superhumanfoods

[superhumanfoods]

in my twenties i went to a lot of open mics. one time people started throwing bras at the musician. my friend, a musician, went "i need to meet this fellow musician who is having bras thrown at them."

i went "i need to meet these people who are throwing bras," and that's how i met my first drag king and burlesquer.

within six months i was such a regular at local burlesque shows that everyone recognized me. and then i was a doorperson. and then i was a stage manager.

for three years of my life i measured time based on the look i had done for that week's show. i relearned being comfortable with traditionally gendered aesthetics because i could rely on the people around me to recognize that what i was doing was a form of drag- a performance. i wore dresses. a tutu. a tailcoat. elastic harnesses and skin-tight catsuits. leather, lace, velvet, and mesh. i glittered like the ocean at sunset. i glowed like a blacklight minigolf course. i pissed off a roommate using spray-in colour for my hair because it stained the shower curtain grey.

i still have most of my wigs.

and god, i fucking miss it sometimes.

#burlesque #gender feelings

[superhumanfoods]

sometimes i remember that i first got asked for SINKHOLE merch after only three episodes had aired and i'm like... that was barely half an hour of content. completely wild, frighteningly decisive behaviour. (affectionate)

#SINKHOLE podcast

[superhumanfoods]

There is merch! You can find it linked on the Official Art tab of the website! Right now it's just the two designs through teepublic, but I'm not opposed to adding ones like the episode art if they were requested- just didn't want to clutter the page with stuff nobody would buy.

Edit: completely forgot that I am actually wearing my It's All Trains shirt right now. Yeah, there's definitely merch.

@superhumanfoods is there any plans for official SINKHOLE merch? I'm a big fan, and I'd love to get a proper poster or buttons or something. poster i printed on my officejet pictured below :P

#sinkhole podcast #SINKHOLE merch

[superhumanfoods]

screwed up my foot somehow a couple weeks ago (think it's a midfoot sprain) and jesus christ being in unavoidable pain is so exhausting

chronic pain people are stronger than any marine for living like this. just taking out the garbage or changing my sheets is a whole fuckin thing

#ow #had to walk to and from the dentist this morning #20 minute walk each way #unwise of me #actively limping by the time i got home #it's not even noon and i'm so tired

[superhumanfoods]

Sometimes you are a little freak who goes into the woods to talk to an eyeball you hoarded about the number of limbs required for functioning <3

#this rips #insects

[superhumanfoods]

As a kid, when your parents are poor, you're poor. If they don't have money, that means none of you have money. But if someone's parents are rich, that doesn't necessarily mean the kid is. Sometimes rich peoples' kids aren't rich kids, they're just some rich freak's exotic pets that can talk but aren't allowed to.

#absolutely this #why do you think there's such a stereotype about the children of rich parents being fucked up and having substance abuse problems? #that didn't come out of nowhere #you think CPS will come and take those kids away? #you think they'll be able to get anyone to believe them? #children are children #and the children of abusers with power and influence are incredibly vulnerable

[superhumanfoods]

chemist unsettling normies compilation

#hey this is homemade grapples with birdstop guy

[superhumanfoods]

I always thought it was like an exaggeration when horse people would talk about how silly it was for anyone to think that riding a horse does not require any particular level of skill or balance or anything, or even that they "drive themselves" (???) but just the tags on the reblogs of that "can you ride a bike and/or horse" post from me alone are demonstrating how overconfident some people are in their (often entirely theoretical!) ability to stay on an alive and moving animal with a will of its own.

