Sometimes I feel nostalgic for life in 2018 or so, and then I’ll remember specifically thinking one random night back then, “I bet someday I’ll be nostalgic for this time in my life, and I’ll be a stupid bitch because this sucks and I’m miserable.”
Still pretty happy with the Ilford for B&W though.
Think this is my last roll of Fujicolor for a bit, wished at times I had a more neutral (or at least a less green) film for this post-snow day at Prospect Park. Still pretty happy with how these came out.
I think it’s really funny, and characteristic of this site’s particular brand of malevolent online psychosis, that this person is a Zionist.
(Kind of for real though, I’ve been so driven by an anxious, borderline neurotic scatterbrained generalism for much of my life and it’s prevented me from actually *doing* much for all my running around.)
Need to develop monomania stat.
(Forgive me, I've been operapilled again this week.)
I'm just a normal girl in that Siegfried does nothing for me until Götterdämmerung when he's on his knees, devastated as he remembers the wife he was made to forget and betray, singing the bird's song that first led him to her before being killed and setting off the end of the world.
Siegfried is the weakest of the Ring Cycle because its focus is on the one person in the cycle who is not actively suicidal (its best scene is the one where Wotan is ideating).
Prospect Park was so stunning today. I shot a roll of film too I’m eager to get developed, but even iPhone pictures capture some of it.
It's been a long time since I've read it, so I can't say how well it holds up, but if people still read, I feel like Galatea 2.2 would be having a real moment right now.
Do NOT bifurcate your torso, revealing a horrible legged Pac-Man which devours your lingering head. DO have terrible posture.
MAGA is now essentially a content creation service, producing snuff films of libs/lefties and minorities being brutalized and murdered for the titillation of degenerates to watch while licking their pig lips on the couch they’ll someday die in and remain undiscovered for weeks.
I did a lot of fashion rabbit holing and online thrifting while I was cooped and stir crazy in recovery and now I’m fiiiiinally able to wear it all out.
Companies often attempt to create demand to meet their products rather than the other way around, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like how unrelentingly AI companies (and those who blindly over-invested in them) are trying to grind down a square hole to fit their circle.
I’m about six weeks out, so still really early with quite a lot of swelling, but I’m finally starting to see my some of my FFS results ✨
Sorry to inflict this on you but my brain saw “activewear lolita” and immediately produced “lulilecon.”
Four weeks post FFS today and it’s amazing how many gradations of “getting there” there are. Zeno’s puffy face.
She was kind of a deal for a time. Exhibited around the world, opened her own gallery in Cannes, published a memoir titled J’ai Choisi Mon Sexe. Lived to a ripe old age and died in the 90s. She has a painting at Centre Pompidou and a few private collections but otherwise seems unknown today.
Looked her up, she’s very cool. Hung around Cocteau, courted scandal, fought in WWII, got captured by the Nazis and ran a POW cabaret before she escaped. Hirschfeld tried to scout her for an Institut pussy but she was afraid about what happened to Lili; eventually got vaginoplasty in 1946.
Extremely wilded out and bought a mid century oil painting on credit by a trans woman named Michel-Marie Poulain. I felt totally insane as I was doing it, but now I’m really excited. The moment I saw it I felt like it had to be in the hands of a doll (it was also objectively cheap for what it is)
Early FFS recovery is such a. annoying rerun of the emotional dynamics of early transition. All of my anxieties are clichés and I just have to wait and and not be insane about it and trust that from the cocoon of my vaguely alarming face something pretty is going to spring over the course of a year.
My general experience of him so far is at once finding his overall conceptual framework incredibly compelling and most of his applications of it fairly dumb.
Reading Adorno for the first time and was not prepared for just how much of a crank he is about jazz. Like not remotely convincingly either, just constantly trying to gotcha jazz. (He’s even worse about film).
That scene in particular was so disjointed and strange. Is the impassioned, frankly corny plea for Emilia’s “validity” genuine or out of ambition and fear? If genuine, weird given that the preceding scene was her being suffocated, but if false, the whole thing is kind of inert and empty.
Have had a melody stuck in my head all morning and just realized to my horror it’s the bizarre duet between Zoe Saldaña and the Israeli surgeon in Emilia Pérez.
Going in for FFS today. Wish me luck! See you on the other side of pretty purgatory.
A couple more
Just got the digital files back for the first role of film I've shot in like, 20 years and I'm really happy with them!
Nvm, just had a hookup that fixed me, we’re so back etc.
