I Adore The Fact That Michael Distortion Is Described As Having A Horrible Laugh That Sounds Like A Headache

I got to hold a 500,000 year old hand axe at the museum today.

It's right-handed

I am right-handed

There are grooves for the thumb and knuckle to grip that fit my hand perfectly

I have calluses there from holding my stylus and pencils and the gardening tools.

There are sharper and blunter parts of the edge, for different types of cutting, as well as a point for piercing.

I know exactly how to use this to butcher a carcass.

A homo erectus made it

Some ancestor of mine, three species ago, made a tool that fits my hand perfectly, and that I still know how to use.

Who were you

A man? A woman? Did you even use those words?

Did you craft alone or were you with friends? Did you sing while you worked?

Did you find this stone yourself, or did you trade for it? Was it a gift?

Did you make it for yourself, or someone else, or does the distinction of personal property not really apply here?

Who were you?

What would you think today, seeing your descendant hold your tool and sob because it fits her hands as well?

What about your other descendant, the docent and caretaker of your tool, holding her hands under it the way you hold your hands under your baby's head when a stranger holds them.

Is it bizarre to you, that your most utilitarian object is now revered as holy?

Or has it always been divine?

Or is the divine in how I am watching videos on how to knap stone made by your other descendants, learning by example the way you did?

Tomorrow morning I am going to the local riverbed in search of the appropriate stones, and I will follow your example.

The first blood spilled on it will almost certainly be my own, as I learn the textures and rhythm of how it's done.

Did you have cuss words back then? Gods to blaspheme when the rock slips and you almost take your thumbnail off instead? Or did you just scream?

I'm not religious.

But if spilling my own blood to connect with a stranger who shared it isn't partaking in the divine

I don't know what is.

they need to come up with more words like necrosis and miasma and mausoleum and cadaver and morose and decrepit and stuff like that just so metal bands can expand their vocabulary

dni unless you are a pervert who engages with irredeemable media

John Carrid

popular culture used to be very much about eroticism. rockstars used to be on stage in sequins and thongs and thigh high boots playing guitars like they were masturbating. girls used to wear velvet mini dresses and no bras and red-brick-brown lipstick and mascara on their bottom lashes. people used to have body hair on television and in the movies. people used to be sweaty. people used to touch each other over denim and under cotton. foreplay used to be staring at someone over the rim of a glass across a bar across a park across a dinner table. people used to want. i think we’ve lost something

bsd 123 has some insane moments but i genuinely think this is the craziest.

like, yes, this is about how atsushi helped akutagawa realise that dazai’s word is not something he can rely on, and that dazai’s validation is not a reason to live—but it’s not the only thing to take away.

firstly, this is the first time that akutagawa has realised that somebody believes in him. this person hated him, didn’t get along with him, fought him to the death on more than one occasion, saw the worst of him, yet still believes in him. atsushi believes in him enough to bring back his consciousness, and to try and do it twice. atsushi believes in him enough to reassure him often, even if it doesn’t feel like reassurance all the time. atsushi believes in him enough to protect him, even though akutagawa has been the protector his entire life.

secondly, i don’t believe that atsushi has now become akutagawa’s reason to live from this panel. akutagawa thinks about two things after his epiphany that dazai’s words don’t hold the same weight anymore. the first is his promise to atsushi, and what that means to him. the second is atsushi’s words about true strength—which akutagawa realises he now has. it’s not about a reason to live anymore, but that akutagawa has someone who believes in him and because of that, he feels alive.

this panel isn’t about akutagawa’s mentality shifting. it’s about him finally finding his strength and fighting for something that he, and not anybody else, thinks is right. he’s hoping. he’s caring. he’s understanding. he’s strong. he’s alive.

Day8(?)

I’m still drawing Androgynous Knubbler lol.

And while I'm at it, I can imagine Murderface as a Knubbler’s fashion doll too 😌

blasphemous transgender art NOW

tendres esclaves - robert chouraqui (1990)