Pluckedchicken - The Chicken Man

Wait.... huh?

I am so confused

And they all just have youtube provided descriptions saying they were released oct. 28th, 2023

Is anyone else seeing this stuff?? It seems like they might've done this with the whole blurryface album. But then if you go to their channel they havent uploaded anything since the line.

And I don't remember the exact date, but this seems to be roughly a month after they did the same thing with self titled.

Also dude falling through a hole in the ground?? A reference to no phun intended?? Or am I looking into it too much/wrong?

It is too early in the morning for this

Having a really long-term hyperfixation that has since faded is terrifying yes but it's also so embarrassing. Hi I used to think about Scrimblo Splungus 25/7. Yeah, for 2 years straight. Nah, I don't think about them anymore except for with a vague sense of melancholy as I recall how they used to make me feel. Anyways this new one, Blimpkins McGee? I'm gonna think about them forever and the cycle will NOT repeat in 2 years. Trust me guys.

HANAHAKI IS NOT ABOUT UNREQUITED LOVE!!!! YOU DO NOT DIE IF THE LOVE IS UNREQUITED!!!!!!! IT IS A REPRESENTATION OF HOLDING IN YOUR FEELINGS AND HOW HEAVY IT IS AND HOW IF YOU JUST LET IT OUT INSTEAD OF LETTING THEM FESTER INSIDE YOU IT WILL BE SO MUCH EASIER AND SO MUCH LESS PAIN FOR EVERYONE!!!!!!! IT'S ABOUT TRUSTING YOURSELF AND THE OTHER PERSON!!!!!!

yes au's can exist and any deviation of the traditional hanahaki is a-ok!! but stop acting like it can only be cured if the love is requited ORIGINALLY when people ask about it!!! that's not how it is!!!!!!!!!

"tragedies: the love was there"

Also I love that when the stream got banned the whole chat was spamming

CAPTAIN???

Captain!!!!

Captain??!!!!

CAPTAIN!!!

Posting all of the pills that make you green comics here now, enjoy? I guess?

regret rates

proof

talking points

you problem

owned

modern invention

unethical experiments

typology

think of the children

side effects

facts

making sense

rushing

drawings

research

this rocks

valid

I bought a nice storage box at an estate sale without looking inside, and it was full of 8mm home videos.

It should be the start of a horror movie, and it kind of is, in the way that we see the past.

The films were made by a young, rural father throughout the 40s-50s filming in excessive and loving detail his baby son and homely but sweet-looking wife. The things that he chose to film belie this idea of “traditional family values” and masculinity, especially in the American and Canadian West (it’s unclear what side of the border they were living on.)

This young man was trying creative and artistic ideas with his hobby (his camera), like filming his wife doing her hair through the mirror, lots of landscapes, and flowers growing in their tiny garden.

The thing that struck me so much was the complete adoration of his family, in a way that might not be “50s Dad-Husband.” He’s spending hours of film taking care of and documenting teaching his son to garden. He sets up the camera to film himself and his wife laughing while doing the dishes. He gives her a gag gift of an apron for Christmas and she throws it at him while laughing. Her real present was a pair of hiking boots, which she is adorably delighted by.

This family was working poor, with a tiny rural house, and the home films capture warts and all. Instead of “Leave It To Beaver” dynamics, we have a family who should embody what people think of as the worst (or best) of 50s families, but absolutely do not.

The 50s weren’t the glossy advertising version that conservatives want to “return to”. This family was poor, and the camera was clearly the one hobby that the husband allowed himself. The young parents are delighted but exhausted. They are sharing housework. The homely but adorable young mother has terribly crooked teeth and wears overalls in the garden. Dinner parties include a surprisingly diverse group of friends.

I think the estate sale was after the death of the (now elderly) little boy in the films.

We can’t go back to an era that didn’t exist in the way that we assume it did. Even the 50s were full of complex and interesting people who weren’t just Suzy Homemakers and Pipe-smoking Fathers.

My point is that history is more complicated than we think. We can’t go back to a world that only existed in advertisements, and there were people living and loving each other throughout history.

I was struck by how much this young father loved his family and was so invested in his child and partner. He wouldn’t fit into any “traditional masculinity” molds, but he was delighted by his camera and capturing the things important to him. I’m so glad that I got to see his life through his eyes.

