When Things Start Getting Long And Confusing In Classical Or Neo-classical Theater, Often One Of The

time loop fans when the loop slightly changes

I cannot believe there's absolutely no way to watch free shows and movies anymore, there are too many paid streaming platforms and pirating websites have viruses and ads preventing you from watching it uninterrupted((.)) id rather follow the rules and purchase media moving forward because it is too inconvenient. Seriously, free and no ads or viruses with 1080p streaming is DEAD.

“Alas, poor Yorick.”

composition was originally inspired by this image of jeremy brett cast in Hamlet, literally holding Yorick lol (swear I was not going to make this painting as complicated as it turned out but I learn from the best when it comes to falling down holes.)

ramble but this just Really turned into me wanted to convey how simultaneously badass and absolutely fucked Arthur is. Just in general, but of course referencing the latest arc… also wanted an excuse to properly paint John’s hand, the wood thing fun as hell. 14hrs of my life used efficiently I say. Malevolent podcast you absolute parasite (positive).

Version where Arthur is just a little different\/

A place for everything, and everything in its place

I hold my grief in my scalp. 

I hold it on my ears, the tip of my tongue. 

It is not always pain, more an itch. 

I scratch

But muscle memory makes me think I itch when I do not.

It is simply the act, the motion of itching, scratching, pinching, scraping.

It is not calming, it is not painful, I do not enjoy or hate it.

Instead I itch.

My sister holds her grief in her hands. 

Her elbows, her teeth.

Hers is pain.

She hates her grief and so she holds it with her fists, 

tight, but moving and flinching with her elbows.

She wants to bite it, make it painful so the hurt becomes more real.

She wants a reason to hurt.

My mother holds her grief in her feet. 

In her words, in her spine.

It is not good to hold grief in the feet and spine, it makes it much harder to walk. 

But

Unlike my sister, she lets it go, very easily. 

Pushing it away. Giving it up.

But it takes ears to be heard, to get rid of the grief. It takes thick skin, it takes silence. 

And so I hold my grief in my heart, to make room for my mother’s.

I had a stupid idea

THE JOURNAL. YESSS JOURNAL JOURNAL SAVED ME :)))))))). “hogs what im feeding in that there backyard”

i miss when mike walters would just stream his consciousness at me as if he was a smart man, and then fail miserably.

what happened to that?

maybe this is a strange smush of hyperfixation and fandom, but imagine a Sandman/Malevolent AU thing.

Like:

Hob Gadling, PI, (dont know who the dead bff would be), but he has all the dead family members to fill the role.

Dream, Malevolent entity that’s taken over Hob’s eyes.

Or:

Arthur Lester, man so in love with life that he decided he lives forever.

John Doe, supernatural being who represents dreams and such.

Just picture it.

So many parallels.

I have ants all over my room. They always come in more numbers than the day before.

Sometimes I wake up with the ants crawling up my spine.

Sometimes the ants come to take away the bodies of their compatriots.

I respect them for it, I think. I just wish they would find a different battleground.

I am tired of this slaughter, and so i no longer kill the ants. And so they come in larger, greater numbers than before.

I am afraid of them, in a sense.

Not genuinely, more just a semblance of tired annoyance stemming from my mother.

I have mold growing in a teacup by my bed. I have no desire to wash it. No need to.

My mother is frantic now. So desperately tired. She slams her broom onto the ants. Tells me to do the same.

They are just as tired of dying as I am of killing them.

They work and toil to keep the colony alive.

My mother is like an ant in that sense.

And because she is my mother, I am like her, and so I am an ant.

But my mother has a murderous fury. And I have my father's willfull ignorance. I let rot thrive.

Maybe my mother will tire of my ignorance and she will come to kill the ants in my room. Maybe she will rid me of my teacup. Maybe she will kill every last one of the ants. And becasue she is an ant, and because that makes me an ant,

Maybe she will kill me too.