#lol #lmao #people who have never encountered a standard ill-tempered mare #used to horseback ride as a kid #you simply do not understand how heavily riding horses are selected for temperament #and even some of them will just #decide to walk right up against the wall so they can drag your leg against it #i once had a perfectly friendly horse just bite me on the leg for no reason #they just do shit like that #and a Standard Ill-Tempered Mare can tell if you're not strong enough to take the lead and will cheerfully just disrespect and ignore you #you're right that horses are self-directing #however they do not want to go where you want to go #or do what you want to do #this is not a video game #left to their own devices horses will just do whatever and sometimes whatever is bad for them or bad for you or both #also a bike can't kick you in the chest and kill you

[superhumanfoods]

mad about the state of things? yeah me too

uncrunched/hi res copies, free to use for noncommercial/nonprofit purposes

#trans rights

[superhumanfoods]

NEW BOOK ALERT

my latest novel, WE CAME TO WELCOME YOU, is a suburban horror about an interracial married lesbian couple moving into a very white (and straight) gated neighborhood, and see how they battle the very real threat of assimilation

pre-order now via bookshop.org, Amazon or Barnes and noble! it'll be out September!

[superhumanfoods]

CASTING CALL: Cloud City Sonata, A Dakota Gold Mystery

Unpaid.

Cloud City Sonata: A Dakota Gold Mystery "It was a cold day in Cloud City, and every strut, and support, and doorway was jeweled with methane ice."

3-episode miniseries (w/potential character reprises in future miniseries)

This call is open from April 10, 2024 to 8am pacific, April 22, 2024.

Questions? Message here, email [email protected], or contact ash.alder on Discord.

Full audition information here.

Casting call on Twitter.

The Story: Roxanne has a problem. Her body has gone missing.

An accident during a perfectly ordinary an engagement has left her stuck in a 3-eyed, 3-legged soma, & 2 other selves running rampant in the city. It's up to Dakota Gold to find her original body.

Before she does.

[superhumanfoods]

Sometimes I’m looking for something online - often “how to” articles - and I want to filter for - like - a website that was clearly built in 2010 at the latest, which may or may not have been updated since then, but contains a vast wealth of information on one topic, painstakingly organized by an unknown legend in the field with decades’ worth of experience. I don’t want a listicle with a nice stolen picture in a slideshow format written by a content aggregator that God forgot. I want hand-drawn diagrams by some genius professor who doesn’t understand SEO at all, but understands making stir-fries or raising stick insects better than anyone else on this earth. I don’t know what search settings to put into Google to get this.

#huh #neat

[superhumanfoods]

#lmfao

[superhumanfoods]

You ever meet that very specific type of person who’s a good cook but only when they’re cooking for at bare minimum several dozen people for some reason

#me

[superhumanfoods]

#the way i knew this was a jacob comic the second i saw it #he's got such a style

[superhumanfoods]

Many years ago, I was wandering around downtown Ottawa with my best friend. We ran into a friend of his who offered us some hash (it sucked), then said there was a really good house party nearby if we wanted to go. We were like, yeah, sure. So that's how we ended up at some completely fucking random person's house.

I look around to ask if my friend knows anyone here and he's simply gone, as is his friend. And this isn't some red solo cup hangout; this is a party. There's people counting out pills on the kitchen counter. I am clearly neither as cool nor as drug-savvy as the kitchen people, so I back away and instead wander aimlessly into the living room, which seems to give off more of a chill vibe.

A bunch of people are seated in a circle on the floor. One of them is fiddling with a big wad of newspaper or something. A really cute grunge girl with piercings and tattoos scoots aside to make room for me, so I sit down.

"What's that," I ask her, gesturing at the newspaper wad.

She gets a really big smile on her face. You know the smile. It's the I'm About To Watch This Innocent Soul Get High As Fuck smile. "You've never smoked a tulip?"

"What's a tulip?" I ask.

"It's like if a joint was also a bong," she replies. "You gotta try it."

"Alright," I reply, a little uncertainly. This will not be my first encounter with weed. I am more comfortable with the janky newspaper bong than I am with whatever the fuck is going on in the kitchen. Besides, this girl is really cute and I would like to have a friend here now that my existing friend has turned into vapor or been transported to the Upside-Down or whatever the hell happened to him.

I watch as one person holds the newspaper joint-bong upright and holds a lighter over the top while another gets beneath it, tilting their head back to take a puff. Apparently smoking this Cheech & Chong monstrosity is a two-person job.

