cant stop thinking abt ursula k. le guin’s essay abt the carrier bag theory….. she’s like, maybe the first human tool was not a weapon, but rather something that holds, a bag, a pouch, a vessel, something for gathering and storing and sharing. let’s shift the narrative of humanity from that of violence to that of safekeeping. and i’m like
and THEN she’s like, a novel is also a carrier bag. there’s the Hero’s story, sure, but there’s room enough in fiction for every experience, for every little thing, and it’s that other story, the life story, that she seeks……. o|-<
one of the first plants we ever started growing on purpose, the bottle gourd, was grown exclusively because it could be filled with water or other things and carried. pottery is actually older than domesticated gourds, and it’s likely that baskets are even older than that, but it’s just really nuts to me that the early neolithic farmers devoted entire fields just to growing not food but completely inedible bottles. and then those people took their bottles with them everywhere, including when they left Africa, and today they are on every continent. and we don’t even really use them anymore, but we still grow them just for decoration, because they’re shaped like something we carried for thousands of years and we cannot put them down.
……suddenly struck by the idea for a piece of worldbuilding of “fae don’t like iron bc it is the most stable element*”
*as in elements higher you can extract energy via fission and lower you can extract energy via fusion but iron itself there is no excess binding energy to extract at all
It’s global and crowdsourced and points you towards FREE FRUIT. (And herbs and nuts and things.) They have an app too but the app costs $2 and you can still pull up the map on your mobile browser for free.
obsessed with sokka’s name kinda popping up everywhere in school books years after atla. like yeah ur learning history about the end of the hundred year war? oh right with the avatars amazing team and some non bender named sokka who probably wasn’t all that important. on to gym class where u learn different fighting styles, did you know btw that the first guy to ever train with the kyoshi warriors was some random guy named sokka? oh well. can’t be late for physics where we learn about the invention of the air balloon and the submarine by … sokka? huh okay I guess, on to politics where we learn about all these important decrees over all the different nations which were first proposed by.. ah man, sokka? again? anyway art class now, here look at these paintings made by sokka
OP’s tags:
#well at least this fucking dude won’t come back in mny favourite class spirits and mythology where we will read how princess yue became the #moon spirit with one last kiss to fucking sokka again guess. anyway here’s a list of the very little people who ever managed to go into #the spirit world and come back guess who’s on there too’ #aw man l’m still so mad abut the loss of the spirit library imagine all that knowledge. the only thing we have left is a description of #one of the last people who visited the library. guess fucking who again’ #like obviously all the names of the gaang will be remembered but everyone else’s #name when u first learn about them u know you need to remember them bc of course they will be important to history. like of course you’re #gonna remember avatar aangs name bc you know his name will surely come back. of course you remember firelord Zuko who led the fire nation #into an era of peace. meanwhile sokka’s name is kinda a side note like yeah this guy was also #here you might need to remember this random detail for a test #except then he keeps coming back in every single class and by the end of your school career you’re just like ‘oh this test is asking me for #the name of whoever inVented this or did that? well if just answer sokka there’s like a 50% chance it’ll be correct do #obviously then it becomes a meme #if tumblr exists 200 years after atla Someone would make a post with a screenshot of some show with the text 'ah they really invented love’ #and someone also will reblog with 'nice try but think we all know who really invented love’ and then it’s one of those long posts in which #everyone reblogs with 'sokka’ probably in a bunch of different fonts
Disclaimer: this video was intended as a fun look at the inconsistent logic of gender segregation in sports, but as a short-form video, it naturally does not go into much nuance. One thing I want to make clear is that I do believe we should be making sports more inclusive to trans and intersex athletes, and it seems to me that a great starting point would be to stop gender segregating sports that really don’t need it. Like archery!
Artist Isobelle Ouzman first started making altered books in 2012 after coming across a box of water-logged books sitting on a street in Seattle. Little did she know that those first early experiments with cutting and gluing pages together would lead to what is now her full-time focus. Ouzman has built a career transforming discarded, unwanted books into portals to magical worlds.
