I’m learning a lot lately about the visitation rights of a memory, and how it feels to have joint custody of yourself with yourself.
— Rachelle Toarmino, from “Beating & Rotting All At Once,” That Ex
Three Goblin Art

tannertan36
Sade Olutola
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ojovivo
NASA
trying on a metaphor

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will byers stan first human second
Peter Solarz
KIROKAZE
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

JBB: An Artblog!
taylor price
AnasAbdin

pixel skylines

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DEAR READER

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@lost-and-romantic
I’m learning a lot lately about the visitation rights of a memory, and how it feels to have joint custody of yourself with yourself.
— Rachelle Toarmino, from “Beating & Rotting All At Once,” That Ex
i’m just living from bong hit to bong hit
Never seen something so accurate
personal comic about being sad
Leaves | Lloyd Schwartz
Do you ever interact with someone and you realize “this person has never had to consider or think about what their place in the world is, and why they believe certain things or act certain ways, this person has never considered society at length” and it’s just terrifying
kiss ur own forehead. haunt ur own house
I often work with children and it makes me kind of sad when I’m at work and I start talking to a small child and their parent says something like, “oh, she’s sixteen months, she can’t understand you.”
Like, 1. I know what a toddler is and 2. not with that attitude she won’t.
There are a lot of great additions to this post, but I think this also may be the time for me to share one of my favorite stories about myself.
Growing up, I spent most days with my grandmother while my parents were at work. My grandmother was a spry old Estonian woman from Saaremaa who had herself grown up on a farm, but her favorite hobbies in her retirement were reading, being a card shark, and gardening. She had a lovely backyard with a lot of flowers: both those native to Maryland and some that reminded her of her homeland. She spent a lot of time out in the garden, and my very earliest memories are of sitting in the grass watching her putter around in the dirt on her hands and knees.
So one weekend afternoon when I’m perhaps barely a year old, I’m at my parents’ house on their day off, just sort of noodling around on the grass behind our townhouse. My mom thinks she hears me babbling to myself and so she quietly sneaks up behind me, hoping to maybe catch some of my first words.
As she gets closer, she notices that I’m pulling up grass in my fat little baby hands while I mutter something. Just fistful after fistful of grass and tossing it in every direction. She gets up right behind me and finally she can make out what it is I’m saying as I rip up the lawn:
“God damn weeds. God damn weeds! God damn weeds.”
*tiny, 8.4oz roar*
I -
This is so powerful and courageous. Police all over the country are pulling this despicable shit. They’re supposed to be protecting and serving. Monsters.
memory crisis
“Is Suicide Genetic?” by Sarah Lucas, 1996
Where does it say in the constitution or any of the amendments that eating is a human right?
it also doesn’t say you have a right to not be murdered, its a piece of paper dipshit not some holy manuscript passed down by god all mighty to be the sum total of human morality
Also literally it says “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”. Guess what you need for life dipshit
Wait, there are people who think human rights are decided by whats written in the constitution? The american constitution?
Friendly reminder that when the UN voted to declare food a human right, there was exactly one country that voted “no”