The New Year

but I have no resolutions? 30/NB

[peachjooce]

me watching fireworks: omg this is just like the firework festival in harvest moon

[demilypyro]

D&D going mainstream really messed up people's expectations cause chances are you're not gonna find a DM who has the free time, talent and resources to put on a tale that competes with Tolkien. you're gonna find your friend's roommate Phil who's read one of the manuals a few times and has to pause to get a calculator out to figure out how much damage your attack did and his story is blatantly ripping off a dragon age 2 side quest

[thelibraryofthacey]

(tag via @dare-to-dm)

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Heartwarming Mr. Dressup documentary sure to delight Canadians of all ages - National | Globalnews.ca

Prime Video's Mr. Dressup documentary takes a deep dive into the endearing character of Ernie Coombs and his legacy in children's television

There are few personalities that unite Canadians quite like Mr. Dressup.

For 29 years, spanning an impressive 4,000 episodes, the beloved children’s show host appeared on television screens across the country, inviting kids to explore his iconic Tickle Trunk alongside a legion of puppet sidekicks, including the cherished duo of Casey and Finnegan.

And although many are familiar with the character portrayed by Ernie Coombs, far fewer know the endearing story of how Mr. Dressup came to be a mainstay on Canadian TV.

Now, a new documentary is set to explore that, taking a deep dive into the Mr. Dressup’s legacy as well as his profound impact on children’s programming.

“There’s not enough time to discuss the things that I learned (while making the documentary),” Rob McCallum, the director of Mr. Dressup: The Magic of Make-Believe, told Global News. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[bobboberton]

[mx-t4t0]

still astonished at the fact that ace week is on halloween week we just keep winning

[cyberfights]

this is an artistic rendition of my irrational fear of a head that attacks only under the cover of the very loud toilet flush in the scary top floor bathroom at the hospital and how i exited the bathroom when i decided to flush and run as opposed to my normal method of flushing and putting my back to a wall

[cyberfights]

took pics today at work to show common attack patterns and defense strategies that i employ

[woolwearer]

?????????????????????

[woolwearer]

Never forget

[world-heritage-posts]

thinkin about this post

[redlipstickresurrected]

Bella Ormseth (Dutch, b. 1968, The Hague, Netherlands, based Puget Sound, Seattle, WA, USA) - 1: Kind Words, 2021  2: Waiting by the Window, 2021  3: The Sick Child, 2019  4: Eros, 2019, Paintings: Oil on cradled Wood Panel

[eternallog]

and the sky’s the limit  🌠

[artofmaquenda]

Omg omg omggggg, they are better than I could have hoped for 😍!!!!!!

[eldriwolf]

Pictish Alien

[petermorwood]

The Celtic-Knot style is entirely appropriate, considering that Paisley Abbey near Glasgow acquired one of these during a refurb…

A church in Brittany has one as well.

[artofmaquenda]

Woahhhhhh whhhhaaattt???? That’s so coolll

[artofmaquenda]

I shipped out 99% of the alien pin orders that I had and I have a lot of them left from this batch! My shop is still open if you are interested! They will be shipped out this month :3

PREORDER Knotwork Xenomorph 3D Metal Pin Alien Monster | Etsy

This is a preorder for my knotwork Xenomorph 3D metal pin. They are currently in production but you can see a sample in the preview photo. I

[prettyguardiancaps]

[c0tt0nstar]

Something More

I didn’t come here to fight you. I didn’t come here to surrender. Oh, the years it has taken me to learn that every relationship is not a game of war, To understand that there are more positions to take than cowering or pouncing, More to life than the burn of defeat, More than the bitter thrill of victory, I’m here for more.

Smoke makes for a dark and sick August, And I am still unlearning some of the performances you taught me so young. Like always answer on the third ring, Even if you have to stand and wait, Even if you have to run, Small deceptions are the dance of everything, Of our family.

I answer on the third ring and your voice is coarse, You say “T.V. says the smoke’s worse here,” How history repeats, every conversation still a competition of righteous suffering, “Daughter,” you call me  And I try to remember the last time you said my name, But you never have.

