Jess and Slim.
Brothers. Two white mice with suspiciously sharp teeth and claws.
Jess likes beautiful plants and animals, literature, fashion and costume, baking, and witchcraft.
Slim likes bugs, snakes, wool, eggs, and living life to the fullest while embracing the inevitability of death.
We don't like violence or politics or loud noises.
Visit our shop at twosharpmice.etsy.com
knitting tutorial made by a twenty-something knitting influencer: 18 min long, 12 of those minutes being the intro and a sponsor plug, they show the first few steps of the tutorial at the slowest speed known to man, they show the most important steps at a neck-break speed, they stop every five seconds to talk about what they just did, 40,000 comments filled with questions ranging from insightful to “how do i knit”, filmed with a camera that costs more than a car, the tutorial is incorrect.
knitting tutorial made by a seventy-something grandmother: two min long, filmed 17 years ago, shows you what you want with the skilled patient hands of a beloved deity, made with the world’s shittiest camera, the best video on the fucking internet, four comments and 30 views, you lose the video and never find it again.
I'd like to introduce to everyone this horrid thing I created about a year ago but haven't shown many people yet (probably for the best).
This is Baby. AKA The Monster. AKA Sight Tremendous and Abhorred, AKA Vile Insect, AKA A Thing Such As Even Dante Could Not Have Conceived, etc, etc. It's made from bits of scrap fabric I scrounged from various sources and is roughly the size of a human toddler. Its design is based on Mary Shelly's original descriptions of Frankenstein's creature.
But that's not all! Behold!
You can dissect this little abomination to reveal a full set of crocheted, knitted, and scrap fabric organs, all hand-stitched by yours truly!
It has a heart, stomach, lungs, liver, small and large intestine, kidneys, bladder, and, of course, a brain! So it can ponder the horrors of its own existence!
I used this pattern by Less Than Three for the heart. I ended up felting it because I screwed up most of the stitches (I was relatively new to crochet at the time). The result was a bit of a blobby mess, but oh well.
So yeah. This thing lives in my house now (my family hates it). I have yet to reap the full consequences of my hubris.
I always look for marsh rabbits when I am out and about in the wetlands because I have a particular interest in their ear notches. Rabbits can get these scars from disputes with other rabbits and they make it pretty easy to identify individuals. So I keep an eye out and sometimes I’m able to recognize a marsh rabbit and track them over several seasons. Here’s a few from my collection to show how the notches normally look
But on my most recent trip I saw something totally new! Behold this interesting looking creature I spied
This marsh rabbit lost his ears entirely! Must have been one hell of a fight but this little guy seems to be doing just fine. I always love finding a true survivor in the wild; what a tough little beast. Can’t get over what a funny unique look he has
Frodo: Sam hates Gollum, but that is what I shall become once I have lost myself to the ring… he’ll despise me…
Sam if Frodo did turn into a Gollum: That’s a very nice fish you caught with your bare hands, Mr. Frodo, and its very smart of you to eat it raw, saves us the trouble of starting a fire. I knitted you a sweater in case you get cold running around in that loincloth of yours. Is the sun hurting your eyes? I’ll kill it if it’s bothering you. I’ll kill the sun
literally anything handmade is so dope. idc what it is it could be anything. a quilt, a painting, a basket, a sweater, a wooden table, a shed, a meal. how magical
« The snow, History's original parchment, on which so many footsteps, so many merciless pursuits have been written; the snow that was therefore the first literary genre [...]. There remains not one fragment of this mile-wide, unfinished book [...], its fate opposite to that of the Library of Alexandria: all of its pages have melted.
But something must have remained with us, a distant memory that reappears with each new snowfall, a fear of the blank page which sparks the tremendous urge to tread its virgin expanses, and the instinct of exegesis the moment one discovers another person's trace. When you get right down to it, snow invented mystery. And in doing so, it invented poetry [...]. »
— Amélie Nothomb, Loving Sabotage
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