pushing daisies really was a modern retelling of orpheus and eurydice in which they knew they wouldnt make it out of the underworld so instead they simply built a life together on the stairs
when pádraig ó tuama said “i think that poetry offers the world something that’s small enough to carry close to your heart and big enough to carry all the ordinary things that can be encompassed in any one day.”
In one of the most interesting moments in his memoir, [jewelry thief Bill Mason] sees that architecture can be made to do what he wants it to do; it’s like watching a character in Star Wars learn to use the Force.
In a lengthy scene at a hotel in Cleveland that Mason would ultimately hit more than once in his career, he explains that his intended prize was locked inside a room whose door was too closely guarded for him to slip through. Then he realizes the obvious: he has been thinking the way the hotel wanted him to think—the way the architects had hoped he would behave—looking for doors and hallways when he could simply carve a new route where he wanted it. The ensuing realization delights him. “Elated at the idea that I could cut my own door right where I needed one,” he writes, Mason simply breaks into the hotel suite adjacent to the main office. There, he flings open the closet, pushes aside the hangers, and cuts his way from one room into the other using a drywall knife. In no time at all, he has cut his “own door” through to the manager’s office, where he takes whatever he wants—departing right back through the very “door” he himself made. It is architectural surgery, pure and simple.
Later, Mason actually mocks the idea that a person would remain reliant on doors, making fun of anyone who thinks burglars, in particular, would respect the limitations of architecture. “Surely if someone were to rob the place,” he writes in all italics, barbed with sarcasm, “they’d come in as respectable people would, through the door provided for the purpose. Maybe that explains why people will have four heavy-duty locks on a solid oak door that’s right next to a glass window.” People seem to think they should lock-pick or kick their way through solid doors rather than just take a ten-dollar drywall knife and carve whole new hallways into the world. Those people are mere slaves to architecture, spatial captives in a world someone else has designed for them.
Something about this is almost unsettlingly brilliant, as if it is nonburglars who have been misusing the built environment this whole time; as if it is nonburglars who have been unwilling to question the world’s most basic spatial assumptions, too scared to think past the tyranny of architecture’s long-held behavioral expectations.
To use architect Rem Koolhaas’s phrase, we have been voluntary prisoners of architecture all along, willingly coerced and browbeaten by its code of spatial conduct, accepting walls as walls and going only where the corridors lead us. Because doors are often the sturdiest and most fortified parts of the wall in front of you, they are a distraction and a trap. By comparison, the wall itself is often more like tissue paper, just drywall and some two-by-fours, without a lock or a chain in sight. Like clouds, apartment walls are mostly air; seen through a burglar’s eyes, they aren’t even there. Cut a hole through one and you’re in the next room in seconds.
just painted an onion on a cutting board and i think it’s the peak of my artistic career
look at her…
she gets stronger!
the full painting is finally complete!
This is giving me emotions that I myself do not fully understand
[images: first image is a painting of a cutting board with a half onion, some diced onion, and a knife sitting next to it on a countertop. The painting is mostly in muted shades of blue, with the onion itself having some pinks and purple-brown. Second image is the same painting with more details added: the onion skin is rougher and more natural-looking, there are curls of onion skin on the cutting board behind the diced onion, the shadows are deeper, the highlights brighter, the colors more saturated. Third image is a zoomed-out view that also shows a drawer slightly open below the countertop with the onion, pink tile floor to the left, and in the top left corner an open door to a short hallway or entryway, at the end of which is a closed door. End description]
One time a DM let me play a Venom inspired character where I played the host and my long distance girlfriend played the symbiotic alien. How we did this was set up a discord call where she could hear everything said at the table but I had one head phone in my ear and only I could hear what she was saying and if I wanted to respond I had to speak out loud.
“I wish James Cameron was in the Titan death trap sub” James Cameron would not be caught fucking dead in that thing because James Cameron for all his faults is actually an expert oceanographer and National Geographic explorer-in-residence who has contributed scientific advancements to deep sea exploration and underwater filmmaking and has dived to the Titanic over 30 times and was the first person to go to the bottom of the Mariana Trench solo where he discovered three new species. Like, he’s one of the few ultra-rich shitheads who put time and effort into their weirdo adventure tourism hobby.
