#the drafts
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Sweet Endurance
Honestly, I get the feeling you're not particularly interested in hearing the detailed account of my life's journey. And to be frank, I'm not in the mood to delve into it either. Instead, I find myself drawn to the simple pleasure of life. Like allowing the sun's radiant warmth, and letting its golden rays seep into my very being. Leave me here would you, it wouldn’t be the first time.
When you take everything back, the core narrative remains the same — it's just a handful of ordinary people, each struggling with their own unique circumstances, trying their best to navigate through the complexity of life. What is the purpose, you say? To find a way to endure, to keep going, to survive against all odds.
Above all, my heart yearns to be as sweet as sugar. To spread compassion and understanding, treating everyone with gentleness. To grasp the difference between sympathy and empathy. And in this journey, I hope to leave a trail of sweetness, creating a beautiful world filled with kindness and love. I believe I can become a better daughter, a better sister , a better freind, a better aunt, a better listener, a better human. It's not just about being sweet, it's about being present, being open, and being there for others in a way that's genuine and heartfelt. That's the kind of sweetness I aspire to.
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Angel was so mean to darla about their time together as evil vampires. Like Darla loved Angel both when she was evil and when she was human. Suddenly, she's human and the only person she's ever loved is telling her that he wants nothing to do with her and everything they had was terrible and messed up. Like yeah, it mightve been, but it always felt like Angel had to say it in the worst possible way to make it hurt the most. And I don't think he did that because he wanted to hurt darla necessarily, I think he did that because that's what he has to say to himself. But it wasn't about him, it was about darla, and if they really wanted to show Angel being able to grow and make his peace, he should have focused more on her feelings and realized that he wasn't just talking to his inner demons, he was talking to a woman who had nothing left of her life but him
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I can't believe I forgot to show you all this. We actually got to see Mama Dolokhova's initial reaction to her son getting shot in the drafts.
#is he dead?#i find it so telling that her first question is just#war and peace#fedya dolokhov#the drafts
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I should not have forgotten my medicine at home because this is what happens when my neurodivergence goes unchecked
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do you guys think jesus, the son of a carpenter, smelt the wood of the cross & temporarily thought of home
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sometimes im like "wow holy shit im being really fucking annoying. i should stop talking" and then i pull out my magic 8 ball and it says "youve always been annoying and your friends chose to talk you anyways. youll be fine" and im like wow thanks magic 8 ball. and then the ogre attacks me
#found this beautiful gem in my drafts and couldnt let her go to waste#frog rambles#idk whay this is about. or if its anything. but i think its funny
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nightwing being hurt in the field, and over comms he can’t get out what was wrong, nearly in shock, and jason puts on his best batman™️ voice and says “robin, report.”
and it snaps dick out of it enough to say concussion, possible broken ribs, and a gash in his side.
no one talks about it, and then a year later, damian does the same thing to tim
#THIS WAS HIDING IN MY DRAFTS WTF I LOVE IT#my best work is most hidden smh smh#dc comics#batman#dc#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#nightwing#red hood#red robin#dc robin#batfamily#head canon#headcanon#batbros
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I was meeting a client at a famous museum���s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.
What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.
What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.
What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.
The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.
And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.
But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.
I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.
#shut up e#long post#Saturday thoughts#this has been in my drafts for a week haha#also this is the heart of why AI art feels so wrong#forget the discussion of copyright and theft etc - even if models were only trained on public domain they would still feel very wrong#because they’re not art. art is the labor of creation#even commercial art and art commissioned by the popes and kings of history: there is humanity in the labor of it#unrelated: I did not know living in the Bronx was now something to brag about. How the fuck do y’all New Yorkers afford this city???
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A short comic I made about my experiences as a seasonal worker, and the way places change you.
Prints & PDF
#absolute behemoth of a project 💀 I've had the text in my drafts for six months#my art#original art#art#artists on tumblr#digital media#digital art#comics#digital comics#beckett.txt#id is in alt text!#my poetry#the traveler's warning
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“tumblr mutual” beloved friend I would pick up at the airport if y’all visited my home city
#I’m pulling this one out of the drafts bc#it is a Saturday & the vibe is to be full of love#where’s the post that’s like oh I made a friend u didn’t make a friend someone followed u back#this is my rebuttal :(
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Yo mama so inactive she deactivated
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damn that is so crazy that u think taylor swift’s album about being in love with her boyfriend is a paragon of queer storytelling packed with sapphic subtext. personally when i’m in the mood for gay music i like to listen to gay people singing about gay sex but to each their own dude
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A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.
So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.
Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.
When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.
One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"
He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."
And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.
I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.
So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.
Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.
But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?
All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.
I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.
This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.
In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.
One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.
Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.
Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."
In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.
On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.
In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.
#riki babbles#I had this in my drafts for ages and I was like 'not the time' but a friend encouraged me to share so here it is#palestine
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nobody does it better than the stardew valley chicken
lets goooooo little dude you know exactly whats going on
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I love butterfly rays because half of the images of them online come in two varieties and it’s
a) a baybey!
b) I know what you are.
#been sitting in my drafts forever#marine biology#marine bio#biology#science#marine biology memes#ray#butterfly ray#chondrichthyes#cartilaginous fish#creatures#sea creatures#cryptid#marine biodiversity#marine bio meme#meme#science meme#bio#ocean lover#ocean#thalassaphobia#thalassaphobia cw#post#also ty guys for 170+ followers!! :.)
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if you or a loved one has been diagnosed with. Captivated by a man with big sparkly brown eyes and slutty hands and a pretty waist you may be entitled to financial compensation
#if u write the word BLUE anywhere on this post u will not see the gates of heaven#found in my drafts#guys its dark and scary in there.#[redacted]#x
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