You ask me if I know how long its been since I called my mother, King of rhetoricals I know you’re not looking for an answer. So instead I say “Do you know how long it has been since you’ve called your daughter?” But you never have. With this our imaginary phone call ends. And I start to write you a letter and it says:

I didn’t come here to fight you, But I do not want to live in that vacuum of years anymore, Where I wait always with anticipation and dread for your voice to  Fall down on me, Until my name becomes whatever you will call me, Where I am always the child trying to strengthen a tenuous grasp of your rules, Until the mercurial game of our lives makes me too dizzy.

I didn’t come here to surrender. But I’m done with the silence of pretending to forget but never forgiving. I’m done with strained conversations that only seem softer by comparison, Done with framing every fault of our relationship with “but by comparison” Done with accepting the bare minimum, Done with living with less than a father. Please call me when you’re ready for more.

[c0tt0nstar]

A Decent Animal

Is it best to live and know you are evil, Or to die not knowing how to live, or how to be evil? I know that I am a villain now, A creature of the night. Stalking blood, Snarling for a taste of fear, Turned by a falling of teeth and no warning More than the sudden, inexplicable realization That you are about to lose something  Irreplaceable.

I was an animal too back then, But at least I was a decent animal. Is it a sin to only do what you're told to and love it? After all, obedience is opium to dogs. Domesticated is not the same as tame, Cattle not the same as pet, And I was always intended for work, Bred to withstand hard hands. I still take it as mistake sometimes that I was ever let in to sleep by the hearth.

For some years I was a beast in common clothes, Now I have lost my fang and my leather, Have grown into a bipedal bracket Lost the solitary language of nature’s silence, Learned the words and ordinances of man. I did not know that ignorance of the law does not exempt one from it, I did not know that the necessary brutality of animals did not extend to humans. Or at least not the necessity of it.

Is it better to have no choice but to be good? I know that I am willful and my will has turned me bad, Rotted me like a swill of lich’s bile, Turned the tender animal parts of me to glass. Is it better to die a good animal, Or to persist and become yet more bestial against life’s whetstone? I don’t know if it would have been better to stay an honest creature, But I know that I have lived too long now to go back.

[c0tt0nstar]

Inadequate

How terrible it is to have kissed you. To feel my stomach fall and fall and fall and leave behind the rest of me. To know that I am full of appetites which only ever grow with feeding, and to have let myself have you anyways.

Don't look so closely, lately I live in hot sick feeling, knowing I am a menagerie with only common animals, that I'm a curio full of cheap and useless things, so scared that you will turn them over in your hands and realize I'm worth nothing.

The truth is, you took something even without meaning to. Don't apologize for leaving your handprints all over, this is not to blame you. And besides, neither of us have any use for a reticent thief, who leaves his note on the refrigerator- "Sorry I took everything".

How terrible that when you kiss me I must shut a door on so many sounds that burst to life in my throat. To burn to speak in the voice of the Nephilim and yet I know that honesty is like poison to a woman like me. To know I'm not even a woman, only something like one but lacking. And to know more than any other thing that I can no longer be anything else: only me.

[c0tt0nstar]

Betelguese

Beetlguese, If I say your name 3 times will you pop and show us all what you're made up of? On orion's shoulder you shine a flashlight down on me in someone else's bed As I flinch when they touch me And I wonder if you are thinking of exploding too. If I were to bust like a balloon Would there be anything bright enough inside that you might see it in 700 years when the photons reach you?

Let's rename canis major to be a sling for our hunter, Let the rabbits rest, let the dogs rest, I too could use more first-aid than teeth lately. Best give our hero a new name while he can still knock his arrows. Soon enough the old mythology will be forgotten for the new one, Soon enough even the blooming supernova will fade and all we will have are stories of how light the sky used to be.

And what do the pillars of memory hold up if not everything? We see what we remember, I see dogs where there aren't any, I see teeth all around me. Red giant, look down once more and tell me Were we so cruel back then already?

Beetlguese,  Is it true that time breeds wisdom but strangles sympathy? At the closing of your light, Will you tell us, like our grandfathers, that you know everything? If you do then please spend some of your ancient wisdom on me, Is it true that beanstalks grow better when you talk to them? Or that even in utero our mothers sang to us? Is it true that even after everything we killed Orion was still god's favourite hunter?

And If you can’t answer me those, How about: will it hurt when the iron finally kills you? Will you pop soon enough for my children to forget you? Will our sky be better, or just different, with 2 moons? Tell me if you know, Betelgeuse.

