One of the many stupid feelings humans are capable of having is the private, repulsive rage of seeing someone getting support and sympathy for a problem no one helped you with when you were having it, either because you didn’t have anyone or because it never occurred to you that you could ask for help. Suddenly the world seems to split into two – the realm that contains people like them, the connected and loved – and the realm that contains you, the miserable and the alone, who must suffer in solitude. This is sufficiently horrible that you grasp for reasons or world-understandings to make this reality acceptable, and a mentally available one is that it is superior to be in the miserable solitude realm, that the problem is one that should be solved with self sufficiency and dignity. That this other person is pathetic for being aided and loved when you were not. Scorn is more palatable than confronting the notion that you could have received aid (if you had made different choices or been luckier), that you desperately wish you could have been aided but were not. Scorn is more palatable than the howling hunger for things to have been different for you. So your mind chooses scorn.
It is also a bad place to be. Human existence is full of such traps.
obsessed with the line “if i can continue to be a minor nuisance to the forces of nature trying to decompose me, i’m gonna consider that a win. the wheel of time will continue to turn, and i with it, like a nail in a tire”
gxth-jxck / mine / bewgtweets / panera's most excellent soup swimsuit / a pot of red lentils by peter pereira / bagardcardsandcrafts / the adventure zone: amnesty / one-time-i-dreamt / thevegancokehead / bridgeovertroubledwater1970
i posted this on twitter already and am posting it here, too
just a lil story about egypt, featuring some good drunk snek faces
This is from my Patreon, which is still ongoing (although I took this week off due to eye problems. Eyes are important for drawing, yknow)
Through a sequence of events that don’t need exploring at this juncture, this evening at work I discovered this magnificent, vintage shitpost, from 1967, and raced home to share it with all of you.
(This was on the front page of the first issue of the school newspaper for a then-newly-opened community college. Sadly, the identity of the artist responsible has been lost to the ages.)