do these guys even play music
Cosimo Galluzzi
Monterey Bay Aquarium
todays bird

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Today's Document
art blog(derogatory)

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d e v o n
i don't do bad sauce passes
noise dept.

Product Placement
AnasAbdin
Peter Solarz

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

Love Begins

izzy's playlists!
wallacepolsom
Claire Keane

PR's Tumblrdome
we're not kids anymore.

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@comedictrashcan
do these guys even play music
༄ Artfight ‘26 Graphics // Personal
・ ⟢ ⋮ Free to use, credit not required but appreciated. Reposts/Edits/Recolours/adding to Masterlists or hoards allowed. Please do not modify my work with AI.
IM SO EXCITEDDD FOR ARTFIGHT OMGGGGG!! Which team will you choose? Miami Dolphins vs Evil Intimidating Horse vs Fake Smile Girl!!!!
my Artfight!
His little sneeze ♡
It’s not as hard as I make it seem
I suck at making these but I made one anyway. Tried to, I guess 😁
I also don’t know how to post, or tag, or any of that stuff but it’s fine
me ever thinking i was gonna grow taller than 5’0” smh. Happy pride month btw
cant FATHOM how people be writing 13k in a day and it takes me two months to write 7k. I will write a paragraph and immediately have to take a three hour nap to come up with anything more. I love these guys but they’re meant to be standing front-view on a canvas with a resting bitch face doing nothing not going through elaborate scenes and escaping burning buildings
It's Agender Pride Day, here's some personal art from me
ID in alt text
they r gossiping
Daron Sleeping At The Pinkpop Festival "That time when my guitar rig stopped working and decided to take a little nap on stage in front of thousands of people at the Pinkpop festival. While my tech was trying to fix the problem and the band kept playing through two songs without me, I closed my eyes and dreamt that my guitars would start working again. Sometimes all you can do is dream." -Daron Malakian May 20th, 2002 Megaland Landgraaf, Netherlands
Yeaaah this guy
the eyes of the mighty caesar are upon you
Thinking about my fav boys
IT'S PUNCHIN' TIME, SLAB!
Watch out
Son of a gun
Superhero
Number one‼️‼️‼️‼️
A response I keep seeing to the "a lady called the cops on me and they sent me to the psych ward" post is people, disproportionately white ladies, attempting to discuss this distinction between discomfort and danger. That it's okay to be uncomfortable, but not okay to respond as if that discomfort is a threat to them.
This is not it. Discomfort is the problem. You need to get comfortable seeing disabled people in public, even if we're loud and annoying and have weird tics and talk to ourselves. You gotta. The preservation of comfort is killing disabled people mate.
OK so the majority of times I've had the CAT Team called on me in public were actually people who thought I was a "suicide risk" for being mentally ill in public. That's when the cops show up an if you're very lucky they have a social worker with them, though social workers are often cops, anybody who has had an unnecessary CPS call placed on them for being poor, Black or parenting while disabled can tell you that much mate lol.
Then you need to perform a very specific disabled script to avoid being sent to the ward, reassuring these people that you are cogent and not a threat. This is to allay the discomfort of the pigs. If you can't soothe their discomfort, you are punished.
Discomfort with difference is at the root of ableism. Quiet discomfort is not neutral. You need to actually unlearn it. Work on it. There is a pathway to do so, this is not an abstract "unlearn racism" instruction: volunteer at a day service, read to disabled kids at a local library program, immerse yourself in the avenues of the disabled world we make available to able-bodied people and actually pay attention. Actually listen. Make some friends. Don't just learn how to say "hello where is the bathroom" from an online Sign course, participate in free sign lessons at an actual honest to god Deaf school. Get out there.
You NEED to understand how policed disability is.
We send disabled children to a whole different childhood so your precious little able kids don't need to be scared by their presence, and we tell them and you that it's for the benefit of the disabled kids, to prevent them from being bullied. Mate, what's more "bullying" than segregation? What are we doin?
Because disabled kids don't have a real education as a result of this, and because our social skills are fucked because we've never had to survive in the able world, a lot of us are stuck in the Pit of Despair, with nothing but day services and perhaps if you're very lucky residential care instead of homelessness to look forward to. Understand, I got into a university not entirely on my merits, but because I was shifted from a special school to a "special needs program" at a private Catholic school at 15. If I only had the SPED on my records, no fucking university would ever have considered me except maybe for a wokebucks scholarship.
That is the automatic barrier of SPED, and at the root of all justifications defending SPED is "discomfort." Oh, won't the disabled kids be bullied? Oh, but it's unfair to them to have to perform at an able-bodied level? Ugh, we can't just systematically reform education, that's so much wooork and it's not fair for the able-bodied kids, who "have to deal" (be discomforted by) a change. The system as it is is fiiine, it's comfy this way.
And it runs through everything. Even for non-SPED disabled people. A big part of it is that you aren't nearly as employable, no one wants their patties flipped by somebody who talks to themselves, because that's weird and scary and "are they alright?" Or it's funny, it's so funny man, the peak of comedy is a disabled person existing, because no man, you as a culture aren't this moment cystalized.
This moment is discomfort. This moment is Donald Trump expressing his discomfort, not fear, of a disabled man. That's what "discomfort" is, and being quiet and feeling "safe" in the presence of discomfort does basically nothing for me. This man isn't allowed to be "a journalist," he is always "a disabled journalist," in every room that he's in, all the time. He encounters able peoples' discomfort, and often this is what it leads to.
Disability and discomfort stemming from disability is never neutral because it is the foundation of ableism.
