I feel like at least some jocks are just autistic people with a special interest in sports.
I actually love sports articles about players who the other players describe as “so intense about stats and he can’t really have a normal conversation and he can’t read the room and he doesn’t understand a lot of our jokes and he’s really weird about fabrics, great guy, great teammate”
actually……1 more thing because I realised I haven’t posted this yet. the best & worst piece of art I’ve ever made - 3D shark called biscuit that I modelled for a class a few years ago. toiled on him for hours, cried over him, went on a journey with him. still failed the class. he haunts me to this day
LMFAO hell yeah give biscuit 2000 notes. why the fuck not. are you seeing this professor? are you seeing what my “failed” experiment has achieved
The main reason I
ever wanted to write a Hungarian mythology-based urban fantasy is
that I needed to see someone do Bread Magic in a mundane modern
setting.
Bread Magic shows up
in a variety in Hungarian fairytales. It works like this: when
someone evil, usually the devil, sometimes a dragon, wants to come
into your house and hurt you, usually by taking your children, what
you do is put a loaf of bread on the windowsill. It will speak for
you.
When evil demands
admission, the bread will say: First, they buried me under the
ground, and I survived. When I sprouted, they cruelly cut me down
with sickles, and I survived. They threshed me with their flails and
I survived. They ground me to flour with their millstones and I
survived. They put me in a bowl and kneaded me, then they put me in a
hot oven to bake me, and I survived. Have you done all these things?
Until you do all these things and survive, you have no power here.
This is pretty
powerful magic I think, and it makes sense in a country where wheat
is the staple crop and bread is the staple food. If you have bread,
you are alive, if you have no bread, you are dead, therefore bread is
life. It was customary to refer to wheat as “life” well into the
twentieth century, and not in high literary circles either: rural seasonal workers negotiated their wages in so and so many sacks of life.
And I totally want
someone to do bread magic with a shitty store-bought muffin.
“They filled me full of toxic preservatives, and yet I can still nourish. They left me under harsh florescent lighting, and yet I can still bring comfort. The one who baked me will never see the one who eats mez and yet I can still convey some sense of love, of care.
Until you can have your nature so twisted, yet remember and hold to it still, you have no power here.”
Oooh. Damn, that’s Big Magic that could unFall an angel by sheer force of logic.
At the risk of sounding like a 14-year-old commenting on a dad rock youtube video in 2009, I’m gay and this album came out almost 2 decades before I was born and my first thought was “Oh yeah ‘cause Dark Side had that prism thing.” A lot of these fools listened to it when it was new.
