congratulations on getting through the day even if it was really, really hard. you’re doing great.
Sade Olutola
Claire Keane
🪼

ellievsbear
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Keni

Kiana Khansmith
art blog(derogatory)

Product Placement
Sweet Seals For You, Always

PR's Tumblrdome
trying on a metaphor
Cosimo Galluzzi
dirt enthusiast

Kaledo Art

oozey mess
Three Goblin Art

★
almost home

Andulka
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Russia
seen from Canada

seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from United States

seen from France

seen from China

seen from Bulgaria

seen from United States

seen from France
seen from United States
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seen from Netherlands

seen from Malaysia
@atoms--with--issues
congratulations on getting through the day even if it was really, really hard. you’re doing great.
Boy Problems
Summer storms so regular you set your watch by them. Heart wearing thin, full to bursting. She’s worn out, ready to turn in.
Download an app. Delete it. Fear, always in your chest. Tightening the screws of your heart and lungs turn by turn. Reread a classic. Read something bad. Cry to your mother. Stand up. Class. Work. School. Church. Cry on the bathroom floor, sad girl style. Tangled necklaces choking. Think about reaching for his hand. Measure how you feel, a scientist whose goal is discovering you. What’s wrong with you. Reddened eyes stare at you from the mirror. You don’t look like yourself. You still think of yourself as twelve years and glowing. Your hands are empty. They always are. One, two, three, practice an undanced slow dance by yourself. Swing yourself in a jig. Watch your friend start and end a string of relationships and sit on your envy. It lurks, hitman from a film noir, in the corner of your mind. It would kill your love, if you let it. It takes aim at your roommate, her love in his sight of his gun. You push the barrel down. Not today, film noir hitman. Save it for another day.
A boy tries to confess to you. Strange, for it’s all you want, yet it turns your stomach. Doesn’t he know your dog’s dying? Doesn’t he remember how many times you’ve told him no? Wish for his confidence in love—wish you could apply it to your life broadly. Wish you were as free as he seems—his brain does not feed him into a spiraling machine of teeth and tears. Block his number, finally. Feel freedom even as you feel sick. Carry on as though your life has never changed, will never change. Carry on as though death does not haunt your heels. This is my life and I don’t know what to do with it.
reblog to reassure the next person who reads this that everything is going to be okay and it’s all going to get easier soon
It is my considered opinion that everyone ought to have a little sibling. I understand, of course, that some of us are born to be the last, but to my mind it's a very hard fate.
Those who know much about my life right now know that it… could be better. Anyway, I was trying to be sympathetic and empathetic and all that to someone online and ended up with some thoughts I considered worth more broadly sharing.
It seems sometimes that everything I want, God gives me a problem that makes achieving my goal harder and perhaps impossible. But he also gives us strength to continue when we need it; perhaps not before, but at the time, it is there. He is there. "Perhaps this is the moment for which you were created", to borrow out of context Esther 4:14. Maybe we can help people with similar issues, or understand their struggles more deeply. Or allow others to serve us in our time of need, as we serve them in theirs.
Of course it is far from easy. God gives us strength, and community, for support when needed. It also made me think of the verse about Christ being a mediator, and how we are to be Christ to one another. Sometimes it feels impossible to go to God about problems - if the problem is with God himself, in a way, how do you face him and say that you're real mad about it? We are to show Christ in our lives, and while it would of course be best if we were perfect all the time, that isn't how most people's lives go. I suppose it's more about keeping trying and not giving up, even when there is precisely zero light to be seen at the end of the tunnel. Faith is in the absence of surety.
The path is hardly easy; it is not meant to be. Sometimes it is terribly hard. Refining sometimes means burning, and we can't all be Daniel's three friends, protected from the flames. In Christ I suppose we're meant to emerge as a truer representation of him, even if we have to go through hell to get there. He did, too.
