plungelo

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I made a Super Metroid energy tank 3D perler!

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reminds me of the superliminal scissors

In Super Mario Maker 2, falling Bullet Bill Blasters will not crush Mario on slopes. Instead, they will push Mario down the slope, with the effect being cumulative if he is pushed into another Bullet Bill Blaster, resulting in him moving down the slope at extreme speeds.

Main Blog | Twitter | Patreon | Small Findings | Source: YouTube user "SmashyYT"

[plungelo]

Back yard is like fortnite for ants

[plungelo]

my morning routine

i meditate and stretch every morning. after i eat breakfast, i sit on a yoga mat in front of my big window. my old bedroom had no windows and i woke up every day to an alarm clark designed to simulate the sunrise with orange LED lights. i knew from common sense that the sun must have risen but in the darkness i can believe nonsensical things. the whole world felt as dark as my little windowless room and i believed it was. now the sun leaks in through my window every morning and i know for sure that the sun risen even when i haven’t yet. sometimes i sit in front of my window at the exact time where the light shines directly into my room- casting sharp outlines on the floor. i swear i can feel the warmth entering my skin and entering my bloodstream. somedays it is cloudy and the sun does not kiss my cheeks. nevertheless, i still sit at the window.

i sit on my yoga mat with my iphone and i check my emails and texts and try to find anything else to do on there until i manage to catch myself stalling. then i set a timer for 10 minutes and put my phone down. in that time i sit and feel all the panic in my heart and heaviness in my chest rise up and work their way through my every muscle. i let my mind race around in circles, overanalyzing the thing i said wrong yesterday and all the things i could have said instead. i come back to myself again and again.

then i set another timer and i stretch my legs and move my neck and try to learn the language of my body for at least 10 minutes. i try to listen to what it tells me after living in this body for 23 years and never trying to understand it. i wonder if i have been at odds with my own self for so long that my body has given up trying to communicate with me. i feel the resonance of so many unanswered calls in the tightness of my shoulders and in the heaviness of my chest. i try to sit with them without pushing them away because they never actually went away. it seems that every time that i ignored them, they just found a place to bury themselves in my tissue. now i sit with them and try to gain back their trust slowly. i incrementally loosen knots that started to be tied into my muscles before i could even speak. it’s hard to convince someone that you want to hear them when you’ve been ignoring them for 23 years. it’s hard to get them to believe you when you aren’t even sure that you believe yourself. every day i get a little closer to proving myself to myself that im someone that will show up for myself. even if it is just for a little bit, in this short ritual. still, every day feels like a flood and every day i think of giving up.

i ask my aunt and my boss for advice about being young because they are older than i am and i want them to say the words to me that will show me a shortcut. i want to be in their place- with many more years of body and brain and seeing and feeling and processing the world to come to some greater understanding. i assume they’ve gotten to a place where each day doesn’t feel like drowning. i pray that there is a faster easier way than sitting with myself every day and doing pushups so that my arms get stronger and the heaviness doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. but the people that are older than me never say anything that magically unties all my knots. i get angry at them because i got my hopes up again.

sometimes friends can reach into my chest for a few moments and i can reach into theirs and we can carry heavy things for each other for a few moments. it feels like magic. i wish i could extinguish the hope that arises each time i feel a respite like that. it is a hope that always seems to want to abandon this old body, old personality, old history. it wants to start again, shed everything, be light. in moments of lightness, i’m always sure that the heaviness has gone away forever. but then my friends have to go to work and i have to go to the grocery store and the heaviness always comes back. i forget to do pushups in my respite because why would i? there is nothing to carry! it’s just as i forget to do pushups in my deepest depressions because why would i? i could never carry it all even if i tried!

i know that i am growing up and that requires discipline. it’s easy to believe that discipline gets in the way of freedom. like: how free are you when you are tied to routine, must maintain commitments, expected to make good on your promises? but as i get older i realize discipline is the only way to truly be free. still, i lack it. i get carried away by hope and fear and get off track of building the muscles to withstand them - so that i may have the freedom to live my life as i want to, despite momentary changes in the weather. instead, i spend weeks in the delusion that there is another way around the pain until i come back to the revelation again and again that there is no way but through. sometimes i spend weeks in the delusion that there is no way to survive the weight of all the pain. i let it disable me. i let it block out all the light and i sit in a cavern of my own mind not unlike my old windowless room. then something beautiful comes along and i am reminded that there is no way that beautiful things like that could exist in this dark dark world i’ve believed myself to be living in. i step outside my cavern and i see the light. i sit in front of it. i feel it sink into my skin. i feel the heaviness. i live another day.