While these worlds inspired by folklore and fairytales are alluring escapes from reality, Ouzman notes that art is “like a mirror—it either reflects what we already feel, or the feelings we try hard to avoid. Art extends a hand to your heart, an embrace for your soul, and sometimes adds salt to the most tender cuts.” The imaginative artist considers herself a lifelong bookworm and is fascinated by the way stories shape our understanding of the world and ourselves.
Unsurprisingly, Ouzman has a deep interest in psychology and at one point aspired to be an art therapist. In a way, she is one, building connections between herself and viewers through shared consideration of the role of storytelling. “I only hope for people to see how transformative books and stories can be to our sense of self and belonging in the world,” Ouzman tells My Modern Met.
This message of using external stories to recalibrate our interior lives fits perfectly with her medium of books. They are small in scale compared to murals or installations; but, as any book-lover knows, they contain multitudes that often bear repeated examination.
In addition to considering the role of stories in our meaning-making, Ouzman also hopes to encourage a slower, more deliberate pace for both our lives and our consumption habits. “Not everything needs to be so fast-paced, so rapid, and easy to consume,” she says. “The world moves fast enough as it is, regardless.” Most of the books Ouzman works with now are donations. By turning them into art, she’s essentially saving them from going to a landfill. Through her meticulous cutting and detailed illustrating, she turns her art-making into a meditation on meaning and patience.
To stay up to date on the artist’s work, you can follow Ouzman on Instagram.
Through illustration and paper cutting, Isobelle Ouzman turns books destined for the landfill into magical works of art.
Cultivation, 2024
Ouzman gives renewed meaning to discarded books, and also examines how stories function in our own search for meaning.
Soul, 2024
Soul, 2024
Fade, 2024
The Interval, 2024.
Never certain where she will end when she first starts transforming the books, the sometimes fragile tomes become objects of meditation.
Prom is arguably the most anticipated event in many teenagers' young lives. Many of the youthful attendees go all out for the evening and even tend to spend hundreds of dollars on the perfect outfit. For 18-year-old Sarah Akinbuwa, this was not the case, though. The crafty teen managed to steal the show at Somerville High School's prom by relying on her talent and determination instead of her bank account. In three days, albeit sleep-deprived ones, Akinbuwa crocheted a pink gown adorned with crocheted roses that has now gone viral on TikTok and even garnered the attention of Zendaya's stylist Law Roach.
Akinbuwa first started crocheting as a 12-year-old girl while living in Nigeria. In the past five years, she's made two big moves, first from Nigeria to New York and then to Somerville, Massachusetts. Despite all the life transitions, she not only kept up with her hobby, but started creating new crochet pieces with every spare moment she had since she wants to become a fashion designer.
When her friend invited her to his prom, Akinbuwa got to work on a project she knew would make her standout from all the other students. Inspired by the Valentino gown Zendaya wore to the 2023 SAG Awards, the determined designer picked up $60 of pink yarn at the craft store Michael's. Starting with the roses, the young designer crocheted over 100 in two days before diving into the bodice and silhouette of the gown itself. Along with a rose-covered coat she had already crocheted for Valentine's Day, Akinbuwa made quite the entrance and stunned other prom-goers. “You made this! It's beautiful!” and “You should win a prize for this!” were among the compliments she received by strangers as she was attempting to take a video of her creation on prom night.
It's not just folks in Somerville who are impressed though. One of her TikTok videos spotlighting her handmade dress has over 26 million views. Law Roach, acclaimed Hollywood stylist even commented on her video. “He said it was so cute,” says Akinbuwa, a big admirer of his work. “No one can bring me down anymore.”
While Akinbuwa has had to turn down folks requesting they buy her dress off her, she does have a small crochet clothing brand called Oyinda’s (her Nigerian first name). Additionally, she will be attending Framingham State University to get her degree in fashion design. Clearly she has the patience and persistence to create a promising career in fashion.
More art of my albatross griffins. I’m happier with their design. I CAN’T believe I gave them plain ol’ canine/seal looking teeth before, when spine covered penguin mouths are RIGHT THERE. It makes more sense to me design wise and looks better.
