why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. the night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?

Megan thee Stallion as Death the Kid

Astarion, but with Neil Newbon flavoring

I'm calling it done. Packed in as much tattoo symbolism as I could. Feel free to repost on other sites. Can someone share this with Neil? I left Twitter forever ago and went back to share this with a new account, but it's terrifying in there, y'all.

an incomplete list of death note things i thought were just jokes until i found out they were canon:

the potato chip scene. how is that real.

apples

the whole “this is something only kira would do, on the other hand, if i don’t do it, he’ll definitely think i’m kira, but . . .” and “kira would never do that, unless he is kira, in which case he would do the opposite of what i know he would do, so that actually increases his likelihood . . .” dynamic that light and L have is not an exaggeration. they really do overthink everything to that degree

the thing that looks like a monster is more mentally stable than the normal human boy

light isn’t attracted to misa

Taika Waititi & Rhys Darby in Our Flag Means Death BTS Footage (x) vs. scenes they were shooting

Let's Talk About Un-ironicizing Art!

In light of a lot of the conversations i've seen surrounding Death Grips and recent events concerning them, I want to take the time to point out that this is a good time to start thinking about how we engage with art on the whole!

For a long time, the irony poisoned method of consumption went unchecked in all facets of internet culture. As an internet musician in current day, I have noticed a sharp disconnect between artists and enthusiasts/casual listeners when it comes to attitudes surrounding music specifically, though I've witnessed it permeate all forms of art in some way.

I see people who have grown scared to engage on deeper levels, intentionally severing any resonant connections or knowledge learned from a piece of media before it has the chance to take root. In short, dare to be vulnerable! Dare to enjoy something on the basis that you yourself resonate with it, and not for any other nebulous reasoning. When masses of people relegate art to a spectacle, not only do artists become more likely to be disenchanted with the passions that fuel their work, but the consumer base ultimately suffers as well. All art at that point becomes less an extension of ourselves, less a vehicle to explore our identities, and is rendered a meaningless hulking sludge, or worse, the opponent to an already shrinking and narrow worldview.

Be not afraid to be unabashedly in love with the work that inspires you. Be not afraid to have the things you love misunderstood by by some. When you engage with work new and old, make sure to do it for yourself. Making and consuming art is inherently selfish, but being selfish is not inherently misguided. Allow yourself to learn, grow, discover, and repeat that cycle until the day you die.

To speak more candidly about my own experience, throughout the course of my life, there has been art that I've held near and dear to my identity, and own journey of self discovery that I seldom find others who hold the same sentiments to. I've always found this exciting. Exciting to hold something close to my chest as something so personal, and even more exciting when I can ease up on that grip when I find someone who I can share that with. However, I've also been through the throws of how the internet tends to chew up and spit out art that generally isn't understood by the many. I've fallen victim myself to the hive mind mentality that circles some artists and the cult of non-identity around them. This off-color ouroboros of knowing all about an artist's work and simultaneously upholding this facade of vapid complacency. I've come to the conclusion that if being openly supportive and connected to an artist's work or a particular piece of work automatically renders a person uninteresting and unambiguous at the very least, then I will live happily as an uninteresting open book. At the worst times, we see this line of thinking contribute to Death Grips being mocked and belittled en masse by people who are unwilling to engage with their art before they even get that far. It's heartbreaking, to me at least to see people put so much effort, emotion, and passion into transforming culture for the better to be rewarded with a crowd that's plugging their ears.

I realize I run the risk of sounding pretentious, self indulgent, or even patronizing to an extent; I apologize because that isn't my intention, I'm hoping to see gears shift at least on a micro level surrounding attitudes towards art appreciation. Remember to dare to be in love holistically with the art you engage with! Speak of the things you love in a way that makes that clear to others, and consider your peers to do the same! You and the people around you can only be better off for it.

💛💛💛

Israel “Izzy” Hands + smiling

THE X FILES | Beyond the Sea (1.13)

Conrad Veidt and Lil Dagover in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)

asgore saw a bee gently land on a flower petal and cried at the beauty of nature, like, the other day. toriel had a breakdown so bad she passed out on the floor the moment her children's deaths fully caught up with her and then she got back up and hasn't shed a tear since in 700 years

The Revenge burning down at the end of the season as symbolism for rebirth is OUT

The Revenge slowly being rebuilt overtime as symbolism for a relationship being repaired is IN

Vincent Price and Jane Asher

The Masque of the Red Death (1964) // dir. Roger Corman