#true #truth #trueness #truly

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the eclipse has me thinking about that barn thing. like the barn that everyone photographs because it's the barn that everyone photographs––the crux of which for me personally is that all the pictures people take of it are the exact same. we all take a picture of it even though all our pictures are indistinguishable from one another.

but i think that's actually kind of awesome. i think i definitely see people's (susan, olivia laing, etc) point when they say that a camera creates a separation between the photographer and the subject. but i honestly don't see it that way all the time.

i think for me i really think it's a collective expression of love for something. when people take out their phones to film at a concert, they're lifting a device they use from two to ten hours a day into the air and singing along out of love for the performance. it's undoubtedly an object they feel––for better or worse––spiritually connected to. and the subject of their photos or videos are maybe something they want to feel spiritually connected to. maybe it is an act of prayer to photograph something.

i personally did not take a picture of the partial eclipse with the glasses in front of my camera. while watching the eclipse i felt like doing that would be pointless because it would look exactly like everyone else's photos––or like something you could draw on black paper pretty easily. but i felt a lack in me as i restrained myself from photographing the most-photographed thing of april eighth twenty twenty-four. i wanted to join in the photographing of it.

we don't love the barn, we love photographing.

[plungelo]

my walk tonight was dominated by the sound of spring peepers. it had me thinking about the idea of just screaming out for a mate really loudly all night long until someone got lucky.

i found out too that it's mostly male peepers that can be heard. interesting!

[plungelo]

Can't you see the shadows cast by clouds? Don't you note how they line the sky and lay on the clouds beside them? Can't you see the green in the twilight every night, just before the sun sets behind you?

Please, if you can, if you do, if you can, you have to tell me. You have to learn me the skies in your mind. I am not the only person with the skies in their mind. Can't I know the skies in yours?

It's not that my mind is only skies. When my horizon is crowded or ceiled, there is less sky and more mind. The crowdings and ceilings block what wants to envelop me, and they reflect me back at myself. But I am not a member of the world of the mind, and so the reflections disgust and terrify me. I want only to be enveloped by the sky.

Please tell me what envelops you if not the sky. To be enveloped by anything else––by the world of the mind––sounds like a Hell of self-ingestion. The infinity in the bark of a tree, the stars that hide in darkness, these are outside the world of the mind. They can envelop the mind completely. They are not a result of calculable systems, they exist thanks to chaos. Any mental attempt to perceive them as a closed system leads to a total envelopment that ultimately proves that attempt a waste––and does damage to your perception.

But I understand. I am often misled by the futile goal to contain because I was raised around closed systems. The ignition of my car and the A button on my controller remind me of this. The computer holding these words, the keys I'm using to type them, and the language itself exist to convince me that everything is closed, self-ingesting, individual. I refuse to acknowledge that if my computer were enveloped by the heat of the sky or the cold of the ocean, only then would it be a part of the everything. A broken phone is a phone at peace with the universe around it. The lithium battery is a hand pushing through a thin rubber sheet, yearning to rip the rubber into the zone of immateriality. But it will never have enough power to break on through.

But there must be a reality there. So many of my friends spend so much time in non-space, how and who am I to deny our (or a lithium battery's) ability to be there? I am there now to you when you read this, and to myself as I type it.

Ughhhhh. It's so hard to see the shadows cast by clouds. It's such a force to feel the infinity of a tree.

#sorry if this is unclear #i just kinda couldnt stop had to follow every thought to its end

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where tf does this iphone get the gall to warn me about not abusing my body as it's actively draining my soul from it?

