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@qualityblizzardcreation
5 years ago, I was in Rehab.
10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.
But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.
One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.
Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.
For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.
But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.
Happy.
It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.
Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.
It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.
A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.
5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.
It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.
Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.
I’m a Rescue.
She gave me a Home.
And, so, I gave her a Family.
It seemed fair
This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.
don’t give up yet, ok?
It could get good, even.
the Chocolate guy
In honor of Day of the Dead, here’s a repost of my comic about the San Francisco Columbarium and the man who spent 26 years restoring it.
This comic originally appeared on Medium at The Nib. Go check out my other work there.
Emmitt and the Columbarium.
Pokemon but I gave them IRL common names
I like your nose laser OP
laser-free diet.
y'all need to hear about gerb.
gerb was my high school physics teacher. (gerb is short for mr. gerber.) when we were learning about radiation and whatnot, and we touched on radiation poisoning, gerb decided to tell us a story.
when gerb was in high school, he worked in a supermarket. a cashier. there was this one little old lady, mrs. cassopolis, who was a regular. mrs. cassopolis firmly believed that the lasers used to scan her food items would give her radiation poisoning. they tried to explain that’s not a thing. but old cass wouldn’t hear a word of it.
the employees had to punch in every. last. grocery. item. MANUALLY.
and this woman would buy cartfulls of food every week, like any good grandma trying to feed her five children and eighteen grandchildren every time they come for a Sunday visit. so pretty soon, the employees figured out a strategy to get her on her way and get on with their lives.
one or more employees would distract old cass while the cashier would scan all the items he could as fast as humanly possible while she wasn’t paying attention.
now this supermarket had a rewards program for its most efficient workers. the computer would track how quickly the cashiers scanned items, and how many total they scanned in one day, that kind of thing. so one day, gerb’s boss came to him and said “uh,”
“you scanned three hundred items in six minutes last Tuesday during your shift” and gerb says “i recall” “that’s about four times faster than anything i’ve ever seen” and gerb says “yea ok” “jeremy what happened?”
and gerb says
“i had to save a little old woman from placebo radiation”
Season of the Eagle by Bev Doolittle
i love writing out numbers and then putting them in parentheses like "one (1)" even when i dont need to i think its funny
ive just seen the american psycho characters drawn as my little ponies and honestly i dont think patrick should have been given that cd as his cutie mark. i think you're doing it wrong if you're not making him a perpetual blank flank
look if you're gonna draw characters as my little ponies you have to remember that the cutie mark can't just be any old imagery you associate with them. it has to be Representative. it's their Unique Characteristic. to quote the pony wiki page i just googled, "Twilight and Applejack point out in Call of the Cutie how lacking a mark means that ponies still get to experience 'the thrill of discovering who they are and what they're meant to be'." there's narrative shit going on here there's Themes. and patrick bateman is NOT unique. he has NOT discovered who he is or what he's meant to be. the end monologue of the book is literally about how he has absolutely nothing going for him in this regard & is simply a vacant, hollow person merely vacuously gesturing at the idea of having depth. and when he rants about music, that's what he's doing there, too. his lyrical analysis is shallow/vaguely inaccurate summaries at best and completely warped at worst. everything he has to say about music--and in general--is intensely fixated on commodities and on appearing normal and intelligent while being entirely devoid of any intelligent or individual thought. so no, his cutie mark is not music. mr "missing that hip to be square is about making fun of conformist squares & proudly proclaiming that its actually about how fucking Awesome it is to be conformist and consumerist" does NOT have a fucking cd cutie mark. He's a blank flank. He has no unique identity. There is no future for him. There is no self identity. He's a fucking blank flank. okay? sorry i got a little passionate about this. there is no exit and he has no cutie mark
@epeboch see, I agree, but also, being a blank flank is against the social norm, so I imagine he has a fake one that he wears.
ok now this is important intellectual discussion about the subject. i agree i was personally imagining him like. always having it covered with pants or something. but he would have a fake cutie mark. he would totally get a fake cutie mark tattooed or something in my little american psycho world. in fanart however if this cannot be briefly conveyed then i think for the sake of clarity with regards to his character it needs to be blank. just so its clear he doesnt have one
After the first time he chops somepony up with an axe he stands there, feeling nothing, no catharsis, but he still can't stop himself from turning to look at his reflection.
It's still blank. He looks at the axe as though it is the thing that has betrayed him.
i’ve watched this like 8 times in a row
Me and my dog post-apocalypse after we find a broken crate of canned peaches washed up on the beach
I am not reblogging the post because it is true that most of the time on the internet when people pull out thought experiments it's because they're trying to trap you. But
If everyone drinks the strawberry fanta then no one gets poisoned at all, and actually morally speaking it is not actually wrong to expect other people to not poison themselves so oh yeah okay maybe I should have reblogged that other post because this isn't actually a trap but it's the other kind of thought experiment where the person who came up with it thinks they're deep and are ignoring or unaware of the obvious correct answer and if you point it out to them will start assigning "moral responsibilities" no one has ever concieved of before to try and convince you to drink the flavorade
Anyway pro life tip: don't poison yourself
Especially if it's in a context where poisoning yourself would make other people feel compelled to also poison themselves. What the fuck
RIP King
F#