[c0tt0nstar]

Stages of Grief Remix

Denial is not a factor, this time. This time it begins with depression, This time love comes as a form of self immolation, It's so easy to find cruel lovers when you're a cruel woman. Easy to bite your tongue clean off When you've come to fear the voicing of any appetite, When your deepest repositories of dream repel you like bile. Easy to fold your sweet longing secrets  Close, into your breast so many times they turn into a paper crane, Halved again and again until they are infinitely complex and atomically small, And then easy to accept, That like so many things in life that close, you may never again unwrap her.

Nothing else could make you shine so much as my anguish, Your righteous glow uranium bright As you told me I must take it all and throw it in the reservoir, Everything that turned me into bruise, Purge our lives of all that made me septic, So I'm sorry that I tried to drown you.

And I'm sorry that when they drained the lake there were so many abandoned bicycles that it looked like a field of metal rose bushes, That I ever let myself forget how many times I tried to run away And only got far enough to leave some blue or red or silver, shining spokes and Hair moving in the wind, piece of me somewhere no one would ever find And know that I had only stolen it.

That I let them become lost to tangle and rust, That they sank out of my prayers and my memory, I'm sorry I cried over them and let you see it.

I would give anything to take back those vulnerabilities  I traded to you for another pinch of your salt, I would give my next ten years to take back that one, Where I lived in your brine, Became hardened, How I hated all the bitter fruit in me, And the rotting fruit, And the sweet fruit. Countless, the stars I would tear from their stem of sky and crush into dust along with my own fingers If I could have you un-eat me, Un-cure me, un-leven me, But just like with bread I know I can't be flour again.

No matter how many times I've told myself  “It doesn't have to count if I didn't love you,” I can't deny that I've sunken into that oldest profession, Sold my body for the punishment, For hurt and hate and to feel hands in the only way I wasn't terrified of, For hardness. No matter how much I’ve said “it wasn't real”, I must admit that my body still lives with the marks I let you give me.

Maybe it’s true,  That I was asking for it, Pushed you ‘til your first broke through the plaster in our bathroom, Broke my tooth on our brutal kiss, Asked you to grow your nail out until you could pierce my tongue with it, I asked for every inch of fight and pinch And every drip of every fluid my body could give, I asked you to take it and if I said “no” not to listen, It’s true, I may have asked it of you, But then gladly you did.

[c0tt0nstar]

(Forgive us)

I am living in fear that the warheads will one day soon do what they were meant to, That the forests may be fields and the fields deserts in my lifetime, That we will never be lead by soft hands or forget our borders or learn to split evenly the fruits of Eden. There is no battle worthy of our weapons, There is no body worthy of this pain.

It is not enough to write about kissing in the high grass, I must admit, too, that we live in a time of endless war. On the street last week some radical turned a man into a red spectacle, And in the north they are still arresting women and children for standing atop bridges. Everywhere you look you see stolen women, everywhere there are slaves, Not even the air or water or any else that the earth gives up for free is free.

And on the other side of a tiny ocean, (And all the oceans are tiny,) Men and women and babies die for reasons I only ever think of  Right after watching a movie, And I, like so many of us, have said I oppose this, But not enough.

In my warm home in my whole body I have known this is not right, And I have protested and raised my voice and at times my hands- But not enough.

I have written so many prayers to try and exalt this dismembered word, Turned my face to the Sun,  Said so much more about kissing in the high grass than should be said, Tried to grow prodigious every pink bud of clover into a blooming ziggurat,   And willfully blind I have left my offerings there for no god  While the world starves around me.

While countries turn themselves inside out and wear their own entrails like crowns, While the only difference between me and the dead anywhere Is an entry wound. This may be the adolescence of our extinction, And I am living in fear, But I am living.

[c0tt0nstar]

Tatooine

I have lived under your two suns  And moved as they instruct, pendulous, swollen, Only to be split by the fine grain and crush of platinum sand.

We built an Eden under new stars where every shadow is cast twice, The underbrush only darker from the overexposure of light. High noon midnights age us until we can't recognize ourselves in the second sunrise, Our clear dark eyes only a memory that the cataracts make us remember fuzzily.

A suffocation of light, Close your eyes and tell me they don't feel the same, Who has been burned enough to taste the difference in a flame?

When the stars demand you split yourself into umbral lives thin as glass Which magnify the heat of time, By which sun do you count your days, When every day is cruelly multiplied?