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miserably jingling fool

@crockpot-corn

gay as fuck. i like birds and art and making text posts that no one sees. she/her

[image id: a four-page comic. it is titled “immortality” after the poem by clare harner (more popularly known as “do not stand at my grave and weep”). the first page shows paleontologists digging up fossils at a dig. it reads, “do not stand at my grave and weep. i am not there. i do not sleep.” page two features several prehistoric creatures living in the wild. not featured but notable, each have modern descendants: horses, cetaceans, horsetail plants, and crocodilians. it reads, “i am a thousand winds that blow. i am the diamond glints on snow. i am the sunlight on ripened grain. i am the gentle autumn rain.” the third page shows archaeopteryx in the treetops and the skies, then a modern museum-goer reading the placard on a fossil display. it reads, “when you awaken in the morning’s hush, i am the swift uplifting rush, of quiet birds in circled flight. i am the soft stars that shine at night. do not stand at my grave and cry.” the fourth page shows a chicken in a field. it reads, “i am not there. i did not die” / end id]

a comic i made in about 15 hours for my school’s comic anthology. the theme was “evolution”

bits that i do that no one gets, in progress

  1. Saying any three-syllable word/phrase to the tune of “hot pockets!”
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Garlic powder & onion powder are literally like two beautiful twin sisters brushing eachothers long hair at the lake by moonlight one last time before they both walk into the forest and kill themselves

ok 

I am seeing this man. He’s very nice and handsome and cool, we met in class, he asked for my number. Classic. We text for hours, he finds me intriguing and attractive, he’s flirty, so am I. I’m having a very good time, I love new people.

He asks me out officially, we can get dinner and sit by the river. We do. He buys us chipotle, we walk on the trails, he kisses me on a bench, a little too much tongue. He asks if I want to go somewhere.

I’m disappointed. I think as we walk, I think shit, its happening again, he doesn’t want to be with me, he wants my body, damn it, fuck. I still go along with him, I think this will be fun, we go back to my apartment, fun things ensue. He’s lovely to look at, I feel lucky. I look forward to seeing him again the same night.

He returns to my apartment to give me my bag, I left it in his car. He comes in, we watch an episode of a show, something’s off, he seems insecure. I don’t know how to react. I smile, I sit pretty, I ask questions. I ask him what he wants. He wants what they always want. Classic.

Is that ok, sure its fine im used to it, Okay, shall we. I pour a glass of water. We sit back in my bedroom, we discuss our beliefs, he does long division, he speaks to my bird in French. Etc. We talk some more. I wonder.

I’m still wondering, I don’t know how to feel, I’m angry, I’m sad, I hate the way I’m always treated, but I know I carry fault as well. I lay in bed for a whole day waiting on a text, I chastise myself, thou shalt not chase, thou shalt not look desperate. I am though. I’m desperate for soft attention, for genuine interest, for touch. Any touch, but not any touch, not really. Being held feels better than sex.

I’m pretty. I’m not conceited or looking for attention, its just true. I was genetically blessed with curves and symmetry, and I’m tired. I’m not tired of my looks, I love myself and I love my body. I’m tired of being unsure. I’m tired of hugs turning into hookups, of questioning every smile and glance, tired of kind words used as tools to pry me open. I’m tired of how well that works. I’m tired of having to raise my standards , of having to pull myself out of the regret, the blame, the disgust. I’m tired of reminding myself that I’m in control, reminding myself that I’m fallible, reminding myself that there will be someone someday who sees my body and my mind.

I just want to be held without a motive. I just want a kiss without continuation. I just want kindness without a plan.

Hello! Happy Hallow’s Eve. I’ve been working on this mini-comic, Ghost Stories, for a couple months between other stuff, and I’m happy to finally be posting it near Halloween. If you’d live in Philadelphia, you can buy a physical at Atomic City Comics or Fat Jack’s Comicrypt! The mini-comic is 4″ x 6″ with 13 pages. [[ Edit: It’s now also available on my Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/listing/529105780/ ]]

I hope you enjoy reading this short story as much as I enjoyed writing and drawing it.

Content Warning: abuse, alcohol, death, depression, suicide

Im sotired of not being making out with someone sommebody kism me please

Birds building nests in unconventional locations, unknowingly generating breathtaking symbolism and visual art > literally anything hollywood can hope to achieve

Starbucks!!

I’m a Starbucks barista, and i am here to give the inside scoop on the place. Heres a list of stuff i’ve learned-

  1. Order whatever you want. Don’t listen to the mean baristas on tiktok who tell you not to order frappuchinos. We signed up for this job, and part fo the job is making complicated drinks. So even if we are busy, order that secret menu item you found online! It breaks up the monotony of cold brews and lattes, anyway.
  2. Secret menu isn’t a thing. People are just be making shit up. There is no secret Starbucks tome in the back where we hide funky recipes. Keep ordering them though! They are very fun to make, and usually we’ll copy what you ordered and try it ourselves.
  3. An upside down machiatto is just a latte. Please, just order a latte with less syrup. Thats all. The whole point of the machiatto is that the espresso is on top. Lattes are also cheaper, so you’re paying more for the same drink. Why do y’all keep doing this?
  4. Spelling people’s names wrong. This has been a joke about Starbucks for a very long time, so here is the reason why it happens. The touch screens for many registers are not great, so it is difficult to type every letter correctly. Also, if there is a big rush, i am going to type a person’s name in the quickest way possible. As long as it is phonetically correct so my coworker can call the name out, that works. In my store it has become a game to spell names as incorrectly as possible (i.e, Sidney=Sid Knee, Abby=Abye, Caroline=Cara Lime).
  5. Ask the baristas for recommendations! We have the privilege of making drinks for ourselves with all the ingredients available. Therefore, we are able to edit and perfect existing drinks, or come up with new ones. For example, try an iced chai latte with some cinnamon dolce syrup (Trust me, its so much better).

Feel free to ask any questions, or add on any of your own barista insights!

She is almost continually accompanied by her own image of herself. Whilst she is walking across a room or whilst she is weeping at the death of her father, she can scarcely avoid envisaging herself walking and weeping.

One might simplify this by saying: men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at…thus she turns herself into an object.

-John Berger, Ways of Seeing

my grandmother smelled like baby powder and cigarette smoke. years after quitting, the smell of tobacco lingered. like the smoke was embedded into her skin.