Don't let anything distract you from the fact Kenny's got stretch marks from ancient dick stretching techniques which Hangman has seen

help me its so dark in here

Double feature

emo boys on desiblr: i'm.......so...........depressed.............i want.......to kill.........myself...........

a person who always communicates with said emo boys and tries to cheer them up: *deactivates because they need a break, have too many academic responsibilities or for whatever reason because it's Their Fucking Choice*

the same emo boys on desiblr when the deactivated person returns and tries to communicate with them again: i don't want to talk to you anymore *insert 10 angry emojis*

bald kyo

(coloured pencils, ballpoint pen, alcohol markers)

just got done for the day and i have a raging headache :/

went to toronto again for new years weekend and spent pretty much the entire time hanging out with paul bellini which included us rewatching a bunch of episodes from kith s4 during dinner on new years eve. and y'know the second best thing about watching kids in the hall with paul bellini is getting to hear a bunch of behind-the-scenes backstory about the inspiration for sketches, previous versions that never saw the light of day, , etc. but the actual best thing about watching kids in the hall with paul bellini is when an entire sketch will play without comment and at the very end he goes "the fuck was that?"

life sure does come at you fast

in the same vein of logan respecting kendall at the end of season 2, i think some part of gerris reaction to his soured line must relate to her respecting roman making moves for himself? like obviously she's mad but what she tried to nail into him was to serve his own interests, i think she must find some respect in that at least

i had some similar thoughts earlier too! looking out for himself is definitely something she's been trying to teach him and it is sort of looking like it's finally paying off. i've been trying to figure out what exactly goes through her head when roman brings up logan souring on her but i can't quite pinpoint it. is it disappointment? anger? i don't know, she just looks sort of uncomfortable and it's killing me. it's the first time we see roman really sort of go against her and it doesn't even make his tummy hurt visibly. the absolute audacity when logan souring on gerri is literally his fault too. the shift in roman and gerri's dynamic is fascinating to me because it seems like everything that happens is just literally making it worse </3

Me: I want a nice ST wallpaper for my work computer

Bing: did you mean Vessel's unmasked face first thing in the search?

Me: FUCK NO SHIT WAIT-

oh.

the person designing this ad did NOT know what the fuck was going on in this screenshot LMAOOOO.

.

How do you be so pretty?? You are prettier than I could ever dream to be, what did you do to achieve this level of gorgeousness????

Honest to God the answer is time, self confidence, a good skincare routine, and getting kinda pudgy. Dream big, shoot for the stars, because you can fucking do it!!!!!!!! It's hard and absolutely a constantly evolving process, but never give up, learn little things bit by bit, even if it can be discouraging sometimes. Experiment, do fun shit with your hair, buy new shampoo and conditioner, get a flowery or fruity deodorant, get some skin cleanser or moisturizer, smile big and wide and unashamed because my darling, you were made to tread afield with the most beautiful, most amazing, most wonderful people on earth.

Sasha and Inga's final hug 💔

>:(😭😭😭

BeReal, My Ass. Also, Sue Sontag!

By: Andromeda 🌊🪨

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. Listen, I know that there’s more than enough hate in the world. I’m not a hater! Really, I swear! There are, however, things that I hate, and one of them is social media platform BeReal. If you’re lucky enough to have avoided this monstrosity until now, here’s how it works: once a day, at random, the app sends you a notification proclaiming, “It’s time to be real!”. This rallying cry comes with a two-minute window for users to take a picture of themselves and whatever they’re doing, to be shared with a network of followers. If you’re me, you hate this already. Like, a lot. If you’re Susan Sontag, you probably have a word or two to say as well. 

In On Photography,  Sontag describes the act of taking a photo as, “a social rite, a defense against anxiety, and a tool of power” (8). The most intuitive connection between this characterization of the photo and BeReal is the social aspect. BeReal posts (or simply ‘BeReal’s) are moments captured, frozen, and packaged as a signal to an audience of followers: and the stakes here are higher than those of Instagram or TikTok. The temporal nature of the BeReal–followers are notified when you’re late to post–strips a significant amount of the poster’s ability to curate an image, and strengthens the tie between picture and life. An Instagram post can happen months late, whereas BeReal demands you to be fun and cool at its beck and call. 

The imperative for the performance of authenticity is in the name itself! Be Real, or be taken out behind the barn and shot! (Fine, it’s a little extreme, but I need you to know how much I hate this app and everything it represents!) And just looking at those bullshit taglines, riddled with buzzwords that suggest legitimacy: spontaneous, authentic, genuine, real. Who the fuck wants to be real? 

I’m reminded of the day of a relatively recent concert in my city. I was at home, enjoying the comfortable silence of parallel play with a friend at home, when she suddenly laughed. She proceeded to tell me that most of the people we knew had posted their BeReals just shy of three hours late. We scrolled through her feed (I myself being far too righteous to have my own account, and just righteous enough to habitually peruse hers), the posts constructing an eerie gestalt of the arena: the same performer, the same time, but all from different people at different vantage points. Some of these people didn’t even know each other, united only by their location, a mutual acquaintance, and the tardiness of their posts. Each had decided to be fake. The importance of the event–or, the importance of the dissemination of proof that they were in attendance–took precedence over bowing to the caprices of the fickle BeReal.  “A photograph,” Sontag writes, “passes for incontrovertible proof that a given thing happened. The picture may distort; but there is always a presumption that something exists, or did exist, which is like what's in the picture.” If a photo is proof of where you were, who you were with, who you are, and BeReal is the vehicle with which to share that information, sacrificing punctuality for the sake of proving a more important event seems logical enough to me. Let the people see that you’re late–so long as they also see that you were within five hundred feet of Harry Styles!

From the BeReal website. Don't worry, I'm only exploiting people I know in written form.

For someone who’s never been to jail (because I’ve never been caught), I find myself thinking about the panopticon surprisingly often. Well, maybe it’s not that surprising: one doesn’t have to be in jail, or house arrest (or even probation!) to understand the concept of structuring your life around the possibility of being watched. Honestly, I think that it’s the exact mentality that BeReal cultivates (between you and me, dear reader, I’d take the house arrest–hello, free anklet!). It’s sitting under the sword of Damocles, living in a state of perpetual limbo until the thread snaps, the curtain is swept aside, and it’s showtime, baby! Sontag writes of the photograph as an impediment to living: “a way of certifying experience, taking photographs is also a way of refusing it–by limiting experience to a search for the photogenic, by converting experience into an image, a souvenir.”

Sontag also notes the violence of photography: “there is something predatory in the act of taking a picture. To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.” The BeReal slightly complicates this idea: in my opinion, it renders the violence more perverse. Instead of taking a photo, BeReal demands its surrender. The subject does possess the power of the photographer, because they are one and the same. But no sooner than they obtain that power, they are forced to yield it, to place their photo–their location, their companions, their incomplete yet forever-sealed self–in the hands of the viewer. Though the violence is self-inflicted, it is no less piercing. Woah! That got serious! Who knew that the power of my hatred for BeReal alone would be enough to fuel my transformation into a quasi-legitimate academic! God, I fucking hate BeReal.