Gen AI is nothing special I can also draw / write badly, help you with math inconsistently, answer you dubiously, and consume amounts of water you would think are physically impossible
A daily game that challenges our understanding of human cultures. Ten objects. 5,000 years of human history. Guess where and when each artif
An interesting game where you are presented with 10 artifacts from the MET. You have to place where the artifact is from and what time period it is from. Each artifact scores up to 10,000 points, and you lose points the further away your guess is and how far off in time you are. You can only play once a day. Thanks to @baebeylik for showing this to me.
Today I scored really well. Yesterday ... not so much.
There is a very specific kind of sadness in realizing your parents loved you, and still did not always know how to meet your emotional needs.
Because it is confusing. It would almost feel easier if there was no love there at all. But sometimes there was love. In the way they tried to protect you. In the sacrifices they made. In the ways they worried about you, cared for you, wanted a good life for you.
And at the same time, there were still things missing.
Maybe comfort did not come in the way you needed it to. Maybe your feelings were not always understood, or noticed, or handled gently. Maybe you learned to keep certain parts of yourself quiet because it felt easier than trying to explain them.
That kind of hurt is difficult because it does not always come from cruelty. Sometimes it comes from people who loved you deeply, but did not know how to emotionally connect in the ways you needed. People carrying their own wounds, limitations, fears, or ways of surviving.
And you are allowed to acknowledge both truths at once.
You are allowed to recognize their love and still grieve what you needed but did not receive. Those things do not cancel each other out.
Forgiveness, for a lot of people, is not pretending nothing hurt you. It is slowly accepting that someone can love you and still fall short of understanding you completely.
That does not make your pain dramatic. It does not make them monsters either. Sometimes it just means everyone was trying with the emotional tools they had, and some of those tools were not enough.
And I think many people quietly carry guilt for still feeling hurt by parents they know tried their best. But being loved imperfectly can still leave wounds. It makes sense that it affected you.
At the same time, you do not have to stay trapped only in anger forever either. Sometimes healing looks like understanding that your parents were human before they were parents. People shaped by their own experiences, their own upbringing, their own emotional gaps.
That understanding does not erase your feelings. It just softens the sharp edges around them a little.
You deserved emotional safety. You deserved gentleness. You deserved to feel understood, comforted, and emotionally close to the people raising you.
And if they could not fully give that to you, it is okay to mourn it.
But I hope you also know this: the love you needed is still something you can experience in your life. Through other people. Through chosen family. Through the way you learn to treat yourself now.
The story does not end at what you did or did not receive growing up.
You are still allowed softness after all of it đ€
Also, consider. A magical version of the bends. Whenever someone from a non- or low-magical land has to go into a very magic rich forest or land or dimension, having to take breaks to let their bodies adjust to the new magic exposure or else their blood will boil in their veins or they'll Transform
actually the bends only kicks in when you try to LEAVE the high pressure area. or in this case, magic rich area?
Getting deeper and deeper into feywilds and knowing that however deep you get, itâs gonna take twice as long to escape without magic tearing its way out of you
Iâm very excited for my latest craft experiment, where I rhythmically slap sale rank oil paint onto a canvas and I see how long it takes to dry so that I can finally touch the paint textures I stare at so longingly in museums. 12 hours in, still wet. I am beginning to think this might take longer than I thought which you can imagine is quite a burden, as I am absolutely horned up to rub this paint.
Iâve put this canvas to age in the basement like a fine wine, along another recent masterpiece of mine âI put the paint on me hand and I slap the canvas like a bongoâ
Paint slapped on 6/9, as of 6/22 (I mean actually it was a couple days ago but I didnât fully check the dryness then so I canât be sure):
It is rubbery feeling and the peaks of paint move when you flick them. The texture is not at ALL what I expected tbh and it makes me excited to try a different experiment, thick brush strokes, you know, those mad thicc ones that swirl real good
Hereâs an additional shot with my coffee cup for a further sense of scale so people will understand that these canvases are small and therefore stop sending me asks about my supposedly gorilla sized hands, you bastards, you rotten bastards scared of the hands your minds gave me
I donât know shit about art but isnât this like a great example of art that pushes the boundaries of what art is? Like youâve got your canvas with paint on it, but your reason for putting the paint there is totally different than why most people put paint on stuff. Itâs like a study on texture or something.
