(nyt)
No. I'm fine, really. I'm just ugly crying about Carroll crater. A bright spot on the far side of the moon. I'm fine. I'll stop crying eventually.
cherry valley forever

titsay

⁂

#extradirty
Today's Document
DEAR READER
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Misplaced Lens Cap
Xuebing Du

JBB: An Artblog!
Game of Thrones Daily
No title available
No title available

izzy's playlists!
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

pixel skylines
dirt enthusiast
Three Goblin Art
Sweet Seals For You, Always

seen from United States

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@wintercoille
(nyt)
No. I'm fine, really. I'm just ugly crying about Carroll crater. A bright spot on the far side of the moon. I'm fine. I'll stop crying eventually.
для моих русскоговорящих подписчиков: y меня есть телеграм-канал, а ещё недавно со мной вышел подкаст 🎙️ cпасибо, что следите за моим творчеством!
An imagined version of yourself living happily in an alternate universe is a kind of dead wife
i wish you could tell cats your food is poison. he seems to think the issue is i've forgotten that he is my kind and loving friend. the issue is Hospital
hey guys you know a work can have challenging & disturbing & weird themes without it actually being a kink that the writers have, right? I know we all like to use that “the author’s barely disguised fetish” meme but i truly need y’all to understand that some things are just recurring themes & motifs in a body of work without it being sexual for the writers or anyone involved in the creation of art. It’s important to me that y’all know this.
Life-32 x 24in- 81x61cm-2023
Lei Xue: 'Drinking Tea' (2009)
Smashed Cans Sculpted and Hand Painted in the Traditional Style of Ming Dynasty Porcelain.
my art printed with a kids' camera
”with shapes.inc you can talk to your ocs!!” Dumbass. I’m already talking to them. In my head. “B-bbut what about your favourite charac-“ skill issue. In my head as well. get fucked.
the transition in the past two decades from family sitcoms and ‘friends all living together’ sitcoms to workplace comedies signifies a larger shift in how work dominates our lives and leaves no space for traditional family or community raising in this essay i will
Fauna, Richard Siken
that way/not that way
GRENADA. 1979. A leaf is used as an umbrella along the northwest coast of Grenada. Alex Webb.
Faraway views (right lens of my binoculars)
I was working on a history paper today and found a book from 1826 that seemed promising (though dull) for my topic, on an English Catholic family’s experience moving to France.
And it ended up not really being suitable for my purposes, as it goes. But part of the book is actually devoted to Kenelm, the author’s oldest son…and man, his dad loved him.
Kenelm seems to have had a fairly typical upbringing for a young English gentleman, although he is a bit slow to read. At twelve he’s sent to board at Stoneyhurst College—often the big step towards independence in a boy’s life, as he’ll most likely only see his parents sporadically from now on, and then leave for university.
When he’s sixteen, however, his father moves the whole family to France, so Kenelm gets pulled out of school to be with them again. Shortly after the move, his dad notices that he seems depressed. Kenelm confides in him that he’s been suffering from “scruples” for the last eighteen months—most likely what we’d now call an anxiety disorder.
And his dad is pissed—at the school, because apparently Kenelm had been seeking help there and received none, despite obviously struggling with mental health issues. So his dad takes it seriously. He sets him up to be counseled by a priest—there were no therapists back then—and doesn’t send him away to be boarded again, instead teaching him at home himself.
And his mental health does improve. His dad describes him as well-liked, gentle, pious, kind and eager to please others; at twenty he’s thinking about a career in diplomacy or going into the military—which his dad thinks he is not particularly suited for, considering his favorite pastimes are drawing and reading. He’s excited about his family’s upcoming move to Italy, and he’s been busy learning Italian and teaching it to his siblings.
Henry Kenelm Beste dies of typhus at twenty years, four months, and twenty-five days. That’s how his dad records it. That’s why his dad is telling this story. It’s not an extraordinary story—Kenelm’s story struck me because he sounds so…ordinary, like so many kids today. And he was so, so loved. His dad tried hard to help him compassionately with his mental health at a time where our current knowledge and support systems didn’t exist. You can feel how badly he wanted his son to be remembered and loved, to impress how dearly beloved he was to the people who knew him in life.
I hope he’d be glad to know someone is still thinking of Kenelm over 200 years later.
Anyway, that’s why I’m crying today.
@istradion
Grietje Postma (b.1961) - Untitled. 2012. Woodcut.