Trmnjn - Resident Cool Girl

should i ask to switch classes aka lose or power through with my shitty new class

i just don’t understand why class sections are reshuffled every year the school should just kill us if they wanted us dead

FUCK IT I’M GOING TO KILL MYSELF

father and son - yusuf / cat stevens

Inside by Bo Burnham has a very interesting distinction between the first and the second half of the movie

The first half of the movie is full of funny skits and different made up characters (the White Woman, the Unpaid Intern, Bezos, Socko) because that's what Bo does on stage. That is simply what he is used to, he thought this was going to be something fun and quick he could do in a few months, and it would just be a recreation his usual shows but from home, easy right?

Until he turns 30

It's easy to see that, after the intermission, there are no silly characters or skits anymore. The only ones are the Internet, which is a more complex character, and Bezos again, but as a small attempt of keeping with what he was doing in the first half of the movie. But most of the songs are so personal and deep in a way that was barely scraped in the ones in the first half (Look Who's Inside Again or 30, which are also in the middle, closer to the second half). This is not a fun and quick thing anymore, and i'm not only talking about the movie. The quarantine has been around long enough that Bo has had to spend his birthday stuck in his house alone. The panorama has changed completely.

The quick decline of his mental health and the signs of anxiety and depression are clear as day now, when before they were disguised between jokes and weird phrases. This is not a joke anymore. This is not two weeks at home and then everything is normal again.

He tried to hide behind skits and comedy, but even inside of his house, he can't do it anymore. Everybody knows.

Everybody knows

there’s😭😭glitter😭😭on😭😭the😭😭floor😭😭after😭😭the😭😭party

The straight woman is unsatisfied with straight studio porn. She wants to get off to something in which the actors actually emote and show passion beyond canned moans from the women and, at best, vacant grunts from the men. She turns to gay porn. She knows it's not "for her," but neither was the straight porn, and at least the actors look like they're enjoying themselves. And for a short while she is satiated by Sean Cody et al, but she runs into the same problems she had to begin with. She was not looking at sex but a simulacrum of sex, trapped in Plato's cave. Unsatisfied, she turned to vintage gay porn, harkening to a time when most gay bars still had darkrooms and reliably smelled of piss and Amyl Nitrite. Here was the real thing, in all its animalistic passion. But she still couldn't immerse herself in the fantasy. She wanted the media to engage with her own imagination and meet her half-way, rather than having it spoonfed to her onscreen. She turned to yaoi, with its elongated figures reminiscent of mannerist portraiture, then bara, including hardcore BDSM scenes. But the tactile sensations depicted in the pages didn't do justice to their real life counterparts. She turned deeper into her own imagination, this time reading erotica. No, not the poolside paperbacks sold at Barnes and Noble. The good shit. Why then, was she still not satisfied? She dug deeper, searching for the true meaning of eroticism. She studied the psychoanalysis of Freud, the cultural criticism of Susan Sontag, the feminist poetry of Audre Lorde. She took vacation time and flew to Europe, starting at the caves of Lascaux to explore the human urge to create, then traversed the Camino de Santiago on foot, along the way meeting a 56 year old carpenter from Burgos named Andrés, with whom she had an explosive affair. They both knew it couldn't last, which made them cherish each other's touch all the more. Upon flying home, she gave up. If her search for true eroticism never bore fruit this whole time, why would it now? It would take years before she stumbled upon the answer by pure happenstance: dubstep.