, too, and allow yourself to connect with them in the most literal sense. i have to wonder what he must have been thinking in that moment
important reminder that most people you follow online are significantly lamer than you think they are including me. and if you feel insecure comparing yourself to someone online: DON'T. theyre probably also lame and weird. most people on the internet are
i really love A Warm Place. it's so significant. out of context it feels peaceful and relaxing, almost, but in context it feels wrong. you know it’s going to get worse. you know this is the last glimmer of hope. you know we’re experiencing the quiet before the brutal storm. but you just have to sit with it, feel simultaneously comforted and nauseated by it.
and I’m not even sure what it represents, exactly. it could be a lot of things. it could be a brief instance of clarity, sobering, profound, all that, following the absolute height of the narrator’s mania (“what have i done”, etc etc). it could be false hope. it could be an acceptance of the fate to come. it could be the momentary bliss of a heroin high. it could be a shred of humanity clinging to life. it could be like being in the womb. I don’t know. but it really is beautiful
i really love A Warm Place. it's so significant. out of context it feels peaceful and relaxing, almost, but in context it feels wrong. you know it’s going to get worse. you know this is the last glimmer of hope. you know we’re experiencing the quiet before the brutal storm. but you just have to sit with it, feel simultaneously comforted and nauseated by it.
and I’m not even sure what it represents, exactly. it could be a lot of things. it could be a brief instance of clarity, sobering, profound, all that, following the absolute height of the narrator’s mania (“what have i done”, etc etc). it could be false hope. it could be an acceptance of the fate to come. it could be the momentary bliss of a heroin high. it could be a shred of humanity clinging to life. it could be like being in the womb. I don’t know. but it really is beautiful