"Oh," I say, looking at the fist-sized knob at the top of the wonky newspaper joint. "Yeah, it does kinda look like a tulip." Grunge girl smiles at me.

I watch as the tulip is passed around the circle, along with the lighter, and hits are cooperatively taken. It reaches grunge girl, who takes a huge puff and holds it for an extended moment before exhaling an impressive blast of smoke. She smiles expectantly and holds the tulip up for me, preparing to spark the gigantic meteor of dank that makes up its tip. By this point I have completely forgotten about my missing friend. I only care about making a good impression on grunge girl. I tilt my head back and hit the tulip like a smokestack.

It is the following morning. I am sleeping between a couch and a wall. I'm not positive that this is the same house I was just in. My memories are gone. Someone is yelling at me: "dude! Dude! Wake up, dude!"

I sit up. My mouth tastes like cigarettes. I do not smoke cigarettes. "Wha," I ask the yelling man, who I am quite confident I have never met before in my life.

"We're going on a quest," he tells me, gravely. "You have to come with us."

I look around. Neither my friend nor his friend are anywhere in sight. I also do not see grunge girl anywhere. I shrug helplessly. "Okay."

We embark from this house. I learn that the destination of this quest is Tim Horton's. This is a relief to me, as coffee and a donut sounds really fucking good right now. Somehow, the route to Tim Horton's takes us past the Governor-General's residence, which everyone else in the group loudly heckles on the way past. I do not know what the Governor-General has done to raise their ire, nor do I particularly care. I trudge along with my hands in my pockets, pleased to note that I still have my wallet, phone, and keys. I fervently wish that I could remember anything about last night. Maybe I talked to grunge girl. Maybe she's why my mouth tastes like cigarettes. The tulip tasted nothing like cigarettes.

I am asked about my politics. I voice my frustrations with corporate corruption, the pay-to-win electoral system, the lack of transparency and accountability. This is met with great approval. The guy who was yelling at me claps me on the back. I get the impression that we became friends last night. I don't recognize his face. I do not know his name and he definitely does not know mine. I behave as though we're friends anyway. We are comrades on a quest.

By the time we make it to Tim Hortons, the gaggle of stoners I'm walking with have all run out of energy and/or attention span. People order snacks and break away in pairs or solo, to call for rides or plan the day's events or just vegetate and wait for the drugs to leave their systems. I look around and find that my nameless friend has also gone to the Upside-Down. As I wash the cigarette taste out of my mouth with coffee, I unsuccessfully try to remember whether I saw grunge girl smoking tobacco at any point. I remember nothing. That tulip was so fucking powerful that it instantly sent me a whole day forward in time.

Alone in the city, I try to call my best friend and get no answer. I walk to the nearest bus stop, catch a bus most of the way home, and call up my parents to ask for a ride back. They ask where my friend is. I tell them that I have no idea; we went to a house party and I don't remember anything else.

When they pick me up from the bus station, they ask me some very safe, nonspecific questions, and seem to relax when I describe what little I can remember. It isn't until years later that I realize they were probably terrified I'd gotten rufied or something, and were so relieved to learn otherwise that they didn't even bother chiding me for smoking myself unconscious in an effort to impress a strange woman. In any case, they were probably happy to find out that I did, in fact, like girls; I suspect they had been privately wondering whether I was gay.

After getting home, I finally manage to get my best friend to answer his phone. I discover that he tried the kitchen pills, spent most of the night crossing the entire city on foot, and crashed at his cousin's house. He sounds like shit. I tell him that he should have tried the tulip, instead. He fervently agrees with me.

I never see grunge girl again.

That's okay, though. She got to see a clueless stranger get fucked the entire way up on some ungodly strain of giga-weed, and I got smiled at by a cute girl, and then I got to go on a quest. Wherever grunge girl is, I hope she's happy. I hope she's smoking the fattest fucking blunt and smiling as some kid passes out behind a couch.

#lmao

[superhumanfoods]

a collection of my favorite tweets regarding the Ever Given in the Suez Canal

#ever given #this was such a surreal time