yoko taro is just cis dude halimedemf

@ae2501maeth.smallbird.social

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tara "tara wrist" hillegeist. i dabble. (once, i moonlighted as a dragon golem vtuber for a time. one day i shall do so again.) if you're here you're here for 1 of 3 things: media criticism, dialectical materialism, or unhinged reposts of what i like.

I don’t own a television, which is why I couldn’t share Serge Daney’s passion for TV series. And I took a long time to appreciate Lynch. In fact, I didn’t really start until Blue Velvet (1986). With Isabella Rossellini’s apartment, Lynch succeeded in creating the creepiest set in the history of cinema. And Twin Peaks, the Film is the craziest film in the history of cinema. I have no idea what happened, I have no idea what I saw, all I know is that I left the theater floating six feet above the ground. Only the first part of Lost Highway (1996) is as great.
the full medal set for medjehtiqedti bound
RHS. it's a massive single-building school situated on a hill done up to look like a castle. for decades, every grade of high school was shoved into this building, all 9000 students of them.
two astronauts on the moon meme image, you know the one. the first astronaut, staring at the earth: "wait, it's all influenced by twin peaks?" second astronaut, gun pointed at the first one's head: "always has been"
arknights profile for Mordred#3587
THROW AWAY YOUR BOOKS, RALLY IN THE STREETS
gamera being menaced by the UFO, from GAMERA VS VIRAS. the UFO is a sphere of disorienting rings of pure white and pure black.
dorothy spinner, a gorilla-faced girl, and a creature made of squiggles and hangers.
it's verdant! he's s1m3 now.
youtube comment by MsSteelphoenix. "Graffiti quotes, top to bottom: - A life mediated by images is experience unclaimed - What is love? - Capital is the only value we have yet to debase - Revolution is the most creative act - We are not creative: here we are condemned to make art (there's also a 'yo mamma fat', but I don't think that counts 😂)"
It might be easy to dismiss slavery’s entanglement in the broader isekai genre as a quirk—that is, if you don’t understand that anti-black sentiments were a direct export to Japan under Commodore Matthew C. Perry, who introduced the cruel art of minstrelsy directly to Japan. That was in 1853, decades before Japan would utilize sexual slavery from Korea to East Timor to satisfy the carnal desires of Japanese soldiers. While Hitler took directly from chattel slavery and America’s thorough breaking of a singular racial group, the Japanese Empire mirrored much the same through its sexual domination and enslavement of Korean women—vessels to heap pain upon until their bodies, just like my ancestor’s own, were deemed perishable and shattered. In modern day, Japan remains deeply entangled in what fans of the “land of the rising sun” (and I use that term specifically, as do they) often dismiss as engaging in Black culture purely out of curiosity. When comedian Hamada appeared in shoepolish black in 2018, two years into my life in Japan, there was little backlash. Even my coworkers said that he was doing a respectful send-off to Eddie Murphy’s role in Beverly Hills Cop. Yet when I was in Japan, I saw plenty of biracial Black-Japanese people around me and on TV. Why not impersonate Eddie Murphy with someone who’s skin tone isn’t “shoe polish”, a shade that simply doesn’t exist because Blackface puppeteers my skin, sliding inside blackness as a cultural concept only to kick Black bodies in the back of the knees for shock value.
NGE test results: "You were tied between multiple people." 70% - Asuka, Misato 50% - Rei, Shinji, Kaworu 40% - Gendo 35% - Ritsuko
a labor pilot yelling "I will absolutely NOT run away!" as the monitors in her cockpit flash a reflected green in her eyes
bluesky user, reposted to my tl, gushing "i realized with the new carousel feature i can do THIS. starting with the mighty nein because they're my favs" above a post bereft of any images whatsoever. the replies are all people gushing about how good they look, referencing the colors and composition. again: there's no images visible in the post.
a friendly rp scenario in which wis'adel makes talulah suffer during a game of "never have i ever" by starting with the statement "never have i ever killed anyone who didn't deserve it." i'm writing for talulah, who chugs her drink and flips a very smug wis'adel off afterwards
MOVING PICTURES, kathryn and stuart immonen
STRAY TOASTERS, bill sienkiewicz
Image of Nasti Lunorey, a Sarkaz woman, hooded, obscured by text. The text is her memories. Text reads: "The wind blows on the leaves in the young Banshee's hand, and voices fall from the breeze. Convallis Children's Voice: One more! Ome more story! Væla's Voice: How about the tale of the wandering metal hero? He even graced our valley once. In fact, the mist that shrouds Mist Lake was actually blown from his pipe ... Nasti: ...... Laqeramaline's Voice: Retract your feather horns like this, and you can shield your eyes. Aefanyl's Voice: So we can use them as an eye shield to sleep during the day? Laqeramaline's Voice: No, of course not. This is so you can easily weave your tears into elegies at funerals ... Another recording ends, and the young Banshee keeps her leaves in a chest pocket ..."
