just a regular queer, here

3xer:

(via c3r3mony)

lady-sanctuary:

elierlick:

Now THIS is art. 😍

“When I first saw the original painting, I began to do some research on that little boy. I could find everything I wanted about every other detail in the painting, but there was nothing about him. No history. And so I wanted to find a way to imagine a life for this young man that the historical painting had never made space for in the composition: his desires, dreams, family, thoughts, hopes. Those things were never subjects that the original artist wanted the viewer to contemplate. In order to reframe the discussion, I decided to physically take action to quiet [and crumple] the side of the painting that we’ve been talking about for a very long time and turn up the volume on this kid’s story. And that’s the reason why I started that painting.”
Via Artnet News 2019/03/27

(via seriouslyamerica)

sosuperawesome:

Milk Designs Shop on Etsy

(via milf-adjacent)

vampiremansionpoolboy:

vicshush:

vampiremansionpoolboy:

hey can u please take a moment to stop scrolling and watch this

even if u cant do anything personally this info needs to be known so please boost this

link to the tiktok

link to their bio

link to the website they mention

link to their instagram

and here’s some article links to what’s talked about in the video x x x x x

[Text ID :

A TikTok video made by @shinanova shows a woman in a black sleeveless shirt, dangling white (feather? fur?) earrings, and a gray fur cuff on her wrist pointing to captions between still photos illustrating the issue. Soft electronic music plays on the background.

Captions read : “Did you know how insanely expensive food costs in indigenous communities?”

Cartons of strawberries are shown on grocery shelves for 14.39. Kraft smooth peanut butter jars for 11.19. Bottles of Heinz ketchup for 16.79. Bags of green grapes for 28.19. Photos of protestors follow : Two tall men in ball caps and a third, shorter person in a fur lined hood. The man in the middle holds two signs on pieces of cardboard that read “Stop the crazy prices!” and “I have to feed my family!” The third person also holds a sign on a large yellow piece of posterboard, but the text is cut off by the framing. Two more people holding signs on orange and yellow posterboards, respectively. Posters read “High cost food in Nunavut” and “Food is expensive in Nunavut”. Returning to the woman making the video, she points to more captions : “What can you do? Spread awareness about the issue. Support Indigenous People’s and donate. Share the causes you find most important at Www.UnwreckTheFuture.Com to fight food insecurity” followed by an emoji of a solidarity/fight the power fist (hand closed into a fist, viewed from the thumb curled in front of the knuckles)

/end text]

hi op here please try to reblog the version with the id now please

(via milf-adjacent)

elodieunderglass:

elodieunderglass:

gracklesong:

gracklesong:

My boyfriend is trying to explain cricket to me again. “He’s only got two balls to make 48 runs”, he says. The camera focuses on a man. Underneath him it says LEFT ARM FAST MEDIUM. A ball flies into the stands and presumably fractures someone’s skull. “There’s a free six”, my boyfriend says. 348 SIXES says the screen. A child in the audience waves a sign referencing Weet-Bix

The first time he showed me this I assumed he was pranking me

if people haven’t been exposed to cricket before, here is the experience. The person who likes cricket turns on a radio with an air of happy expectation. “We’ll just catch up with the cricket,” they say. 

An elderly British man with an accent - you can picture exactly what he looks like and what he is wearing, somehow, and you know that he will explain the important concept of Yorkshire to you at length if you make eye contact - is saying “And w’ four snickets t’ wicket, Umbleby dives under the covers and romps home for a sticky bicket.”

There is a deep and satisfied silence. Weather happens over the radio. This lasts for three minutes.

A gentle young gentleman with an Indian accent, whose perfect and beautiful clear voice makes him sound like a poet sipping from a cup of honeyed drink always, says mildly “Of course we cannot forget that when Pakistan last had the biscuit under the covers, they were thrown out of bed. In 1957, I believe.”

You mouth “what the fucking fuck.”

A morally ambiguous villain from a superhero movie says off-microphone, “Crumbs everywhere.”

Apparently continuing a previous conversation, the villain asks, “Do seagulls eat tacos?”

“I’m sure someone will tell us eventually,” the poet says. His voice is so beautiful that it should be familiar; he should be the only announcer on the radio, the only reader of audiobooks.

The villain says with sudden interest, “Oh, a leg over straight and under the covers, Peterson and Singh are rumping along with a straight fine leg and good pumping action. Thanks to his powerful thighs, Peterson is an excellent legspinner, apart from being rude on Twitter.”

The man from Yorkshire roars potently, like a bull seeing another bull. There might be words in his roar, but otherwise it is primal and sizzling.

“That isn’t straight,” the poet says. “It’s silly.”

“What the fucking fuck,” you say out loud at this point.

