the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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the pathologic Kin is largely fictionalized with a created language that takes from multiple sources to be its own, a cosmogony & spirituality that does not correlate to the faiths (mostly Tengrist & Buddhist) practiced by the peoples it takes inspirations from, has customs, mores and roles invented for the purposes of the game, and even just a style of dress that does not resemble any of these peoples', but it is fascinating looking into specifically to me the sigils and see where they come from... watch this:
P2 Layers glyphs take from the mongolian script:
while the in-game words for Blood, Bones and Nerves are mongolian directly, it is interesting to note that their glyphs do not have a phonetic affiliation to the words (ex. the "Yas" layer of Bones having for glyph the equivalent of the letter F, the "Medrel" layer of Nerves having a glyph the equivalent of the letter È,...)
the leatherworks on the Kayura models', with their uses of angles and extending lines, remind me of the Phags Pa Script (used for Tibetan, Mongolian, Chineses, Uyghur language, and others)
some of the sigils also look either in part or fully inspired by Phags Pa script letters...
some look closer to the mongolian or vagindra (buryat) script
looking at the Herb Brides & their concept art, we can see bodypainting that looks like vertical buryat or mongolian script (oh hi (crossed out: Mark) Phags Pa script):
shaped and reshaped...
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So my mom was looking at the cast of Good Omens bc I mentioned one name I recognized, and like
Tumblr, be honest with me here, is one of the reasons Good Omens is so big on here because of Crumperdick Bumblebitch? I know it’s a genuinely good show, but I noticed he plays Satan, so
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gotta say, the "id dog breeds" gimmick is fun and all but the thing about referencing biological categories is that they're so much messier than the car model IDs that are being riffed off. especially with anything with a poodle coat, given.... the thirty years of doodles meaning that there are a hell of a lot of crosses out there.
I would not personally presume to confidently announce the breed of any poodle/doodly thing without having hands on it, because a) crosses with all manner of options are so common, b) so much of the common heuristic for recognizing poodle vs doodle is a matter of haircut, and c) it's so hard to assess anything about the structure of a dog with a loose, rough coat that obscures the dog's shape. Frankly, after getting Benton's Embark back, I also don't make confident pronouncements about any mix.
Yeah, that dog is approximately half American Bully. Guess that from looking at him, folks. (I routinely flabbergast dog professionals by encouraging them to guess his breed makeup.) I still regularly read the r/DoggyDNA subreddit, and it's just astonishing how many ways there are to build a mutt and how hard it is to accurately predict anything about a mixed breed dog's ancestry without additional information--especially when a lot of colors pop out in mixes in some rather unexpected ways. (For example: Golden and Labrador retriever mixes have a pronounced tendency to pop out as brindles, bewildering everyone concerned. There are a lot of dominant black pit bulls. And about 75% of anything with a wire coat is poodle, not any kind of terrier.) There are so many ways to get a black and tan or sable dog. If you want to claim expertise, you have to know what the limits of your knowledge are and when you need additional information to make a call.
Identifying purebred dogs which come out of a controlled gene pool is obviously much easier, although you need to be aware how various populations within breeds have been selected and what those populations typically look like. Even then, you need to be careful: it's so easy to assume that conformation shots show you what a given dog breed looks like, but that's usually not the case: both pet and working populations have often diverged substantially from the conformation ideal, not least because conformation standards are a fucking social construct. We have to distinguish between socially constructed and natural categories when we try to learn how to run these kinds of identifications.
more broadly, dogs are living things and therefore they don't come with model numbers or unique serial numbers. "Breed" is a social construct that shapes their populations because, basically, our human culture says it should. You can identify a car very accurately because cars are human-made inanimate objects, and each category of car is essentially identical within the category at construction. That's how mass-produced items work. They lend themselves so nicely to this kind of ordered assignment and identification.
Animals do not work like that. You can strive for uniformity all you want, but mutation is going to pop up and fuck with your carefully uniform lines when you aren't looking. For example, just look at the C57BL/6J and C57BL/6N mouse substrains, which have been bred in total isolation from any other mouse population in brother-sister matings aiming for total uniformity since the 1930s... and were noticed having developed divergent characteristics by the 1950s. Turns out that substrain matters.
And you can't tell without running some very specific tests, let alone from any marker so plain as a static picture.
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hey. autistic transmascs. it's okay if your autistic perspective influenced your discomfort with femininity, and that doesn't mean you're any less trans or that you shouldn't transition/should detransition. if transitioning makes you feel happier and more at ease with your body, then it doesn't matter "why" you're trans. womanhood is not inherently sacred and it's ok to not be a woman if you don't feel like one. a feminine body is not inherently superior to a masculine one, so you aren't "ruining" your body by taking masculinizing hormones or undergoing masculinizing surgeries. do what makes you happiest and don't drink the radfem koolaid.
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Not very punk to be antifeminist and deny male privilege and the fact that women are allowed to criticize their oppressors! But that's to be expected from the "be gay do crime🤪" heterosexual fujoshis who'd call the cops on women protesting abortion rights lmfao
Ohhh no 😱 the TERFs found my ‘I hate TERFs’ post. Tragic. Im so hurt. Im so offended. Im gonna go cry in a corner.
Bitch its not that I dont understand how systematic oppression works, I just have enough braincells to recognize that (1) hating people because of the genitals they were born with is as idiotic as hating someone because of the color of their skin and (2) feminism is based on the idea of equality, not flipping which group is oppressed. That would make you a dick, not a feminist
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