youtube comment from HALCALI_official: "HALCALI is Back (fire emoji)"
SKULLFUCK A NUN FUCKSTART HER GODHEAD
Relationships: Elysium/Thorns (Arknights) (906) Chongyue/Wang (Arknights) (867) Lappland/Texas (Arknights) (676) Doctor/SilverAsh (Arknights) (646) Executor/Flamebringer (Arknights) (597) Bellone | Demetri/Vigil (Arknights) (390) Toland Cash/Młynar Nearl (352) Saria/Silence (Arknights) (284) Gnosis/SilverAsh (Arknights) (282) Doctor/Flamebringer (Arknights) (277)
evangelion/final fantasy xiv alliance raid collab: GHOSTS OF DESIRE
MEATBALL MACHINE
Reze, from CHAINSAWMAN, talking to Morgan, from OF THE DEVIL. Both are amnesiac, for context. Reze: Ah, capitalism. The root of all man-made evil. ... what's "capitalism", again? MORGAN: ... What, do I have to do everything around here? THere's Marx in the library. REZE: Marks? You mean, like, for where to go looking for the origins of capitalism or something?
NAME: Bormotukha AGENDA: Doomed BLASPHEMY: Tongue
it's jenette goldstein, from NEAR DARK, ALIENS, and T2: JUDGMENT DAY! she rules! she's playing a woman running a suicide hotline out of her townhouse. i'm sure she means well.
slime princess! she's a pudding blob with wobbly tendril arms and a tiara.
cropped panel detail of lyudmila "crownslayer" ilinichna looking alarmed from 123 RHODES ISLAND
obscured figure of disheveled woman, hidden behind blurry silhouette of a pacing hooded man, screen the distinctive blued tint and gaussian shimmer of a computer monitor captured on video, a scene within a scene.
discord screenshot of me saying "yeah he has a marx and engels slash uhhhhhhh butch and sundance sorta thing going on with gnosis"
The drum of war thunders and thunders. It calls: thrust iron into the living. From every country slave after slave are thrown onto bayonet steel. For the sake of what? The earth shivers hungry and stripped. Mankind is vapourised in a blood bath only so someone somewhere can get hold of Albania. Human gangs bound in malice, blow after blow strikes the world only for someone’s vessels to pass without charge through the Bosporus. Soon the world won’t have a rib intact. And its soul will be pulled out. And trampled down only for someone, to lay their hands on Mesopotamia. Why does a boot crush the Earth — fissured and rough? What is above the battles’ sky - Freedom? God? Money! When will you stand to your full height, you, giving them your life? When will you hurl a question to their faces: Why are we fighting?
A POEM TO DELIGHT MY FRIENDS WHO LAUGH AT SCIENCE-FICTION Edwin Rolfe That was the year the small birds in their frail and delicate battalions committed suicide against the Empire State, having, in some never-explained manner, lost their aerial radar, or ignored it. That was the year men and women everywhere stopped dying natural deaths, The aged, feigning sleep, took poison; the infant, facing life, died with the mother in childbirth; and the whole wild remainder of the population, despairing but deliberate,crashed in auto accidents on roads as clear and uncluttered as ponds. That was the year every ship on every ocean, every lake, harbor, river, vanished without trace; and even ships docked at quays turned over like harpooned whales or wounded Normandies. Yes, and the civilian transcontinental planes found, like the war-planes, the sky-lanes crowded and, praising Icarus, plunged to earth in flames. Many, mild stay-at-homes, slipped in bath tubs, others, congenital indoors-men, descending stairs, and some, irrepressible roisterers, playing musical chairs. Tots fell from scooter cars and tricycles
SEVEN SOLDIERS OF VICTORY, morrison and various.
The divorce is systematically reactivated by the movies. “Tolkien has become a monster, devoured by his own popularity and absorbed by the absurdity of our time,” Christopher Tolkien observes sadly. “The chasm between the beauty and seriousness of the work, and what it has become, has gone too far for me. Such commercialisation has reduced the esthetic and philosophical impact of this creation to nothing. There is only one solution for me: turning my head away.”
