Ad Nauseam

[dr-paint]

CAUSE I'M A PUNKROCKER YES I AM!

[nateconnolly]

40,000 years ago, early humans painted hands on the wall of a cave. This morning, my baby cousin began finger painting. All of recorded history happened between these two paintings of human hands. The Nazca Lines and the Mona Lisa. The first TransAtlantic flight and the first voyage to the Moon. Humanity invented the wheel, the telescope, and the nuclear bomb. We eradicated wild poliovirus types 2 and 3. We discovered radio waves, dinosaurs, and the laws of thermodynamics. Freedom Riders crossed the South. Hippies burned their draft cards. Countless genocides, scientific advancements, migrations, and rebellions. More than a hundred billion humans lived and died between these two paintings—one on a sheet of paper, and one on the inside of a cave. At the dawn of time, ancient humans stretched out their hands. And this morning, a child reached back. 

[nateconnolly]

A Timeline of Humanity:

[inkskinned]

it's because the bear wouldn't kill me just for being a woman. the bear doesn't kill me for fun. the bear can be shouted at, and will leave me alone. the bear won't make a tiktok complaining about how i crossed to the other side of the path when i saw him coming. if a bear kills me, it's just being a bear: it cannot understand logic. it is not acting out of malice - just fear or hunger.

bell hooks once wrote about how porches might be the only outside space left for women - it is still the domain of the house while it is also outside-but-safe. when i am in the woods, i am in the bear's home, and he has a right to defend his property. outside spaces - anywhere at night, certain parks in the day - those are often implicitly "owned" by men. i cannot explain the feeling of knowing when you have entered a man's "territory." you walk into a place and just know you are in their space. you get a sick sense - you're in danger.

the other day a group of about 8 men were fooling around in the woods while i walked my dog. i had to go around, take the extra 3 miles just to avoid them. it's okay, i like walking. this wasn't even a #feminism moment. it was just a tuesday.

what a plain and easy question. only one of the situations is seen as a tragic accident. i would rather die and have a park bench erected in my honor rather than have my family questioned about why they let me, an adult, walk in the woods in the first place when i should really be at home in the kitchen.

i worked in retail and food service. i have had women say and do absolutely heinous and abusive things to me - not because i was a woman, but because i was there, and they were angry. the way men treated me when angry was different - it was because i was a woman. you can always feel the difference, how there's an undertone of i'd hurt you worse if i could get away with it. i keep seeing people try to cite stupid statistics. why is there always a strange rage whenever women agree on things? like men can argue their way out of our lived experiences? it isn't a buzzfeed quiz - which of these traumas are you? 10 super cute ways not to fear strange men.

i have actually (thrice!) seen a bear in the wild, by the way. i died each time, obviously, and am a ghost writing to you. (it was scary but completely and utterly fine). the second encounter was a black bear with her cub. she looked at me like - do we have to do this or are we good? my dog was busy sniffing a bush, completely nonreactive. i felt like i was in a sitcom: feminist poet reacts - does she actually mean she'd choose the bear? my only thought was - she's so beautiful. her paws are massive.

and there's a part of me that feels the rage spinning out in a corner. why do we have to come up with quippy little comments in order to teach men empathy. would you rather die in a car accident or due to a mugging? and would you rather your house burn down due to an electrical fire or due to arson? gee willikers - it's almost like we're human people, and want to risk the accident versus the intention.

i would rather my last thought be oh shit, a bear rather than i'm a person too. why doesn't that matter? why don't you care?

[bucketofchum]

IS THIS MAN OKAY??

[secondlina]

New Crow Time 🐦‍⬛🦊🌟

[visenyaism]

sometimes being coworkers who hate each other is one of the most profound forms of human connection. you know me well you can’t stand my shit and where does that lead us. still stuck in the same room together. still knowing me. we could kill god together.

[secondlina]

I read an enemies to lovers book like this once.

[wholeheartedsuggestions]

i am outgrowing who i was, and that’s okay. i am evolving every day, becoming something new. i will always miss my old selves but i welcome the new me with open arms.

[wildestlovers]

embarrassment is the cost of entry.

if you aren't willing to look like a foolish beginner, you'll never become a graceful master.

[secondlina]

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

{Words by José Olivarez from Citizen Illegal /@fatimaamerbilal , from even flesh eaters don't want me.}

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

[inkskinned]

but you see her on instagram and it was never really said that you guys aren’t friends but one day she stopped answering and you stopped texting and it’s not like the wound is a cavern but it is a diagram of what if in red letters. you want to tell her nice lipstick that’s a good color but the last time you spoke it was stilted and awkward 

how do you say goodbye, you know? it’s not an unfriend and block kind of situation. but you watch the people you once loved go on and have a life and you’re outside of it. and it’s bittersweet because of course it’s okay that you’re both thriving. but she used to be who you’d call if you needed to cry. she used to be who’d you’d be binge watching the new series with. you used to be hers, in a way, even if that way wasn’t permanent. and now she’s someone else and so are you and your friendship is clicking heart shapes next to pictures where she smiles next to people you’ve never met. you know where her birthmark is. she knows where you’ve buried your dead.

the poets and the singers and the authors write about romantic love when it ends. but nobody tells you how to get over a friend.