I decided to call them ✨Kymagryphs✨, giant scrounges of the skies over a new endless sea. Careful not to leave your catch out on deck when sailing.
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”
“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”
“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Climb aboard, then!” But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown. “Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”
“I can’t help it,” said the scorpion. “It’s my nature.”
___
…But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the frog felt a subtle motion on its back, and in a panic dived deep beneath the rushing waters, leaving the scorpion to drown.
“It was going to sting me anyway,” muttered the frog, emerging on the other side of the river. “It was inevitable. You all knew it. Everyone knows what those scorpions are like. It was self-defense.”
___
…But no sooner had they cast off from the bank, the frog felt
the tip of a stinger pressed lightly against the back of its neck. “What do you think you’re doing?” said the frog.
“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”
They swam in silence to the other end of the river, where the scorpion climbed off, leaving the frog fuming.
“After the kindness I showed you!” said the frog. “And you threatened to kill me in return?”
“Kindness?” said the scorpion. “To only invite me on your back after you knew I was defenseless, unable to use my tail without killing myself? My dear frog, I only treated you as I was treated. Your kindness was as poisoned as a scorpion’s sting.”
___
…“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without
drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair,
isn’t it?”
“You have a point,” the frog acknowledged.
“But once we get to dry land, couldn’t you sting me then without
repercussion?”
“All I want is to cross the river safely,” said the scorpion. “Once I’m on the other side I would gladly let you be.”
“But I would have to trust you on that,” said the frog. “While you’re pressing a stinger to my neck. By ferrying you to land I’d be be giving up the one deterrent I hold over you.”
“But by the same logic, I can’t possibly withdraw my stinger while we’re still over water,” the scorpion protested.
The frog paused in the middle of the river, treading water. “So, I suppose we’re at an impasse.”
The river rushed around them. The scorpion’s stinger twitched against the frog’s unbroken skin. “I suppose so,” the scorpion said.
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the
river. “Absolutely not!” said the frog, and dived beneath the waters, and so none of them learned anything.
___
A scorpion, being unable to swim, asked a turtle (as in the original Persian version of the fable) to carry it across the river. The turtle readily agreed, and allowed the scorpion aboard its shell. Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell. The turtle, swimming placidly, failed to notice.
They reached the other side of the river, and parted ways as friends.
___
…Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung,
but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell.
The turtle, hearing the tap of the scorpion’s sting, was offended at the scorpion’s ungratefulness. Thankfully, having been granted the powers to both defend itself and to punish evil, the turtle sank beneath the waters and drowned the scorpion out of principle.
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it
across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” sneered the frog. “You’d
sting me if I let you on my back.”
The scorpion pleaded
earnestly. “Do you think so little of me? Please, I must cross the
river. What would I gain from stinging you? I would only end up drowning
myself!”
“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Even a
scorpion knows to look out for its own skin. Climb aboard, then!”
But as
they forged through the rushing waters, the scorpion grew worried. This frog thinks me a ruthless killer, it thought. Would it not be justified in throwing me off now and ridding the world of me? Why else would it agree to this?
Every jostle made the scorpion more and more anxious, until the frog surged forward with a particularly large splash, and in panic the
scorpion lashed out with its stinger.
“I knew it,” snarled the frog, as they both thrashed and drowned. “A scorpion cannot change its nature.”
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river.
The frog agreed, but no sooner than they were halfway across the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown.
“I’ve only myself to blame,” sighed the frog, as they both sank beneath the
waters. “You, you’re a scorpion, I couldn’t have expected anything better. But I knew better, and yet I went against my judgement! And now I’ve doomed us both!”
“You couldn’t help it,” said the scorpion mildly. “It’s your nature.”
___
…“Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”
“Alas, I was of two natures,” said the scorpion. “One said to gratefully ride your back across the river, and the other said to sting you where you stood. And so both fought, and neither won.” It smiled wistfully. “Ah, it would be nice to be just one thing, wouldn’t it? Unadulterated in nature.