“Shh,” says the person who likes cricket. They listen, tensely. Something in the distance makes a very small “thwack,” like a baby dropping an egg.

“Was that a doosra or a googly?” the villain asks.

“IT’S A WRONG ‘UN,” roars the Yorkshireman in his wrath. A powerful insult has been offered. They begin to scuffle.

“With that double doozy, Crumpet is baffled for three turns, Agarwal is deep in the biscuit tin and Padgett has gone to the shops undercover,” the poet says quickly, to cover the action while his companions are busy. The villain is being throttled, in a friendly companionable way.

An intern apparently brings a message scrawled on a scrap of paper like a courier sprinting across a battlefield. “Reddy has rolled a nat 20,” the poet says with barely contained excitement. “Australia is both a continent and an island. But we’re running out of time!”

“Is that true?” You ask suddenly.

“Shh!” Says the person who likes cricket. “It’s a test match.”

“About Australia.”

“We won’t know THAT until the third DAY.”

A distant “pock” noise. The sound of thirty people saying “tsk,” sorrowfully.

“And the baby’s dropped the egg. Four legs over or we’re done for, as long as it doesn’t rain.”

The villain might be dead? You begin to find yourself emotionally invested.

There are mild distant cheers. “Oh, and with twelve sticky wickets t’ over and t’ seagull’s exploded,” the man from the North says as if all of his dreams have come true. “What a beautiful day.” Your person who likes cricket relaxes. It is tea break.

The villain, apparently alive, describes the best hat in the audience as “like a funnel made of dove-colored net, but backwards, with flies trapped in it.”

This is every bit as good as that time in Australia in 1975, they all agree, drinking their tea and eating home-made cakes sent in by the fans. The poet comments favorably on the icing and sugar-preserved violets. The Yorkshire man discourses on the nature of sponge. The villain clatters his cup too hard on his saucer. To cover his embarrassment, the poet begins scrolling through Twitter on his phone, reading aloud the best memes in his enchanting milky voice. Then, with joy, he reads an @ from an ornithologist at the University of Reading: seagulls do eat tacos! A reference is cited; the poet reads it aloud. Everyone cheers.

You are honestly - against your will - kind of into it! but also: weirdly enraged.

“Was that … it?” you ask, deeming it safe to interrupt.

“No,” says the person who likes cricket, “This is second tea break on the first day. We won’t know where we really are until lunch tomorrow.”

And - because you cannot stop them - you have to accept this; if cricket teaches you anything, it is this gentle and radical acceptance.

I don’t have notes enabled in my tumblr activity so sometimes when I open the app it just shows me one of my own old posts (that’s gotten a note within the past 30 seconds) and then vanishes. Today it showed me the gracklesong cricket graphic.

(via punk-rose)

clustxr:

unculture:

rifleweeb:

studentofetherium:

studentofetherium:

CGI animators should unionize next. normally, their jobs would be too precarious to strike, since studios would replace them without a second thought, but if it’s part of this larger general film strike, they might finally have meaningful power to better their working conditions

if CGI animators unionized, it would kill the MCU. straight up. the the entire business model is built on exploiting CGI animators

THEY ARE TRYING!!!!! SIGN THE PETITION TO GET THE DISNEY ANIMATORS’ UNION RECOGNIZED

this petition is from IATSE (union), btw! it actually has credibility, unlike most change.org/etc petitions! please sign it!!

(via punkitt-is-here)

piratecrew:

touhouweed:

touhouweed:

touhouweed:

Squidward only ever makes artwork based off his visage, it’s all very surface level and lacks any emotional depth

Squidward should start making artwork based on how Squidward feels and not how Squidward looks yknow? I feel like he’s experimented plenty with self portraits, but none of them really say much about Squidward as a person yknow

got drunk last night and got really emotional over Squidward’s potential and how much he holds himself back

(via felinitie)

theygender:

I’ve said this before but like. As a young butch who had the good fortune of being raised around older butch lesbians I will forever be dumbfounded that the popular perception most people have of butches is apparently “skinny 20-something with short hair and biceps.” I mean don’t get me wrong, I partially fit that stereotype myself. But I have never considered that to be the norm. All of the butch lesbians I grew up around were in their 40s, 50s, 60s, and built like a fucking freight train. And I don’t just mean they had aesthetically sculpted muscles. True muscle strength requires body fat to support it (think bodybuilder vs strongman) and the lesbian community has historically celebrated the things that straight society finds “unattractive” about women’s bodies anyways. The pinnacle of butchness has always specifically included fat mascs in my opinion, and it boggles my mind that when a lot of people think of the word “butch” they’re thinking of like, Ruby Rose in OITNB and not a 40 year old lesbian with a dad bod who could carry all three of her kids at once if she felt like it

(via felinitie)

galatur:

gif87a-com:

Pipe expanding machine

(via kameonerd566)

thisisthinprivilege:

queertransetc:

- ED trigger warning -

Being skinny ruined my life. If you’re thin and think to yourself, “why don’t fat people just lose weight?” Please read this

I was the “ideal fat” in the sense that I did everything skinny people wanted me to do. I tried every diet in the book. I exercised regularly. I worked with doctors and dietitians to figure out the best way to lose weight. But nothing worked. I did everything “right” to lose weight, and my weight stayed the same

But the thin people in my life kept telling me that I wouldn’t be happy, attractive, healthy, etc. until I lost weight. So, heartbroken, I came to the conclusion that anorexia was the only option left. It felt safer than bariatric surgery, and was obviously much more affordable

I became the perfect anorexic. 700 cal a day or less, except once a week I allowed myself 1400 cal. For reference, my body required at least 2800 to maintain weight, and at least 1800 to keep my organs and stuff fully functioning. Still, 700 a day, I persisted because everyone in my life told me weight loss was all that mattered. If dieting didn’t work, anorexia had to

And it did. My weight dropped all the way down to 110 pounds. I was skinny - underweight, even - in all sense of the word. The people in my life saw it as a miracle. The ultimate success story. My mother, my “friends,” my doctors, they all congratulated me on my accomplishment

When I confessed my eating disorder to my doctor, he told me, “that’s not the best way to go about it, but I’m glad you lost the weight.” My mother took pictures of me and sent them to relatives to brag

Okay, great. I was skinny. I did what I set out to do. But there were severe consequences

The most obvious was my joint pain doubled, maybe even tripled, to the point that I couldn’t leave the house without a wheelchair

I also developed several health complications, including fatty liver disease and extremely painful GERD. I had to see a handful of specialists and get an endoscopy because of severe stomach pain

My partner, who was the only person who saw my weight loss for what it was (a horrible thing that only happened because of an eating disorder), convinced me to enter a recovery program

For nearly a year, I relearned how to feed myself. I ate everything I was told to eat, nothing more and nothing less. My diet was 100% in the hands of somebody else

And I gained back every pound I has lost. All of the work to become thin went right out the window. It was proven to me that thinness and health were incompatible with my body. If I wanted to be thin, I had to forgo my physical and mental well-being. And vise-versa

Prior to the anorexia, I never once struggled with binge eating. I was naturally an intuitive eater, and I did a good job of having a well rounded diet. After the anorexia, after recovery, I developed a binge eating disorder. I had spent so long starving myself, that my brain and body got stuck in survival mode, desperate to consume any and all calories out of fear that I might starve again. To this day I struggle with binge eating

I did everything thin people wanted of me. I dieted. I exercised. And when all else failed, I starved myself. Now I have liver disease, stomach issues, and BED. Not to mention the loads of mental issues that accumulated as a result of my weight loss journey. During the throes of my anorexia, I had to be hospitalized for suicidal ideation

When you tell fat people to “just lose weight” you are suggesting they give themselves illnesses for which treatments are not always effective. You are asking fat people to destroy their stomachs and livers. When a fat person loses so much weight that they become skinny, they are likely giving up so much of their health in efforts to be treated like a human being

If you’re thin, do your part. Treat fat people like people before we tear our bodies apart

I never had to go into recovery, but I was close. I realized that my family and friends were cheering my ED on, with the exception of my mom, who was shocked at my visible spine and ribs. I was not going to find help outside of myself, just more shame and degradation and fear of being fat and being treated as worthless again. I knew I was going to die if I kept on what I was doing (at the time, eating one meal every three days).

Then I read Gina Kolata’s Rethinking Thin, stumbled across the Fatosphere (Shapely Prose and Junkfood Science…anyone remember those blogs?), and I stopped dieting for good. I bounced up back to my old weight in 18 months and have stayed there ever since. My body really, really wants to be fat. I didn’t want to battle it, anymore. I wasn’t going to win, and I had better things to accomplish with my time and effort.

I lost a lot of thin privilege, a shocking amount, in an incredibly short period of time. You can’t ever convince me there isn’t thin privilege. I was treated like a completely different person practically overnight. It made me–still makes me–incredibly sad. Fat people are the same people they’d be if they were thin.

Thin people, you would be the same, if you were fat. Do you think you’d deserve the derision you pile on fat people if you woke up fat, tomorrow? You might. Side effects of medications, post-pregnancy body changes, accidents that reduce mobility, illness, and aging can all result in weight gain. Wouldn’t you like to be treated like a human being worthy of good medical care, professional respect, romantic value, and basic dignity?

Treat fat people well: because we deserve it, because you might be in our place someday, and because it might save a life.