[inkskinned]

these days, the summer fan is on, and there is a little cricket in you. your mother would say you don't have ambition, but that's not quite true. you just had different priorities: for most of your life, the pain swallowed so much of your energy that picturing a future was almost impossible. it took so much just to render yourself here without evaporating - making goals always felt shallow, far-off.

at 17, maybe you would have wanted to be famous. maybe you would have wanted to kiss every woman and come home late at night and call the dawn to heel like a dog. to meet taylor swift and ask her to collaborate on poems and french-kiss in the rain. to wiggle your fingers at jealous ex-lovers while you lifted the hem of your ballgown and got out of limousines. a life of rooftops, spinning and glittering.

these days, it isn't that you're tired, but that you have learned the weight of carrying things. you have had the good times. you have laughed at the bottom of a pool. you have had your hands on the paring knife. you know the cost of it, like a carcinogen. these days, you want a life like a stone fruit. these days, you want a life that lays gently on your skin, rather than piercing through.

you are going to get a little condo with your friend. the two of you fantasize about basic things: how it will feel to cook in a friendly kitchen. the serenity of picking out wall paint colors. putting plants in the sunlit corner. you want a place that never rings in anger. where the only echo is jazz music. you want a peace like holding your head under the water.

ah. maybe your younger self would be devastated - you got boring?

she doesn't know yet. she has lived her entire life terrified, running. she has grown so accustomed to the threat that she has fallen in love with the scythe. she thinks passionate and violent are synonyms, that anything lovely has to come with a bad side. she thinks life has to break like a wave - that you need to swallow the ocean in order to stay above the foam. she doesn't know about the boat yet. she doesn't know about spending hours at home, quiet, your hands folded, finding peace. she doesn't know about weightlessness. she thinks everything good is everything sharp. that the pain is what makes something satisfying.

one day she will make cookies from scratch. one day when she breaks a plate, she will be the only one around, and nobody will start shouting. one day she will slip her fingers under the sand, and it will make sense to her. the life assembling in little shards: oh. i've been afraid of a quiet life at home because i've never had a quiet home to come to before.

the gentle world inside her, singing behind a door.

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

Dr Doolittle-style show about a detective who can talk to animals, except instead of talking like people the animals still talk like animals, just translated into English sentences, so the plot of most episodes centres around trying to figure out what the star witness testimony actually means.

Victim's murder was witnessed by her pet snake, whose tank was in the room. Unfortunately pet snake is incapable of describing the world around them except in terms of 'rocks' and 'meat', with their descriptions of individual forms of 'meat' focusing almost entirely on body temperature and smell.

(Solved when it turns out that their description of 'warm-cold meat with rock' was actually an attempt to describe a suspect with a prosthetic limb, which is pretty unnoticeable to a human, but looks dramatically different in infrared.)

Murder at a honey farm. Each witness managed to see about ~0.06% of the full crime, in order to get the full picture, you have to get them to swarm.

Victim was found several days after death, already crawling with maggots. Days into the investigation, protag begins a frantic search to find any surviving maggots/flies that were on the corpse, after realising that how the victim tasted would give vital information about the poison used.

Also there's at least one or two animals who actually do talk in full sentences and in terms humans can understand, and the reason behind this is never fully explained.

All cats in this universe talk in terms of 'mine/not-mine' and mainly focus on territory, mates and food, with the one exception of the main character's cat who is named Watson and knows how to use sarcasm.

All insects speak in one word sentences where everything is 'food', 'enemy' or (for hive insects) 'friend' and 'queen', with the exception of seven-spotted ladybirds specifically, who for some reason speak in full English sentences and are up to date and knowledgeable about world events. The protagonists is as concerned by the full implications of this as you are.

[greatmountainfloofsquatch]

Crows are highly knowledgeable and erudite. They are also jerks.

[chrrispine]

TED LASSO

4-5-1 (3x03)

[homunculus-argument]

Fae that keep uranium amulets, clothes made out of asbestos and bowls of lead-infused water around their residences as a human deterrent. They don’t know why humans loathe these items, but for as long as it makes them fuck off, these charms are useful.

[roach-works]

you wake up and a fairy is snorting the line of salt you put on your windowsill like it’s coke.

‘doesn’t that shit kill you?’ you ask, deeply perturbed.

‘not very fast,’ the fairy says, and keeps snorting.