Without the capacity for conflict or regret.”
___
“By the way,” said the frog, as they swam, “I’ve been meaning to ask: What’s on the other side of the river?”
“It’s the journey,” said the scorpion. “Not the destination.”
___
…“What’s on the other side of anything?” said the scorpion. “A new beginning.”
___
…”Another scorpion to mate with,” said the scorpion. “And more prey to kill, and more living bodies to poison, and a forthcoming lineage of cruelties that you will be culpable in.”
___
…”Nothing we will live to see, I fear,” said the scorpion. “Already the currents are growing stronger, and the river seems like it shall swallow us both. We surge forward, and the shoreline recedes. But does that mean our striving was in vain?”
___
“I love you,” said the scorpion.
The frog glanced upward. “Do you?”
“Absolutely.
Can you imagine the fear of drowning? Of course not. You’re a frog. Might as well be scared of
breathing air.
And yet here I am, clinging to your back, as the waters rage around us. Isn’t that love? Isn’t that trust? Isn’t that necessity? I could not kill you without killing myself. Are we not inseparable in this?”
The frog swam on, the both of them silent.
___
“I’m so tired,” murmured the frog eventually. “How much further to the other side? I don’t know how long we’ve been swimming. I’ve been treading water. And it’s getting so very dark.”
“Shh,” the scorpion said. “Don’t be afraid.”
The frog’s legs kicked out weakly. “How long has it been? We’re lost. We’re lost! We’re doomed to be cast about the waters forever. There is no land. There’s nothing on the other side, don’t you see!”
“Shh, shh,” said the scorpion. “My venom is a hallucinogenic. Beneath its surface, the river is endlessly deep, its currents carrying many things.”
“You - You’ve killed us both,” said the frog, and began to laugh deliriously. “Is this - is this what it’s like to drown?”
“We’ve killed each other,” said the scorpion soothingly. “My venom in my glands now pulsing through your veins, the waters of your birthing pool suffusing my lungs. We are engulfing each other now, drowning in each other. I am breathless. Do you feel it? Do you feel my sting pierced through your heart?”
“What a foolish thing to do,” murmured the frog. “No logic. No logic to it at all.”
“We couldn’t help it,” whispered the scorpion. “It’s our natures. Why else does anything in the world happen? Because we were made for this from birth, darling, every moment inexplicable and inevitable. What a crazy thing it is to fall in love, and yet - It’s all our fault! We are both blameless. We’re together now, darling. It couldn’t have happened any other way.”
___
“It’s funny,” said the frog. “I can’t say that I trust you, really. Or that I even think very much of you and that nasty little stinger of yours to begin with. But I’m doing this for you regardless. It’s strange, isn’t it? It’s strange. Why would I do this? I want to help you, want to go out of my way to help you. I let you climb right onto my back! Now, whyever would I go and do a foolish thing like that?”
___
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across
the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I
let you on my back!”
“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”
“That’s
true,” the frog acknowledged. “Come aboard, then!” But no sooner had
the scorpion mounted the frog’s back than it began to sting, repeatedly,
while still safely on the river’s bank.
The frog groaned, thrashing weakly as the venom coursed through its veins, beginning to liquefy its flesh. “Ah,” it muttered. “For some reason I never considered this possibility.”
“Because you were never scared of me,” the scorpion whispered in its ear. “You were never scared of dying. In a past life you wore a shell and sat in judgement. And then you were reborn: soft-skinned, swift, unburdened, as new and vulnerable as a child, moving anew through a world of children. How could anyone ever be cruel, you thought, seeing the precariousness of it all?” The scorpion bowed its head and drank. “How could anyone kill you without killing themselves?”
A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river.
“To be honest,” said the desert rain frog. “I’m the wrong kind of frog for that.”
“Oh,” said the scorpion.
“I was hoping to find someone to carry me across, myself.” It admitted.
“Oh,” The scorpion said. “Well, we can wait together.”
And they sat, and spoke, and when a turtle happened to pass along, they both ventured together, and the scorpion was too busy sharing words to ever think of stinging.
