the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
Thinking about Mike and the kinks he likes to indulge in 18+
Pairing: top male reader x Mike Schmidt
cw: riding,
Thinking about Mike who loves when you play with his hair, who will lay his head on your lap just to feel your fingers running through the curls at the back of his neck, body relaxing in your embrace, soft hums escaping his lips and goosebumps raising across his body every time your nails scratch his skin.
He feels content almost too content because soon he‘s squirming around on the couch while sporting a boner.
You don’t notice it at first too engulfed in your tv show as you continue to rack your hands through his hair, and each time you do so he feels his cock twitch in attention.
He tries to be subtle about it, pressing his thighs together while you aren’t looking but he’s being so loud, whines and whimpers tumbling past his lips as the spot on his sweats darkens every time he squeezes his legs together.
It doesn’t take much before you catch him red handed, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips while he profusely apologizes for getting a boner, because how embarrassing isn’t it that he’s getting hard while you’re just playing with his hair.
But he doesn’t get to dwell too long in his embarrassment as he feels his cock hard and aching between his legs.
Mike’s eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed and hands immediately grabbing for your thighs.
“Please please,” he croaks out, while tugging at your sweats.
“What do you want pretty?” You say, hands gently running through his hair, before yanking at it slightly when he doesn’t answer your question. “Words Mike”
“Please, please touch me sir” he croaks out while nuzzling his face into your leg and oh how can you deny such a sweet request
It doesn’t take much before he’s straddling your waist stark naked and sinking down on your length with his brown curls tangled in between your fingers
Usually he’d hide his face in your neck, too shy to show how good you’re making him feel but with your hand in his hair he has no choice but to show you the fat tears trickling down his face, cheeks flushed and drool dribbling down his chin as he practically bounces in your lap
The pain from your rough grip only sends jolts of pleasure coursing through his body and before he knows of it he’s tipping over the edge, hole clenching around your length and ropes of cum spurting on both your abdomens.
“So hair pulling huh?” You mutter into his hair as he slumps down into your embrace, your words only earning a slap to your chest.
Tango and GeminiTay visit Etho post-charity stream travel while Grian interacts via chat. Etho says he and Joel were alone all week and everybody teases him.
19 minutes into Tango's "I AM THE MASTER" stream, April 2024
Transcript:
Tango: So, Etho, what did you do all week by yourself? Were you lonely?
Etho: Dude, it was so dead on this server-
Tango: It was so quiet! I know.
Gem, overlapping: Did you miss us?
Tango, overlapping: He DID! He did!
Gem: Awww!
Etho: A little bit... It was just like- It was like Joel and me, and...................... and that was about it... And Cub came back eventually.
Gem, overlapping: Of COURSE you mention Joel first.
Gem: Not your neighbor, Cub. JOEL. Joel's top of the list.
Etho: But I couldn't even go see Joel because it would've been awkward to, like... just be alone.
Gem: You poor thing...
Tango, reading Grian's message in chat: 'Joel is enough for you.' Yeah...... I see more statues popping up- Who's making them?
Etho: Not me! Okay, something weird is going on- I don't know the deal behind it-
Tango, laughing: Uh-huh...
Etho: I've made two statues... Total.
Tango: Which ones did you make?
Etho: The Joel one... and the other one's... a secret.
[End]
Next, Tango and Gem tease Etho because they're pretty sure the other statues he built are the giant Etho statues, implied to be something he put in front of Joel's base himself. Etho says this is "not confirmed in his video."