#criticizes

[coolsane]

[nova-moon13]

[itsmythang]

trump on the Obama Presidential Library: "It's not too pretty...He wanted only women and DEI to build it. That's what they got."

No, the Obama Foundation has not run out of money Obama Presidential Center scheduled to open sprg 2026 trump a small-minded simpleton who was raised a racist. The fact Obama was twice elected 2 terms consecutively w/ good ranking boggles his weak brain & hurts his fragile ego.

[marejadilla]

Carl Dobsky, "Birds of Paradise", 2016, oil on linen. B. 1972, American figurative painter currently living and working in the Los Angeles area. "Carl Dobsky’s ‘Birds of Paradise,’ from 2016, an apocalyptic, fall-of-Rome style painting of wealthy revelers at a hilltop pool party. They drink and take selfies while L.A. burns in the background." ―  Sharon Mizota, "LA Times"

[moneymasteryhubonline]

WATCH: Governor criticizes Trump for 'cherry-picking' political violence

Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro said, “The president missed the mark last night in his Oval Office address. He should be condemning all political violence.”

[i-have-no-idea-for-name]

... Some people really can't take criticism...

someone writes you one negative comment and that's a reason to block them ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ ...

I feel kinda sad for these people...

so there was a situation where there was one poppy playtime fanfic which I liked so much, really, it was good and I was impatiently waiting for the next chapter, but when it came out there was a certain situation in which the person we play there did something that really upset me, I tried to forget about it and keep reading but this topic was further developed so I simply had to stop reading cause it really offended me...

namely, it was about the fact that at some point the person we play in this fanfic started smoking, which made me very furious cause I hate tobacco with all my heart and I'm quite sensitive to this topic, there are people who don't mind it at all but there are also those who are sensitive about it like me and I simply believe that the characters we play in stories should never do things like smoking, drinking, taking drugs, etc. cause it can really offend the reader, especially that the story captivated you so much and you liked it so much...

the author of the fanfic sent links to it on tumblr and I wrote a negative comment under the post with this chapter, I also wrote that I didn't want to offend them and I wrote that it was a pity cause I really liked this fanfic, but the last chapter simply offended me... The next day I noticed that I couldn't find any of this person's posts, so I came to the conclusion that they blocked me... seriously... one negative comment and they already blocked you because they didn't like the fact that you simply expressed your opinion...

there are A LOT of negative comments under one of my Dog man posts and I haven't blocked ANY of these people DESPITE so many negative opinions, I just muted the notifications for this post and I just don't care about it and I continue to live my life but I know that it's also my "problem" in a way cause I'm a person who doesn't care about the opinions of others and it all just trickles down to me, my brother says he envies me for this feature but it doesn't mean I'm not aware that other people have it harder accept criticism

taking any criticism on your chest is very important and remember, children, that not everyone will always agree with you and you will only accept praise, accepting negative opinions is also important ☝️

[imbecominggayer]

Excerpt From My WIP

Feel free to critique my writing :D

Have you ever seen someone's vulnerable interiority? Those few moments far in between where a human decanter has been abused and left to pour their despair at your feet. As if you were a God? As if they were praying with their cries as hymns?

I always feared those moments. I feared many interesting things growing up.

I feared the day when mom would die. How I would be the only person who could be at the funeral.

I feared the day when someone would confess their love for me. How the light in their eyes would be twirling like flames with hope, or maybe shaking with fear?

I feared the moment when I could see someone in their purest moment. How I would be left with the choice of saying "I see you" or letting the moment fall past.

I feared those moments not because I was scared of grief, or scared of romance, or scared of another person.

In reality, I was scared of myself. Or my lack of self to be more apt. Confused? Don't worry. I'll explain myself.

To say that I "lack" emotions would be inaccurate. I can feel annoyance whenever a distraction interfers with my necessities. I occassionally have pangs of joy. I have felt grief. Joy. Love

unfortunately.

My emotions aren't strong.

When I was confessed to by a school companion in my youth with a two dollar flower and a million dollar smile, I felt an underlining of annoyance at this lackluster gesture. I quitely rejected them. I still made sure to grab the poor flower and put them in a vase as my mom always told me I should. Although, I never thought about them since that moment.

When a radiant sunshine revealed a tiny little hint of deeper awareness beneath their conspicuous joyfulness, I ignored it. That was the only time I had ever seen a pained smile of their face. There were some tears lighting up their eyes. I would never have that moment again. I ruined it.

The moment that sealed my fate was when my mother died after forcing her way through torturous chemo treatments and her own deterioration. At the bedside of own of the most loving angels that could ever grace this world, I couldn't even wring enough emotion out of me to cry authentically. I felt genuine sadness for her passing and joy for her rewarded sufferance, that was true. But it didn't feel like enough. This was the woman who raised me and I didn't even have the heart to be sad for the rest of my life.

At that moment, my greatest fears had come true, I was a grotesque monster who couldn't even bring myself to cry genuinely at my own mother's funeral. I spent more time in my childhood cottage thinking about my father more than my mother.

My father always called me a "nothing child" when I was younger. I still remember the exact words my mother said to me after she chased my father out of the house for the last time, "you aren't useless".

Maybe that was what my father meant when he called me a "nothing child" Maybe he really was trying to call me useless. But when my angelic mother died, when my companion was lost in romance, and when I lost the opportunity to discover humanity underneath my friend's exterior, I truly was a nothing child.