—
“Actually,” said the scorpion, as it climbed onto the frog’s back, “My sting is harmless.”
“Oh really?” Said the frog, as it began to swim.
“Yes,” the scorpion waved the small stinger about. “The poison is useless to anything larger than a beetle. I can’t threaten you with it at all, you see, so you don’t really need to worry about it at all.”
The frog, now freed from the fear of death, began preparing to dive.
“Although,” the scorpion continued as it felt the frog slow down, “do not think me entirely defenceless.”
“Why not?” Said the frog. “All you have is your claws. And they aren’t sharp enough to pierce my skin.”
“No, they are not,” agreed the scorpion, getting a good hold of the frog’s shoulders. “But they are strong. They need to be, to hold my prey so my weak venom has time to work.”
“But they will not kill me.”
“No. But there are other ways to hurt.” The scorpion tightened its grip, letting the teeth of its claws sink into the skin.
“You will drown me, of course, but my claws will remain locked. My drowned corpse will hang over your shoulders, right here, claws buried in you. And everyone who sees you will see it. And they will see my frail little body, and my weak little stinger. And you will drown me, yes, but for the rest of your life everyone will know that you took the life of a creature that was no danger to you for no greater sin than that you did not want to grant them passage. You will never escape the weight of me on your back, waiting to be carried to the afterlife you delivered me to.”
The frog was silent, for a while, before it continued to swim. “I think I would have preferred you with a stinger that worked.”
The scorpion relaxed its grip. “And I would have preferred to not have to use it.”
—
“Do you know how many times we’ve done this?” Asked the frog, eyes flicking back to its passenger. “I can’t remember how long it’s been.”
“A million lives.” Purred the scorpion, claws nestled up to the frog’s neck. “A million lives now, with this one. And it never matters until we’re here.”
“I’m glad it’s us.” Said the frog, letting the tide sweep it away. “I’m glad even after a million lives, we always find each other.”
The scorpion clung tight, even as the water seeped into its carapace. “I’d never die with anyone else, my love.”
Hopelessly entangled, they faded into oblivion.
—
A chicken stood at the edge of a road, watching the cars go by.
“Is this all there is?” It asked.
“I don’t know.” Said the fox across from it, brushing some grass from it’s foot.
“But it might be nice to find out.”
—
-but no sooner had the frog gotten halfway across the river did a great catfish rise up, mouth so wide they could not escape.
“Oh, foolish frog and foolish bug.” It said, voice full of pity as it swallowed them both. “Your eyes glued to the most obvious threat, did you never think there were greater things to fear in a river as deep and wide as this?”
And the catfish swam off, to find more frogs to devour.
—
“Sorry?” The scorpion paused, confused. “Sting you? Why on earth would I do that?
“Well,” said the frog. “It’s in your nature to, isn’t it?”
“No, not at all!” The scorpion said, voice tinged with insult. “We don’t run around stabbing everything we see. That’s a good way to start a fight you can’t win. A stinger is just for catching food and fending off predators, really. It’s no more my nature to sting everything as it is your nature to drown everything. And you don’t do that, do you!”
The frog scowled, petulant at the tone. “Well, the scorpion I usually see here almost always stings me…”
“That seems like you’re projecting problems with one scorpion onto every scorpion you meet.” Said the scorpion. “I’m not really sure I trust you to take me across the river, frankly. Do you know if there’s another frog who could help?”
The frog grumbled, and slipped into the water.
—
The chicken stood on the banks of the river with it’s children. A fox sat on the other bank, with a bag of corn.
“Hoy, chicken.” Shouted the fox. “Do you ever think you might be stuck in a rut?”
“What’s it to you?” The chicken said, flapping a wing in annoyance. “My life is my own business, fox.”
The fox shrugged, pawing at the corn. “I just feel like I can’t get out of this cycle,” it said with a sigh. “Like my life is stuck on rails.”
—
“On rails?” The scorpion asked. “What do you mean?”
