My oil painting of a grilled cheese sandwich
d e v o n

if i look back, i am lost

@theartofmadeline

pixel skylines
đ
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

#extradirty
official daine visual archive
Claire Keane
đ©” avery cochrane đ©”
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

shark vs the universe
cherry valley forever
taylor price
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

izzy's playlists!

ellievsbear
Game of Thrones Daily
One Nice Bug Per Day

No title available

seen from Singapore
seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from Norway
seen from Bangladesh

seen from Poland
seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from United States
seen from Japan

seen from United States

seen from Canada

seen from Bangladesh

seen from United Kingdom

seen from TĂŒrkiye

seen from TĂŒrkiye

seen from TĂŒrkiye

seen from Slovenia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Australia
@skeleslav
My oil painting of a grilled cheese sandwich
jellyfish babies
remember that guy that had a single auditory hallucination that told him he had a brain tumor and the exact location and then he went to the doctor and it was fucking right
Source
[Full text] A difficult case: Diagnosis made by hallucinatory voices
December 1997
DOI:10.1136/bmj.315.7123.1685 Authors: Ikechukwu Obialo Azuonye (Oxleas NHS Foundation Trust)
Introduction
A previously healthy woman began to hear hallucinatory voices telling her to have a brain scan for a tumour. The prediction was true; she was operated on and had an uneventful recovery.
No previous illnesses
Born in continental Europe in the mid-1940s the patient settled in Britain in the late 1960s. After a series of jobs, she got married, started a family, and settled down to a full time commitment as a housewife and mother. She rarely went to her general practitioner as she enjoyed good health and had never had any hospital treatment. Her children had also been in good health.
In the winter of 1984, as she was at home reading, she heard a distinct voice inside her head. The voice told her, âPlease don't be afraid. I know it must be shocking for you to hear me speaking to you like this, but this is the easiest way I could think of. My friend and I used to work at the Children's Hospital, Great Ormond Street, and we would like to help you.â
AB had heard of the Children's Hospital, but did not know where it was and had never visited it. Her children were well, so she had no reason to worry about them. This made it all the more frightening for her, and the voice intervened again: âTo help you see that we are sincere, we would like you to check out the followingââand the voice gave her three separate pieces of information, which she did not possess at the time. She checked them out, and they were true, but this did not help because she had already come to the conclusion that she had âgone mad.â In a state of panic, AB went to see her doctor, who referred her urgently to me.
I saw her at the psychiatric outpatients clinic, and diagnosed a functional hallucinatory psychosis. I offered general supportive counselling as well as medication with thioridazine. To her great relief, the voices inside her head disappeared after a couple of weeks of treatment, and she went off on holiday. While she was abroad, and still taking the thioridazine, the voices returned. They told her that they wanted her to return to England immediately as there was something wrong with her for which she should have immediate treatment. By this time, she was also having other beliefs of a delusional nature.
She returned to London and I saw her again at my outpatients clinic. By this time, the voices had given her an address to go to. Reluctantly, and just to reassure her that it was all in her mind, her husband took her by car to the address in question; it was the computerised tomography department of a large London hospital. As she arrived there, the voices told her to go in and ask to have a brain scan for two reasonsâshe had a tumour in her brain and her brain stem was inflamed. Because the voices had told her things in the past that had turned out to be true, AB believed them when they said that she had a tumour and was in a state of great distress when I saw her the next day.
Brain scan requested
In order to reassure her, I requested a brain scan, explaining in my letter that hallucinatory voices had told her that she had a brain tumour, that I had not, personally, found any physical signs suggestive of an intracranial space occupying lesion, and that the purpose of the scan was essentially to reassure the patient. The request was initially declined, on the grounds that there was no clinical justification for such an expensive investigation. It was also implied that I had gone a little overboard, believing what my patient's hallucinatory voices were telling her.
Eventually, after some negotiation, the scan was done in April. The initial findings led to a repeat scan, with enhancement, in May, revealing a left posterior frontal parafalcine mass, which extended through the falx to the right side. It had all the appearances of a meningioma.
The consultant neurosurgeon to whom I referred AB noted the absence of headache or any other focal neurological deficits related to this mass, and discussed, with AB and her husband, the pros and cons of immediate operation as against waiting for symptoms to appear. In the end, it was agreed to proceed with an immediate operation. AB's voices told her that they were fully in agreement with that decision.
These were the notes of the operation, carried out in May 1984: âA large left frontal bone flap extending across the midline was turned following a bifrontal skin flap incision. Meningioma about 2.5â by 1.5â in size arose from the falx and extended through to the right side. A small area of tumour appeared on the medial surface of the brain. The tumour was dissected out and removed completely along with its origins in the falx.â
AB later told me that when she recovered consciousness after the operation the voices told her, âWe are pleased to have helped you. Goodbye.â There were no postoperative complications. The dosage of dexamethasone was halved every four days, and then it was stopped. She was on prophylactic anticonvulsants for six months. Antipsychotic medication was discontinued immediately after the operation, and there was no return of the hallucinatory voices or the delusions which she had expressed.
Discussion
AB telephoned me last Christmas to wish me and family a merry festive season, and to tell me that she had been completely well in the 12 years since the operation. It was this telephone call that brought this case to mind again.