Biting stabbing killing I hate this I hate it I hate it I hate destroying old things I hate fresh slates I hate blank canvases I hate concrete and grey slabs and blue light and I hate chaos and I don't care attitudes and it's old attitudes and it needs to be "modern" attitudes and cheapness and plastic and expedience and everything poisoning you body and soul and spirit and it's better for you attitudes when all it is is metal and plastic and death
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Found this reddit post. This kinda makes me feel better. And it’s something I think about sometimes because I always feel like regardless of how hard I work on something I don’t get anywhere.
Nice summary. If you’re curious, the anon here is referring to studies over the last decade that have pointed to major impacts on pattern separation with depression, and how depression can have major impacts on nonsynaptic plasticity.
Psychology is amazing folks and more of it needs to be common knowledge
Scientific explanation for why depression lies to you
those days where your entire train of thought is just “I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS I CAN’T DO THIS I’M NOT GONNA MAKE IT PLEASE HELP ME” and whole time ur just like. sitting at your desk completely fine
If a hiker gets lost in the mountains, people will coordinate a search. If a train crashes, people will line up to give blood. If an earthquake levels a city, people all over the world will send emergency supplies. This is so fundamentally human that it's found in every culture without exception. Yes, there are assholes who just don't care, but they're massively outnumbered by the people who do. (Andy Weir, The Martian)
Ed Ruscha // u.k. // A Visitor To A Museum (Посетитель музея) (1989) dir. Konstantin Lopushansky // u.k. // My Chemical Romance, Famous Last Words // Nasa // u.k. // The Mountain Goats, This Year
It's yearning hours again I guess...
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#Please little bird
I love that the modern-day tumblr post equivalent of chain emails only requires me to reblog a relatively pleasant image instead of forward an email to a bunch of my friends and family members to quell my raging anxiety.
It’s a win win. I get a bit of hope, you get a cute birb photo
Different retellings of Beauty and the Beast seem to take different stances about which side of the Beast, animal vs. human, is "really" him, and which one is a facade he wears.
Of course he was born human, that goes without saying. But in the earliest versions, his most authentic self is obviously the gallant, intelligent prince, which the spell forces him to hide under the facade of a dull-witted, animalistic brute. But in so many adaptations, it seems as if the spell has genuinely turned him into an animalistic brute, making him struggle to wear the facade of a gallant gentleman to reclaim his dignity and put Beauty at ease.
In the original novella, one of the central themes is that the spell makes the Beast appear stupid. Not be stupid, appear stupid. He still has all his intelligence, education, and refinement of mind from his life as a prince, but in Beast form he's unable to express them. Only plain, simple words can come out of his mouth. And once Beauty arrives at the castle, the good fairy who serves as his mentor encourages him to play up his "stupidity" even further and make her think he's a total idiot, because according to the spell's conditions, the girl who agrees to marry him can't be won over by what's left of his intelligence, only by his kindness. Nor does he really have a ferocious temper, but the good fairy urges him to pretend he does when Beauty's father steals the rose, and to make an empty threat to kill him unless one of his daughters agrees to take his place, because the fairy knows this will bring Beauty to the castle.
So the original Beast is very much a gentleman on the inside, while the persona of the rough, slow-witted animal is like a disguise he's forced to wear.
But several adaptations almost flip the scenario.
In versions like Jean Cocteau's film, or the Disney film, or Megan Kearney's webcomic (all in different ways), we see that the spell has affected the Beast's mind and given him animalistic instincts. The original versions of the story never specify how or what the Beast eats, but almost all these versions have him hunt like a wild animal, and a few versions (e.g. the Czech film Panna a Netvor) even have him struggle with the urge to kill Beauty herself. In most of these versions he genuinely has a temper too, though it varies whether he ever directs his rage at Beauty or just at her father and/or elsewhere.