“My whole life is just this river-”
—
“This road-”
—
“This boat-”
—
“And it feels like it doesn’t change. It feels like I’m always just here. In the river, with you.”
—
“Is it such a bad place to be?” Asked the fox.
“With me?”
—
“How long do you think the river has been here?” Asked the scorpion.
The frog thought about that until the poison had seeped into its bones.
“As long as us,” it whispered, as its lungs gave out. “As long as we’ve needed it.”
—
“You’re not swimming right.” Said the scorpion, pinching the frog’s arm.
“You need to kick round with the back legs, push with the front, like this-” gently, it pushed the frog’s limbs into the correct position.
“Oh, thank you.” Said the frog. “I’m no good at this. I’ve never been a frog before.”
“You’re doing brilliantly, my dear.” The scorpion said, trying to reassure. “I would have taught you earlier if I could have.”
“And I would have taught you to walk.” The frog laughed, kicking much stronger now. “If only I’d known you didn’t know! I saw you stumbling over the sands there.”
“I’ve never had so many legs!” The scorpion wailed. “How do you manage them all? And the eyes!”
They were not making it across the river very fast.
“I don’t mind only having two eyes.” The frog admitted. “I could get used to it.”
Despite the tutoring, the frog was getting exhausted, weak muscles failing in strong currents.
The scorpion tried to kick at the water, but its frail carapace only dredged in the currents, dragging them both down further.
“Oh, we’re no good at it this way around.” The scorpion said with a shake of its tail, claws clinging so strongly to the frog’s gossamer skin that it ripped open, spilling the entrails like ruby ribbons into the depths.
The frog laughed, choking on the water it didn’t know how to breathe. “I can’t swim, and you won’t sting! Oh, how our natures fail us still!”
And the river claimed them both once more.
—
“Do you remember a time before the riverbank?” Asked the fox.
“Do you remember anything after it?” The Chicken countered, head stuck in the bag of corn as it ate its fill. “Is there anything but the pursuit of what we will never grasp?”
“Maybe we will grasp it,” the fox’s voice was tinged with hope, tail tucked tightly around its legs. “Maybe one day, we will be more than our natures, and we will not have to cross the river again.”
“I like the thrill of it.” Said the chicken. “I’d miss the thrill of it.”
The fox sighed, and lowered its head down to the chicken, already doomed to bite. “But still, wouldn’t it be nice?”
—
But alas, the rains had been heavy, and the river bank had become swollen and wide.
The frog kicked for what felt like an eternity, the scorpion holding steady on its back.
Eventually it could swim no longer, and its legs seized up, as it gasped for air.
“I’m sorry, my love-” the frog wheezed. “I don’t think I can make it-”
“It’s okay.” The scorpion’s voice was soft with sadness, knowing now that it was doomed to die. “I didn’t know it would be so hard. I’m sorry I did this to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”
“It’s not your fault,” said the frog, as the currents began to sweep them both downstream. “I wanted to help, I- I really thought I could get you there, I, we were so close -”
“We really were, weren’t we?” The scorpion’s hold on the frog was loosening, as its head swam from lack of oxygen. “We almost made it, we really did…”
The frog wailed in grief as the scorpion’s body was torn away, swallowed by the churning rapids.
—
A scorpion walked across an old riverbed. The smooth pebbles had long laid bare, the river dried up thousands of years ago.
It paused in the middle, overcome with a strange pain in its chest, and decided to turn back.
It felt wrong to cross this river alone.
—
“Where do you think the cars go?” Asked the fox.
The chicken watched a car drive by, seeing the shadowy shapes move within. “I try not to think about it. I want to be happy with my lot in life.”
—
-and no sooner had the frog gotten halfway across the river when the scorpion tapped its stinger against the frog’s back to get its attention.
“Hey,” said the scorpion. “I’m not really in that much of a rush, and it’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we just go up the river instead? I’ve always wanted to try standing on a lilypad.”
“Sure, if you’d like.” Said the frog. “I don’t have any plans for the day.
And while the river remained uncrossed, neither of them were unhappy about this.