Agreed, this is really cool and also I love the fact that you really wanted to touch some paint, so you just went out and bought a bunch of paint and made your own painting for touching purposes. Thatâs striking me as really really cool right now for reasons I canât entirely articulate.Â
For reference: Really thick paint on a piece of art is called impasto. Another really fun way to do it is with a painting knife: you can make each stroke SUPER SMOOTH like cake icing, but with visible, touchable texture between the strokes.
More impasto:
art by Jan Ironside, who does THICK IMPASTO FLOWERS THAT I SO WANT TO TOUCH
Only thing about thick impasto is that the paint can get a bit sharp sometimes. Like, Iâve cut my hand on dried impasto paint because the paint stroke was that pointed. -.-;
sorry this is not relevant at all but ive seen this post many times and EVERY SINGLE TIMEÂ â stop sending me asks about my supposedly gorilla sized hands, you bastards, you rotten bastards scared of the hands your minds gave meâ makes me spiral ive never laughed so hard thank you
Itâs so sad that students are now relying so heavily on AI for writing essays because theyâre missing out on the best part of writing an essay which is when youâre a few paragraphs in and you just reach that flow state where your thought process becomes one with the essay and youâre slamming the keys so hard that youâre on the verge of destroying your laptop. I used to get high off of that shit
About a year ago @elodieunderglass wrote a series of posts about an extinct type of horse, the Irish Hobelar. She ended it with art and a story, and beautiful words: he threw his heart over and she follows it still; and theyâll never land!
It made me think about the kinds of stories we tell, and why, and what the best, most heart-wrenching ones have in common. All of them mean something. The journeys those characters take, that we take with them, they all meant something â itâs why we tell these stories again and again, even if theyâre sad. Weâre all reaching out to tell each other that everything we do matters, even if the ending is sad or tragic or you never finished what you set out to do â it all matters.Â
So I told this story again. And I linked it to stories I love, stories it reminded me of, quotes Iâve heard that have stuck with me and made me look at life differently. Because itâs not the ending. Itâs how they got there. Itâs what weâll remember. And this story deserves remembering. Your stories deserve remembering. I hope we all keep writing them.
Credits, links, and the full image without text below.
The original post references this discussion on medieval cavalry and this series of posts about the origins of Hobelar. Quotes unattributed below are from these posts.
âThis was always going to happen. Sheâs been dead since the beginning.â from the Orestia, by Aeschylus
âSomeone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.â from War of the Foxes by Richard Siken
âThis story happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far awayâŠâ and "a strange thing about stories..." are from the Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith novelization by Matthew Stover
On the Siege of Calais is on the Internet Archive
âThe Hobelar is something of a sideshowâŠâ is from the essay Re-thinking the Origins of the âIrishâ Hobelar by Robert Jones
âEurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?â from Ovidâs Metamorphoses
âPeople really be like âthatâs not realisticâ as if the entire universe isnât a living miracle beyond human comprehensionâ by Twitter user omgsidewalks
"We only look sad because you can't imagine a stillness that's not" and "you are here on this earth forever. Nobody seems to tell you this." are from the book Rough Magic by Lara Prior-Palmer
"What about the rest of us? What about the nobodies..." is from Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo
"all the war did was identify the spear that would not break" is from Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson
"Get in loser we're living past the end of our myth" by tumblr user aridante
All handwritten text (in the paper cutouts) was written by me, and all art was hand-drawn in Procreate. You can find the full art (without text) here!
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