He’s also on the NASA advisory counsel whose whole thing is advising the NASA Administrator on safety issues and hazards in NASA’s air and space programs.
The guy funded his lifelong special interest of deep exploration with his special interest in filmmaking
“I made ‘Titanic’ because I wanted to dive to the shipwreck, not because I particularly wanted to make the movie,” he told Playboy (in 2009).
“an estranged relationship with pleasure” he would do numbers on here
I’m often struck by the thought that even if Hozier hadn’t made it in music, the likelihood of him becoming famous as a dril-level internet cryptid comedian was still extremely high
insane how many people just have these incredible artists in their families who get no recognition outside of crocheting circles because this art form is devalued for its association with women
in my country, the word for crocheting, is used metaphorically, to compliment a surgeon’s work.
every AFAB person my mother’s age and older, had practiced this craft at one point on another.
My mom has made literal paintings, that decorate our house for years (I’ll come back with pictures when I visit next) you can only see that they are crocheting when you go very close.
as promised here’s my mom’s crocheting “paintings”
There is another one but it had been stored many years ago, (i remember it from my childhood) and sadly it is probably damaged by mold, it depicted wild horsed running in nature
fob’s we didn’t start the fire is cover, like, fine i guess if you’ve been desperately craving for anything set after billy joe’s version, but the fact that it chronically places the usa and uk as the only countries as “newsworthy” and barely acknowledges the existence of news in asia, south america, africa and eastern europe means that it doesn’t hold a candle to the original.
that, and it’s not even in chronological order. like come the fuck on.
this is what hozier meant when he said that all art is political, because when you’re a major rock band and write a cover song “updating major newsworthy events” and chicken out on russia’s military invasion, pretend china doesn’t exist, omit the myanmar coup, the protests in south america, southeast asia, france, iran, ukraine, and hong kong etc etc etc, you’re making extremely political art in its omission.
an american band writing a song that mentions a netflix show but forgets to include major shifts in geopolitical power(like the fall of the ussr) is inherently a power and privilege problem
[“Anti-fatness isn’t about saving fat people, expressing concern for our health, or even about hurting us. Hurting us is a byproduct of reinforcing the egos of the privileged thin. Fat people are specters of some haunting future in which thin people become fat, and like any supernatural foe, we must be vanquished. Thinner people conquer fatness by distancing themselves from fatter people—through street harassment, food policing, and voicing constant judgment so that those around them know that they’re not that fat, not that bad, not that slovenly, not that careless. Fat people are props, set pieces to prove thin people’s virtue by contrast. Even the most benevolent thin people simply tolerate bodies like ours.
In Regulating Aversion: Tolerance in the Age of Identity and Empire, Wendy Brown describes tolerance as “a discourse of power.”
“Despite its pacific demeanor, tolerance is an internally unharmonious term, blending together goodness, capaciousness, and conciliation with discomfort, judgment, and aversion. Like patience, tolerance is necessitated by something one would prefer did not exist. It involves managing the presence of the undesirable, the tasteless, the faulty—even the revolting, repugnant or vile. […] As compensation, tolerance anoints the bearer with virtue, with standing for a principled act of permitting one’s principles to be affronted; it provides a gracious way of allowing one’s tastes to be violated. It offers a robe of modest superiority in exchange for yielding.”
In this way, thinness becomes a system of supremacy—a way of organizing the world around us and once again casting ourselves in a graceful light. At every turn, thin people are defined by their virtue: the restraint and vigilance to stay thin, the tenacity and dedication to monitor their bodies at every moment, the goodness to spread the gospel of thinness to wretched fatter people, and the restraint to stop short of death threats. Everything about hating me reinforces what thin people need to hear about themselves. They don’t want to hurt me; they want to stop hurting themselves. They don’t want to hurt me, but they do.”]
aubrey gordon, what we don’t talk about when we talk about fat