The Fisher, she realized, was humming a tune. His voice was old and deep, not a man’s voice but what the tide would sound like if it learned how to sing. It rumbled against her stomach, down her bones. And perhaps Angharad should have been afraid, but when she glanced away from the table and found that the water in the fountain was sea-gray and rippling with waves, it did not feel like a warning. It felt like company as she followed her thought down to the end of the road: if she let tonight end like this, it would keep on going like this. Nathi Morcant would be there to stay, one of them. The circle behind closed doors, the league informal. And maybe it would leash him, nudge him to be polite and accommodating – but only towards her, towards them, as if not a soul outside these walls counted – but it was also letting him in. Giving him a seat at table, telling him that he wasn’t wrong, merely impolite, and that so long as he pulled his punches they could all pretend that his beautiful clothes hadn’t been paid for by weeping children clapped in irons. By the meal made of Maryam’s people, be they monsters or honorable. It didn’t matter, what they were or had been. It didn’t make it honorable to eat them. But how many of those here really agreed, she wondered? Few would preach what Nathi had, even if they thought him convincing. But how many were genuinely abolitionists instead of loftily neutral? Fewer still than agreed with Nathi, she suspected. Was she even one of them? She’d agreed with Maryam that what was being done to her people was a horror, of course she had. How could she not, when she saw the reflection of it in her friend’s eyes? But she’d thought of it as a... sin. A crime. Evil acts. Something that could be wiped clean when those who had committed that evil were called to account.
PATLABOR THE MOBILE POLICE
highest-percentile results in each category: monotype: fairy primary: fairy secondary: grass
a screenshot of rhodes island base in the video game ARKNIGHTS. in it, several resting operators wander a room decor remarkably like that of the black lodge in TWIN PEAKS, complete with chairs, curtains, and Arm-like sculpture.
some absolute eldritch geometric lunacy. a criss-crossing latticework of lights and lines in the shape of a corporate floorplan, loomed over by a massive, ominously unstoppable clock.
morpheus from arknights, the wettest fucking asshole to ever get out of her own fuckups in this game alive
a palatial mcmansion enclave at night, lit only by the moonlight without and a sickly red nightmare glow within.
the cover to SON OF SCHMILSSON, featuring the title in aggressively goofy halloween-style blood-drip font, over b&w photo of harry nilsson in one of the cheapest cosplays of bela lugosi's dracula you've ever seen.
Seems about right Source: played neopets for five years
"It also loops back around to a way to defend male abusers by believing men are destined to abuse, which makes them unaccountable. And then the logic flips to how women should behave to avoid abusive men, when that's victim-blaming. We should instead think about how to prevent abusive behavior."
ALABASTER: THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE BIRD 4 (of 5)
screenshot of a post by The Atlantic ‪@theatlantic.com‬ that reads: "International law no longer serves as an instrument of global stability—and the U.S. should use this moment to argue for a different approach to the rules of war, John Yoo argues." linking to a post whose link generates a headline and subhead of: "A New International Law Can Rise From the Ashes The United States should use this moment to argue for a different approach to the rules of war." the actual headline of the piece on the site: "International Law Is Holding Democracies Back".
the kind of over-eager gooey-faced kid in a grown-up person cosplay his parents' ridiculous amount of money bought for him. his first day training on the job in an ER. trying not to let on that he's terrified he will fail already, and that he will turn out to know so much less than he wants to think he does.
helen and deneve, the blowjob sisters, from CLAYMORE
over a picture of leaves floating on water: "I can't remember much about Papa. As for Mama ... she was never in good health. She complained about not being able to see clearly, feeling numb in her hands feet, and was also prone to falling."
a techno-organic ninja robot with a cape, sword clenched in hand, overlooking a cityscape drenched in poisonously gray-orange fog so severe the architecture -to say nothing of the sunlight, itself - is barely visible through the smog. banshee prime, a warframe, hunting among the bulkheads and cables of the great corporate cities hanging like dead weight in the killing clouds of the gas giant, jupiter. hunting taxmen.
an indistinctly "grown up"-without-having-"grown old" sort of woman with multicolored seapunk/rave "dyed" hair in tones of pink, orange, purple, and teal at the tips stands in front of a neon-lit display. she's dressed like a space-opera high plains drifter, of a sort, and wears an optical interface with hard-light "rims" like a pair of glasses that curve beneath her eyes.
still frame of a bearded man wearing glasses, turned to look behind him at the young boy in the back seat of their jeep. he is saying, "Mr. Lertoff said before that Denon Cashim's plan had succeeded."