—
“When did you know you loved me?” Asked the turtle, as the scorpion clung onto its back, hiding from the deep currents of the river.
The scorpion winced as a wave shook them. “Oh, from the start.” it said, shaking water from its tail. “Or near enough. I’d never met a frog before. And even though you didn’t know me, you laid your life on the line for me. For hope that the impossible was possible.”
The turtle considered that, thinking back across its many lives.
“I don’t think I knew I loved you until recently.” The turtle admitted, lifting its head from the water so its voice could be soft. “It took time, I think, to know. But that said, why else would I come back, time and time again to the same spot of the same river?”
“You have a world of rivers you could be in, my love.” The scorpion agreed. “And yet I always wait for you here. And you always come.”
“I’ve never been as vulnerable as I’ve been with you.” Even as the water licked up its shell, the turtle continued to swim. “I’d never trust my life to anyone else.”
“Here’s to us,” said the scorpion, raising its stinger. “And the river.”
“Here’s to us.” Said the turtle, raising a flipper to sting. “I hope we always find each other.”
—
“Well here we are,” said the frog to the scorpion. “The other side.”
“Here we are.” The scorpion agreed, slowly climbing off its back. “Thank you, for all of this.”
“Thank you for choosing me.” Said the frog. “Thank you for chaining my lives together. For helping me remember the infinity of Us.”
The scorpion didn’t answer, simply looking up, letting the sun warm its carapace.
“I’ve never really left the river.” The frog took another step onto the bank. “It’s… nice.”
The scorpion turned. For a moment, the frog felt the surge of adrenaline as it felt a pinch on its skin, only to find the scorpion had clasped its claw around their hand. “Come with me.” It pleaded, voice soft with urgency. “Come with me, and don’t say no. I won’t leave this river without you. We can see the other side together.”
Those claws could slice, but they were only firm. The river was only the river. But from the banks the frog could see a jungle of lush green, vibrant with life beyond its knowledge. It laughed. “I’ve always wondered what it was like out there.”
—
And the river was silent, with no moral questions to burden it.
That’s because i only added this bit this morning. I think its pretty good
I think it’s beautiful. thank you for making this
[image: a tag: “this is one of my favorite posts of all time but I’ve never seen this version of it”]
They say you die three times, first when the body dies, second, when your body enters the grave, and third, when your name is spoken for the last time. You were a normal person in life, but hundreds of years later, you still haven’t had your “third” death. You decide to find out why.
You sold some shitty copper, man, I don’t know what to tell you
Desserts such as cake, cookies, and pie have long lended themselves to cute food art. But a creative chef known as Nao has found a unique way to turn the timeless Japanese fruit sandwich into a treat embedded with sweet characters. In their creations, tiny cats and charming dogs made out of oranges, strawberries, and grapes greet you from the whipped cream.
To achieve this, the artist cleverly arranges the fruit within the sandwich, which can be cut diagonally or horizontally. And surprisingly, the food artist works partly blind, as they'll only get to see how the characters look after the sandwich has been cut. Time after time, the results of these cut fruit sandwiches are a feast for the stomach and the eyes.
Nao really brings the characters alive by carefully adding a smiling face to each edible character. On par with kawaii culture, the food artist imbues these tiny creatures with a sweet personality just by adding a few lines of liquid chocolate to each one.
Nao's work is also a testament to the versatility of fruit. A horizontal slice of strawberry works great as a flower petal, but doubles wonderfully as corgi ears. A grape cut in half could either be the wings of an owl, or part of a teddy bear's face. Above all, orange slices are a great option for the adorable rounded faces of these fruity friends. They even managed to depict Pooh Bear almost entirely with this citrus!
On top of their sandwiches, they've also translated this clever concept to other delicacies, like rolls, jelly, and even breakfast plates. To stay up to date with Nao's cute sandwich art and explore the rest of their creations, you can follow them on Instagram.
A creative chef known as Nao has found a unique way to turn the timeless Japanese fruit sandwiches into treats embedded with delectable designs and cute characters.
ALT
ALT
ALT
ALT
ALT
