A Ukulele Playing an A-Major Chord

mylessfunkytmblrprofile:

zenosanalytic:

thomrainierskies:

andhumanslovedstories:

andhumanslovedstories:

I started using Head and Shoulders ten years ago for itchy scalp and dandruff, and then for ten years I have not had itchy scalp and dandruff, so I thought “why do I still buy shampoo to combat itchy scalp and dandruff when I do not have itchy scalp and dandruff,” so I stopped buying the shampoo for itchy scalp and dandruff and can you guess I have now? Can you predict what currently afflicts me? It’s alright if you can’t because apparently I fuckin couldn’t either

Cutting something out of your life because you think you don’t need it any more only to realize that it was in fact working as intended and preventing a problem that will return should you stop doing this is a good experiment to run periodically with something small like dandruff shampoo, lest you start to think it would be a good idea to do this with like let’s say public health and the social safety net and vaccines

I had a liver transplant when I was 14 and like six months later I was chatting with my surgeon and he said “there’s gonna come a time, probably when you’re a teenager, where you’re gonna think, ‘I feel great, why am I still taking all this medication? I haven’t needed it in years.’ and you’re gonna want to stop taking all this medication. Guess what’s gonna happen then? You’re gonna go into rejection and your liver is gonna start failing, and you’re gonna be dying again, and we’re gonna have to find you another liver. So don’t do that.” And I said “why the fuck would anyone do that?” and he said “people are stupid.”

every once in a while when I get annoyed by a pharmacy or don’t wanna get out of bed to do my drugs I think “ugh, this is dumb, why do I do this?” and that conversation slams into me like a truck and I remember that I am, in fact, stupid

#you are not immune to the recency bias(via@arrows-for-pens)

Every person on earth needs to read this post. It will make people’s lives a lot better and lessen the crises everyone faces in day-to-day lives.

(via agatharights)

mikkeneko:

veliseraptor:

thinking about a post I saw that was arguing that how an author portrays a given thing can “tell you more” about that author than if they do or not, and while there is maybe some truth to that I also had an instinctive “well, sure, but” reaction to it.

I think that reaction is a little bit about the fact that there’s a tendency on here (and sometimes elsewhere) to read an artist’s work (whether literary, visual, or otherwise) as a revelation or a window into their inner world. And I don’t think that’s necessarily accurate, warranted, or a good direction to take criticism or analysis.

I’m thinking some about this post I reblogged about intentionality and art, specifically the prioritization of the unintentional in art and what it says about the creator/the lionization of the unintentional as more genuine/authentic, and how it relates to generative AI.

It’s certainly possible that a creator depicting a queer character in a way that evokes queer stereotypes is showing their ass about the way that they “really” feel or what they “really” believe. It’s also possible that they’re intentionally saying something and that something may not be “queer people are bad.” This is a clumsy example but I think it goes back to the desire to seek out didacticity or morals in fiction/art - to look for what the creator is telling the reader or wants the reader (“reader” here used loosely to refer to any interpretation of art) to think.

as opposed to, perhaps, creative work as play (“what happens if I…”) or even just as an invitation to think; not toward a specific end or purpose but to provoke some kind of consideration in the reader’s mind.

Of course this doesn’t mark anything as above critique, and works deserve engagement with the social context from which they emerge and with which they engage. But I think it’s possible to do that critical work without assuming that it necessarily grants some kind of privileged access to who the creator themself truly is.

there’s a tendency on here (and sometimes elsewhere) to read an artist’s work (whether literary, visual, or otherwise) as a revelation or a window into their inner world. And I don’t think that’s necessarily accurate, warranted, or a good direction

God yes. People get real sure that they can tell what an author ‘really’ thinks, wants, likes etc by reading their work. And sometimes you’ll be right and sometimes you’ll be way, way off base. And you don’t know which it’ll be.

asteroidtroglodyte:

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

(via mikkeneko)