ive always rly liked the idea of a member of a group of adventurers having what everyone assumes is very well trained hawk and then at the end of their journey its casually revealed that thats actually just his buddy whos a shapeshifter and just rly likes being a hawk
the guy also like thinks everyone knows bc he never tries to hide the fact that the hawk is a person but everyone assumes hes always just joking. like the others being like “damn its crazy how he knows exactly what you want him to do its like he knows english or something.” and the guy is just like “well yeah thats his first language so ofc he’s fluent??” and they all go “haha good one” and move on, leaving him confused
they just think hes a quirky guy that really loves his pet and says things like “the 9 of us” even tho there are clearly only 8 people! he just cares about the bird so much he counts it as a group member haha !
Im gonna shill for Marie Kondo again but this is why I find her books (yes, books, the TV show is fun but ultimately misses a lot of the core ideas) so good.
A lot of home org advice fully misses this aspect. Kondo not only acknowledges it, but leans into it. And ultimately this helps motivste me to keep my space tidy - it’s really hard to me to keep on the nebulous goal of self-care, but much easier to get up and put things away if I envision my salt and pepper grinders as like, retail workers who are now standing in an empty shop (my dining table) and just wanna go home (the spice rack where they live).
Normie tidying process: that heater should be put away for summer! I mean, I’m not gonna need it
Me: well it’s just chilling and also I can’t be arsed.
Kondo: that heater has done a good job keeping you warm over winter and now it should get to go have a rest in the cupboard
Me: !! Sabbatical for my heater!! Thank you for your service sir and have a very nice break!
just saw a tiktok or something where the person was saying they did this and they were on a hike and they were like “i managed to get myself to go on this hike because i promised my boots we would go” and its like. OH YEAH. THAT.
The caption reads: “Defeated by roses. Near Turin’s Lingotto station, along a lonely path, Miss Guida Concetta Rinino, 28 years old, who was bringing a nice bunch of roses to a relative, was accosted by an unknown young man. The young woman, rather than losing heart, defended herself with extraordinary energy, using the bunch of flowers as a weapon. So it was that the scoundrel, his face all scratched up, had to flee. (Drawing by Walter Molino.)”
Incredible. At a distance I understand how the woman might appear to be the abuser and the man the sympathetic victim, but the second you zoom into the man’s face the pink-cheeked rage- not remorse, or rejection, or embarrassment- not heartbreak or despair- but RAGE- the deeper story speaks itself into your suspicions.
And the bit where they’re HER roses? Almost a relief, but also sadder, as she will arrive at whatever event without them, or with them destroyed.
Do you think when the righteous anger and anxiety and annoyance fade, when she arrives at her destination- will her loved ones applaud her? Will she be proud? Will her hands shake? Will she walk home with company from then out, and for how long?
In this moment, she is provoked into anger. Anger is good- it appears strong. But look at his face. Would you put it past him to linger there after dark, in case she returns alone?
What story will HE tell, of ‘I was perfectly polite, but she didn’t even give me a chance- women like that, they’d swoon for a jerk in a heartbeat, but kind and flattering men like me?…”
I love this piece. It paints both stories while illustrating the power dynamics and struggles at play. This should be shown in art classes
You make soup in a big bowl. You serve it in a smaller bowl. And then you convey it, using a spoon, to your mouth. But what is the spoon? Simply a smaller bowl still
1. You probably dont suck at your craft as much as you think you do, I bet a lot of people are amazed at what you can make, and
2. If you actually are the Literal Worst In The Whole Wide World at your craft… who the fuck cares? What are they gonna do, call the police on you? Keep making your shitty little things, youre the boss of you, fuck the haters.
Winter mornings are made of steel; they have a metallic taste and sharp edges. On a Wednesday in January, at seven in the morning, it’s plain to see that the world was not made for Man, and definitely not for his comfort or pleasure.
– Olga Tokarczuk, Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead
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