-ArteToLife

(via felinitie)

librarycards:

Pigeons are doves. They are rock doves, and I wonder if we began to call them that if people would hesitate to hate them, as doves have that history as messengers of peace. It is true that in my neighborhood nobody hates the mourning doves, dusky and elegant with wings that squeak as if they flap on rusty hinges. They roost on the wires like little Audrey Hepburns, while the pigeons troll the ground, tough and fat, some of them look like they should be smoking cigarettes. They look poor and banged up, like they could kick the mourning doves’ asses but are wise to the divide-and-conquer tactics we use on one another, so they coo wearily at the mourning doves and waddle forth in search of scavenged delights. What you may not know is when you call a pigeon “a rat with wings” you have given it a compliment. The only thing a rat lacks is a pair of wings to lift it, so you have named the pigeon perfectly. When you say to me, “I hate pigeons,” I want to ask you who else you hate. It makes me suspicious.

I once met a girl who was so proud to have hit such a bird on her bicycle, I swear, I thought that it was me she hit. I felt her handlebars in my stomach and now it is your job to feel it also. The pigeons are birds, they are doves. They are the nature of the city and the ones who no one loves. When people say they hate pigeons, I want to ask them if they hate themselves, too. Does it prick the well of your loathing? Do they make you feel dirty and ashamed? Are you embarrassed about how little or how much you have, for how you have had to hustle? Being dirty is not a problem for the pigeon. You can ask it, “How do you feel about having the city coating your feathers, having the streets gunked up in the crease of your eye?” and the pigeon would say, “Not a problem.” You will now stop blaming the pigeon. It is not the pigeon’s fault. The pigeon was once a dove, and then we built our filthy empire up around it, came to hate it for simply thriving in the midst our decay, came to hate it for not dying. The pigeon is your ally. They are chameleons, gray as the concrete they troll for scraps, at night they huddle and sing like cats. Their necks are glistening, iridescent as an oil-slick rainbow, they mate for life, and they fly.

Michelle Tea, Against Memoir. [emphasis mine]

(via aheeheemwhimper)

hussyknee:

angelltheninth:

hussyknee:

ALT

(alt included)

Showcase example of why I am deeply skeptical of Eat The Rich types. Too many of y'all are like this fuckhead who has no clue what rich requires eating.

Also for context: Ron Perlman has been acting since 1975. Studio exec Bob Igor made $27 million last year from Disney alone, just one of his streams of annual income, which includes but is not limited to stocks, real estate and consulting.

Can we vote to make Ron Perlman the next Disney CEO?

Absolutely not.

Please, please understand. The problem is not that the wrong people are in charge. It’s that the system in charge of people is wrong. A bad system obstructs well-intentioned people at best, and corrupts them at worst. If Ron Perlman became the CEO of Disney, he’d still end up drawing hundreds of millions in income for no reason than sitting at the top, which is highly unjust and unethical. Even if he does choose to, he will only be able to redistribute half that money because the rest is tied in stocks and portfolios and non-liquid assets. Also, when your enemies have more wealth than you, they will use it to steal your position, and if you turn class traitor by advocating for the working class against the interests of the wealthy, you will find the entire ecosystem that protects and reinforces the power of the 1% turned against you. And if workers do make an exception for him as a CEO and allow him to be their voice, they’re all simply proving the conservatives’ point– that inequality is simply a question of charity rather than systemic injustice.

That is the crux of conservative logic– that everything depends on the goodness of individuals, and all that’s required for a system to function properly is enough “good people” in the right positions. This hyperindividualist concept of merit and the triumph of “good people” is part of the Just World Theory that forms their worldview. Good cops, good guys with guns, mavericks against the system, underdogs, alpha males, God-fearing parents, pure women– all of these justify the existence of unequal systems as a winnowing mechanism for the undeserving. It’s why the right-wing is so cultist; it’s based on saviourism and heroism.

Way too many people bring this conditioning with them when they adopt leftist policies. I don’t care whether it’s Dolly Parton or Keanu Reeves or Ron Perlman or Princess Diana or or or. These are just people who have done some good things. It’s okay to feel fond of them for that. But they’re also deeply flawed and privileged people who have far less stake in leftist values and politics than actual marginalized people. And there are hundreds of thousands of people championing the same causes on the ground, activists who belong to the same disenfranchised communities and are putting their whole lives on the line for them. They don’t need to be made famous (look at what you lot did to Malala and Greta– use them and lose them). But they need system change, and the more time you spend fawning over celebrities, the more you derail the actual conversation and the efforts toward it.

(via tachvintlogic)

catchymemes:

5t4r5cr34m-ah3g40-h00d13:

IM GONAN SELL THIS 8DEA TO DAVE N BUSTER && MAKE A BAZILLION DOLLAR$

(via aheeheemwhimper)

filmloversociety:

This was literally in a Black Mirror episode wtf