Sometimes, as in Cocteau's film or Kearney's webcomic, we see that the Beast tightly controls his animal instincts in front of Beauty and wears the facade of a proper gentleman. He walks upright, wears elegant clothes, and behaves with reserved and proper manners. But now and then, when he's alone or in moments of high emotion, the facade slips and we see the feral beast behind the mask. There's usually a dramatic scene where Beauty sees it too: e.g. when she sees him covered in blood after a hunt in Cocteau's film, or when she finds him naked and bloodily eating a deer in Kearny's webcomic. Meanwhile, in Disney's version, he starts out completely "coarse and unrefined," dressed in scanty rags, walking like a gorilla, and totally lacking in social skills or self-control. (The filmmakers and the movie's novelization have revealed, and a few lines in the Broadway musical imply, that the spell is slowly turning his mind completely bestial and that he's lost most of his memories of his human life.) But with Belle's influence and his servants' encouragement, he gradually learns to "act like a gentleman," to control his temper, to show proper manners and gallantry to Belle, and to dress, eat, and walk like a human again.
Either way, rather than a gentleman hiding his sophistication under the facade of an animal, he comes across as an animal trying, or learning, to hide his feral nature under the facade of a gentleman.
Somehow, as a neurodivergent person, I find both of these variations relatable.
For the original Beast, I relate to knowing that I'm just as human as anyone else, with just as many deep, articulate thoughts and the exact same feelings as any other person, but with inner blocks that keep me from expressing myself in a "normal" way and keep others from realizing that I'm just like them.
For the adapted Beasts, I relate to feeling wild, messy, and bad at social skills and self-control, and to the effort it takes to mask. In them I see my awkwardness, executive dysfunction, and emotional dysregulation, and I relate to their struggles to suppress it all and behave in a "normal," "human" way in front of Beauty or Belle, as well as their shame and fear of rejection whenever she sees the mask slip.
As an autistic person, I sometimes feel both like a sophisticated human cursed to seem like a brute on the surface and like an inherent brute making an effort to seem like a sophisticated human.
Of course neither version of the Beast was created with neurodivergent people in mind. In the case of the earlier versions, I suppose it's part of the story's framing as a mystery from Beauty's point of view, and her eventual discovery that there's more to this seemingly coarse and stupid Beast than meets the eye. There's also the message for young girls to value love, respect, and kindness more than either good looks or wit and sophistication in their potential husbands. As for the adaptations with feral Beasts struggling to control their animal instincts, I suppose that comes from new writers looking at the story more from the Beast's point of view and exploring his pain and self-loathing, his desperation for love, and his deteriorating mental health. The tale's reinterpretation by LBGT+ artists like Jean Cocteau or Howard Ashman probably explains the recurring theme of the Beast feeling forced to hide his own instincts in order to be accepted, rather than having instincts that would make him accepted if only the facade of the spell didn't hide them. Then there's the Disney version's screenplay by Linda Woolverton with her feminist agenda, where to some extent, it seems that the Beast's animalistic behavior represents raw, aggressive masculinity, which needs to be tamed if he wants to be loved by a self-respecting "modern" woman like Belle.
But I'm sure many different groups of people find applicability in both of these different characterizations of the Beast.
The tale's reinterpretation by LBGT+ artists like Jean Cocteau or Howard Ashman probably explains the recurring theme of the Beast feeling forced to hide his own instincts in order to be accepted, rather than having instincts that would make him accepted if only the facade of the spell didn't hide them.
I love this sentence and the picture the second half conjures because I especially relate to it. I'm fairly certain I'm neurodivergent myself, but a much bigger hurdle for me socially is realizing that I have to break down the mental walls built for me from unintentional isolation and from inheriting my mother's scars from her own experiences with bullying as a child.
As an adult now, I feel very lonely and I'm looking for love but I also feel both that I have to be socially acceptable in order to be loved and that no one who loves the socially acceptable version of me is loving the real me. But ALSO if I play up the socially unacceptable side, then people attracted to that are confused when I'm also just... Normal. Nothing too over the top or weird. Either and every way it feels like I'm disappointing people and it's all because of a mask that was put on me, not one I chose myself.
uh oh. yearning's back
THE YEARNING'S BACK
Souffle (Breath) by William Henry Margetson (English, 1861-1940)
(I found many titles for this)