I mean my goodness.
One of the most famous "horror" movies ever made, 1932's Freaks, is just about disabled people existing. Disabled people moving. Disabled people laughing. Disabled people lighting a cigarette.
They used to cart us around in display cages for people to come and look. Later, they celebrated this as liberatory, because of a pseudowoke ahistorical narrative that it let us live in society, like claiming that Ota Benga and Theodor Wonja Michael had it made in the shade because at least they weren't being "mistreated" with violence, or that the only bad thing about their lives as fetishized objects of discomfort was when they were treated with violence.
How do you possibly believe holding on to quiet discomfort, preserving your habitus but drawing the line purely at violence, is what's necessary to make society safe for the disabled?
How do you possibly believe that?
Just wanted to share that I grew up with this abled cruelty, being taught to be disgusted by disabled people. Especially when they look disfigured compared to normal people. When I was in elementary school, there was a disabled girl in my class. I don’t know what exactly was her disorder, but she was really tall and skeletal in appearance, but what bothered me most was the smell that I couldn’t forget. I get overwhelmed easily by my sense of smell, it’s something I’ve always struggled with (save for when I got in a long term schizophrenic depression where I lost my sense of smell completely) so I always run away from her. But we have a lot in common. She also liked to draw and read manga. She even let me borrowed a few that left a mark on me to this day. But I remember that I thought, how her mom must’ve loved her. Because her mom loved her, she still got to go to school even if she gets bullied. And she still had something to smile about when she goes to school because she has her books with her. On the other hand I took that to lament that my mom didn’t love me, because she’d still sent me to school even if I got bullied. For someone outwardly disabled like that classmate I had, people would’ve preferred if she stayed out of their sight to ease their comfort. On some level, I still wish for that. Even if it’s unreasonable, because I had no reason to be comforting the abled who would make education absolutely miserable and hardly attainable for me.
What you wrote about being in a private school changing your course in life is so true. Public school is a nightmare. One teacher for 50 students, with some disabled kids like me to boot. If I step out of line at any point, because unfortunately I don’t follow the mould very well, then I’m beaten and yelled at until I comply. And all I could do is to understand why I was hit and internalise the blame. But really I don’t believe it for a second. I don’t want to stay in such an environment so I kept running away, and every attempt I made was punished by the authorities.
When I came to a private middle school, my system made a promise with itself to behave and not let anyone know how disabled we were again. Because it’s such a sanitised environment, and they provide so much opportunities, assuming we are abled enough to take it. I experience a new kind of exhaustion, where I continuously strain my mask everyday to achieve academic achievements, because I don’t want to be stupid anymore. I don’t want to be relentlessly mocked by my teacher for my defiance and incompetency. I did everything harder than everyone else, but when I met my limit, it crashed on me the hardest. Once again it was with math, the one thing I can’t feign to be good at. Once again I had not completed my homework so I had to sit in the teacher’s room to finish it. Then I just keep dissociating while my brain is torn apart again. I had worked so hard in just one year to put all that awful memories behind. I had promised myself not to need extra lessons, because I know my mom’s just waiting to smack me if I did a question wrong. In the end I almost lost myself in that psychosis. It was just a cumulative episode. Everything I had felt before was piling up, and I felt my entire future was on the line if I couldn’t get this exam right.
Something really personal I’m going to share is that there was another classmate this time who I was kind of friends with. She was forced by her parents to study materials above our own. Despite knowing that, I was envious of her again. Despite knowing she was primed for “success”, in reality it’s no different from what I was put through, I still resented myself when my grades were lower than hers. I hated it so much. I hated that she was a girl too, because at the time I was genuinely struggling with my gender like I couldn’t understand why I feel so awful trying to fit in as a girl. She was what I wanted to be, but couldn’t be. And when I thought of letting my mask drop and have everyone find out just how stupid I am, I’d be better off dead. I really felt like there was no way out, when it’s just my mind convincing me so. So anyway, that led to me begging to be incarcerated in the psych ward until I felt I was no longer a threat to anyone. I confessed to the nurses about my plans but I don’t think they ever did anything with that knowledge. After all, there’s no need for someone to understand the insane. If I hurt myself or hurt someone else, I was just irrational, so there’s no need to understand what led to me spiralling out of my control like that. And even now, I had to live with the knowledge that I tried to kill myself or tried to kill her because I wanted to be better than her. I had to keep knowing that whenever these abled people make a film about a split personality killer or a hallucinating schizophrenic killer, that could’ve been me. I could have been the worst possible portrayal of my disorders, if I couldn’t save myself and hold back.
I guess what I’m saying is that on some level, I felt glad when people stigmatise me because I think I deserve it, but it’s not like I want this disorder to be stigmatised as well. On some level I even accept that violence as something I deserved, because I internalised that I’m lesser than everyone else. But I won’t let them say it’s because of any reason that others could share with me. Because I don’t wish suffering on anyone else. This should have just stayed with me.
the little imaginary guy running n doing parkour outside the car window when you were a kid:
Been waiting for this one a while