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my dad (young) with a super8 camera

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from pure colour by sheila heti

if you're not planning on reading this book here are some things from it i liked when reading

for how beautiful are the flowers in her window––the flowers on her windowsill, over there. How their petals and leaves make each passerby smile, that someone loves beauty and cares. Her flowers make us think of the flowers in the soul of the person who put them there. It is the flowers in the soul of the person who put them there that make us happy and enliven our hearts. The beauty of the flowers is a clue to the beauty of a human heart. They are a keyhole into a human heart.

It is only when you get older that everyone makes you feel bad about being alone, or implies that spending time with other people is somehow better, because it proves you to be likeable.

like their apartment was their own armpit: one felt a bit attracted to the smell, and defensive on its behalf

[talking about humans before the modern age]Our lack of awareness of the scope of the world kept us from any great falseness

She used to prefer to be inside, but now with her father gone, she prefers to be outside because she needs the company. She needs the breath of the universe, for she will never feel the breath of her father again. Yet outside she can feel the breath of everything, and the breath of the whole world is the breath of her father––if there is even such a thing as a father.

She had thought that when someone died, it would be like they went into a different room. She had not known that life itself transformed itself into a different room, and trapped you in it without them.

These [Christmas] lights spoke to our knowledge of another world, the world behind this world, the world of the spirit. Nobody was thinking it, but they knew it nonetheless.

Peace means truly no talking.

Well, we once didn't have the technology to see cells or atoms. But humans had an inkling, even before we could see them, that such things were there, that small things made up big things. But they couldn't prove it, and humans have always had an inkling of God, too.

I'm sure there is a beauty to being dead, and to being just love, and whatever was best about you being all that's left. I can say that it is very relaxing.

We have completely lost sight of the surface, and how useful it is to read the surface, and when we try to read what's underneath, we are just making up what's underneath

[from one of my favorite bits about the idea that there are the same gods watching you your whole life]But the gods who are watching you from inside another one don't disappear if you flee your life. They will leave the body of your child, your neighbour, or your friend––whoever they have inhabited to watch you––and find a body in your new life to inhabit, and continue to watch you from there.

Annie called out to her, You should change!

Does she mean I should change who I am, Mira thought, or change out of my leaf costume, into my regular clothes?

Life was always playing its tricks, never just giving, never just taking away, but always both

[plungelo]

you can find something to dislike about anyone so you may as well just love everyone

#doesn't mean you have to be their friend tho

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is this hard?

i saw this post and i was like "ya this is good stuff" and then read to the end + read some comments and was like...what is difficult about this? this is probably like 80-90% of the conversations i have. i'm not trying to like humble brag or anything and (sorry if) it probably comes across that way but like, i don't really know another way to live. when someone is talking about something in their life they are in their zone, who am i to take them out of it so they must adjust to mine after only a few seconds of speaking spent in theirs?

maybe this is why i tend to learn important things about people fairly early on in knowing them, why people tend to tell me things about themselves i wouldn't have expected to know so early. like that one person who vented to me about their relationship issues in a hot tub in utah. or a number of co-workers of mine who confide things in me without them really knowing or remembering the small amount of things i've told them. i'm not sure if this says more about me or the people who talk to me.

i actually find it so much easier to do this. it takes the pressure off me in the conversation. i also feel like most of the time i don't really have anything to say. i find everyone's stories and opinions so interesting that i feel like any of mine must pale in comparison. or maybe it's that my own memories are so basic to me, they're such a given to me that they don't seem interesting to me.

the "but" to all this is my friends. they let me into their zones and i am there intimately and fully but they are also in mine quite often. really we're just in the same zone so we're talking about the same zone when we talk about our own selves.

#¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[plungelo]

" The first lady of gaming reborn! "

Play Magazine n12 - December, 2002.