It is well known that intracranial lesions can be associated with psychiatric symptomatology. But this is the first and only instance I have come across in which hallucinatory voices sought to reassure the patient of their genuine interest in her welfare, offered her a specific diagnosis (there were no clinical signs that would have alerted anyone to the tumour), directed her to the type of hospital best equipped to deal with her problem, expressed pleasure that she had at last received the treatment they desired for her, bid her farewell, and thereafter disappeared.
I presented her case at a conference later that year. AB attended and was closely questioned by several people about the various aspects of her experience. The audience was split down the middle. People who would be called X-philes today rejoiced that what had happened to her was a clear instance of telepathic communication from two well meaning people who had, psychically, found that AB had a tumour and sought to help her.
The X-phobes had a very different formulation. According to them, AB had been given the diagnosis of a brain tumour in her original country and wanted to be treated free under the NHS. Hence, they surmised, she had made up the convoluted tale about voices telling her this and that. But AB had lived in Britain for 15 years and was entitled to NHS treatment. Besides, she had been so relieved when the voices first disappeared on thioridazine that she had gone on holiday to celebrate the recovery of her sanity.
There was a group at the case conference who offered a different opinion. Their view was that, the total lack of physical signs notwithstanding, it was unlikely that a tumour of that size had had absolutely no effect on the patient. âShe must have felt something,â they argued. They suggested that a funny feeling in her head had led her to fear that she had a brain tumour. That fear had led to her experience of hallucinatory voices. She may have unconsciously taken in more information about various hospitals than she realised, and this information was reproduced by her mind as part of the auditory hallucinatory experience. The voices expressing satisfaction with the outcome of her treatment were her own mind expressing its relief that the emergency was over. And the total disappearance of psychiatric symptoms after the removal of the tumour showed that these symptoms were at least directly related to the presence of the lesionâand may, in fact, have been produced by the lesion itself. I have obtained the patient's signed consent to publication.
we are fucked
No hope
ZZZZZZZZZZ
Tropical Gasflame Nudibranch (Phestilla sibogae), family Trinchesiidae, found in the tropical Indo-Pacific
photograph by Steve Smith
When you get really fucked up on that hobby lifestyle, you'll soon find yourself in a strange new place. Industrial auctions can give you all the oddball professional-grade tools that you've always dreamed of, often at a fraction of the price. Are you an accomplished hobby welder? Probably you have always wanted a UV-reactive radio cranfondulator with which to inspect your wire for sharkbite oxides, but it just isn't justified because all you do is fix the exhaust on your shitty Celica once a year. At an industrial auction, maybe you can get one for five dollars. And that's when the fun begins.
As we all know, good tools are big tools. Even big-brain stuff like electron microscopes are large enough that they need a forklift and a buddy with an intact lower back to move. Getting all that shit out of the filthy warehouse or partially-collapsed office building is a task on its own. Sometimes you need to buy new tools just to move it: good thing you're at an auction that sells stuff like cranes, forklifts, and low-mileage/high-hour pickup trucks with an inexplicable thick layer of coal dust on every surface. Make sure to check the return policy.
So you got it home, and now everything's easy, right? Not so. You see, when a big business buys a new piece of industrial equipment, it usually comes with some assistance. Technicians, or at least a single-page badly-photocopied manual telling you where to plug it in. As such, your first project quickly becomes: how in the seven divine hells of AliExpress do I get this thing to work?
Resurrecting this ancient beast of commerce is not quite as simple as a consumer product. Consumer products are, by definition, popular. Really good tools? They may have made like ten of them. There, one quick web search can rapidly locate thousands of arguing morons who have strong opinions on how to set it up. No: if the company that made it even still exists, the best you can hope for is an email from the current engineers asking you to take a bunch of pictures of it because they've forgotten how to make one run. Then you have to bribe an electrician to do something that is "not advised for houses" to your house, just so you can power it.
Now you can have infinite hobby joy. This massive, overcomplicated, insanely expensive machine is at your fingertips, and you can finally check off that annoying task you've been putting off for the last couple of years. You know, this whole thing was so easy, why don't we go back to the auction next weekend and see if we can get a meta-masticating crombopulator to install right next to it?
i have a random issue with a handful of pre-srar fall out boy songs where I LOVE the the start of the song or just generally everything but the chorus, but the chorus itself i find kind of underwhelming (eg: ilalwtwiattgyo, ttotbo, igatrimeanomf, cfmrfrpfmsr, gblogbd(dyptstsasgts)
poor thing...walked straight into the electric fence
I hate explaining jokes but this fucking scene from Kung Pow makes me lose my shit every time:Â
The children screaming âWeâre children!â like theyâre Pokemon
Cans of Pringles in the backgroundÂ
Shopkeeperâs voice breaking the microphone levelsÂ
âBabe-yâ!Â
The shitty cgi hand with the phone
He doesnât even dial the phone
telling a vampire "youre not allowed in my house anymore" and they get blasted out through the nearest wall
I wanted to find a leaf insect but close enough ig
Orthopteran spotted!
In 1997, local television in Kharkiv accidentally filmed one of the most iconic rave moments in history.
Aerial view of a thunderstorm from space, 2025
tights fuckers are out there operating on levels of perversion the rest of us can only dream of. half those motherfuckers are hornier about light and transparency than they are about toes
there's some dude on pixiv right now doing generational work rendering precise fabric grain and angelic translucency whose work should be studied in art classes 400 years from now who will die forgotten because he's doing all that in the service of a picture where you can juuuuust barely see the pattern on a girl's underwear
to be clear he's a hero and this is an injustice
motherfuckers unlimited