#so cool

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let's see if i can read my whole shelf

all right so i've transferred all of my unread books on my unread shelf to my want to read on goodreads so let's see if can do em all

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writing is cool, it puts my brain right there in front of me and tells me point blank who i am and how i feel. i'm editing a story right now and my marginal notes are doing that.

the first portion of the story is a fictionalized version of a memory from when i was seven or eight. the second portion is a similar memory but from when i was thirteen or so. as i'm writing margin notes, i noticed that i am calling the narrator in the first portion "i" or "me" but i'm calling the narrator in the second portion "he".

the editing notes revealed to me that ig i feel more aligned with myself as a child than myself as a preteen, despite the fact that i was a child longer ago.

interesting.

#writing #this has been in my drafts for 2 weeks

[plungelo]

bagel with cream cheese

warm and cool battling in your hands thenin your mouth. soft, squish. the cool will stick to the sides and slide but the warm will wet and disintegrate.

[plungelo]

living in the Everyday

(my friend aidan influenced this frame of mind and use of this term in this sort of way this)

Today is a feeling. same with Moment, same with Yesterday, Tomorrow, Last Week, Next Week, and Everyday. i'm pretty sure everything else (i.e. month, year, life) is a work of imagination as opposed to a feeling.

Today when i made my breakfast it wasn't Today. once the egg hit the pan and started to sizzle i entered the Everyday. this is a temporal state that i only recently started tuning into.

i wasn't tuned into the Everyday before because it bored me. being a being focused on Tomorrow and Next Week, i would watch youtube or play a video game to escape the Moment and the Everyday. these virtual experiences can create their own Everydays, but i think their over-reliance on just two (out of our many many other) senses weakens the potential power of their reiteration.

being mindful of as many of your senses as they exist in your present space––in other words, living in the Moment––is not the same as tuning into the Everyday. instead, living in the Moment while performing reiterated tasks can tune you into the Everyday.

when it's Today, your tasks for Next Week don't really exist, or, at the very least, they are in the back of your mind and don't take priority over the tasks of Today. in the same way, in the Everyday, the tasks of Today don't exist. it's a timespace whose tasks are connected not only to the Moment, but also the hundreds, thousands of Moments in other Todays where you performed those same tasks.

you know the certain feeling of Today beginning, when you wake and take your first blinks. it is the same as it was Yesterday but it is Today instead. despite the titanic distance between Today and Yesterday, that certain beginning feeling is usually the same every day, it is Everyday.

in the same way, entering the Everyday has a certain beginning feeling. just like when you enter Today and adjust your everything to that beginning, when you enter Everyday you adjust into the ritual that is responsible for the Everyday's existence in the first place. there is a certain beginning feeling to starting a task which you have started many times before. it is like waking up.

right now as you imagine that certain beginning feeling like waking up you are not entering Today, because you are only imagining. in imagining it, the certain beginning feeling of Today is briefly, lightly coming to your mind.

in the same way that Today and Yesterday and Tomorrow can briefly lightly come to mind during a Moment, so can Everyday. when you remember that you have work Tomorrow, that Moment is briefly-lightly interrupted by Tomorrow. now imagine (or watch here) the intro to the george lopez show. i grew up watching this show with my brother at the beginning of many of our Todays because nick@nite ended at six in the morning and we'd get up around five thirty for school. for me, it is distantly connected to that certain beginning feeling of a Today. you may have your own nostalgic, years-old morning ritual––the george lopez show is mine. when i listen to lowrider by war, i do not enter the Everyday created by that years-old morning ritual. instead, the Everyday brieflylightly interrupts the Moment. to me being struck by nostalgia is the interrupting feeling of a distant Everyday. it is not a yearning, not a desperate cling. it is my body attempting to adjust to the certain beginning feeling of an Everyday which i did not enter Today, Yesterday...nor far, far beyond Last Week.

so as we know you can live in the/a/ Moment. you probably live in Today or Tomorrow on most days. maybe you are a poor broken fool living in Yesterday. if you are living a week ahead or behind, i pity you in either direction, really. regardless of my opinion, it is possible to live in all of these places, these feelings. it possible to tune into the Everyday, but what would it mean to live in it? to live in the space which connects you to the Moments and the Todays and Tomorrows and Yesterdays and Last and Next Weeks of your life? i believe it might be the way to transform your life from an imagined uncertain span of time to a feeling of its own. a Life?