Love and Nature

Osdea, the god of love, fell hopelessly in love with the god of nature, Ezella. Osdea tried everything she could to have the indifferent god acknowledge her, but Ezella never gave her the time of day. Osdea tried helping the flora and fauna, hoping to appeal to the god of nature through kindness. She tried befriending the different nature spirits, attempting to learn anything about Ezella. She tried just being in the same area as Ezella often, so maybe they'd take an interest in her, like she had in them.

Finally, when Osdea had given up hope in all else, she brought Ezella a small bouquet of flowers, ones she had seen them care for, and tried talking to the god. Ezella curtly turned Osdea down, but Osdea saw this as progress, for she had finally gotten Ezella to acknowledge her! And so Osdea brought another bouquet of flowers the next day, with the same result. She continued bringing flowers every day, each time with the same result.

On the fourth day, Ezella, growing steadily losing what little patience they had left from the frequent irritations said, "Every day you cut and bring me flowers that I have grown. Every day I turn you down, but that still does not seem to dissuade you. Your young naivety seems to know no bounds, so let me put this as plainly as possible. For as long as you continue bothering me and cutting the flowers I have grown and calling it a gift, I will never return your affections."

Osdea, stunned, watched as the god of nature swiftly turned and walked away, her eyes never lingering from their back, not even when her face grew warm or when the world in front of her clouded too an unrecognizable blur of colours. Only when Ezella was long out of sight was Osdea able to move, collapsing to her knees, and crushing the flowers.

She didn't even remember dropping them.

Hastily, she tried straightening the broken stems and rightening the misplaced petals, but the tears and her shaking hands only worsened the damage until her lap was covered in flower petals and leaves. She held the broken and baren flower stems to her chest, head in her lap and arms wrapped around her trembling body.

Gradually, slowly, her tears sprouted new flowers, wrapping first around the edges of her feet, then her dress and legs, her torso, her arms, her neck, her hair, her head. Oh so gradually, the suffocating pain in her chest took on a new shape; a shape that made more sense. Oh so slowly, her tears did dry, and the flowers clinging to her form began to bloom.

The forest nymphs were the first to find her. The rising sun painted her skin a brilliant golden colour through the shadows of towering trees and their vibrant green leaves. The delicate white of fresh blooms sparsely covering her form seemed to sing at their first sight of light. The god's chest rose and fell slowly as she laid sprawled across the forest floor, as if asleep. The nymphs, simply relieved that the poor god was no longer weeping, left her to sleep.

Osdea was not asleep. How could she sleep with the ceaseless, creeping pain inside her chest?

As the nymphs left, tears escaped and trickled down their familiar path over her skin and in between the delicate flowers.

The nymphs returned at sundown, the god's chest still steadily rising and falling, eyes closed to the world. The white flowers from before now more thoroughly covering her, and new flowers blooming at the edges of her face, there was very little of the god that was left untouched now. Small pin-pricks of blood scattered across her body where the flowers weaved their way through her skin.

Still, the nymphs left Osdea to her slumber. Still, Osdea was not asleep. She was paralyzed, as if the flowers had taken root in her muscles, rendering them completely useless. If nothing else, the whites and greens of the flowers and their stems, set against the dimming light of the falling sun brought some small glimmer of happiness to the sorrowful god.

'Perhaps,' thought the god 'this is the true nature of life; holding onto the smallest glimmer of hope and joy, no matter the cost.' Tears welled along her eyes once again, now hidden beneath a thin layer of foliage.

The petite white flowers weaving and sprouting through her skin were not what troubled Osdea. What troubled her was the feeling of small, sharp barbs being dragged through the inner linings of her being. Treacherously slowly, the talons clawed their way up her chest and into her throat. Every tentative rise and fall of her chest, every movement, no matter how small, pressed the stabbing blades in further.

Osdea learned what she could and could not do quite quicky. Movement was strictly forbidden. The god was still allowed to breathe, but gradually even that privileged had been restricted until her breaths were slow and shallow and her head grew light. She was not allowed to speak. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to croak out even a single word. But she was fine with that. She had no one to listen to her words anyways.

The stars above shone so brightly. Somehow, they seemed brighter than usual, almost as if they wept for the god, their small lights ever so slightly growing before trembling and shrinking again. The stars and their weeping slowly began to fade away as dawn drew near, and clouds covered the sky like a heavy blanket. Osdea could feel the plants blanketing her body still in anticipation. The world around her seemed to hold it's breath as she swam in and out of consciousness. She could still breathe. She didn't know why she was struggling. Her head felt so heavy.

The clouds were painted a brilliant ruby red, painting the forest in hues of pink. Osdea had never seen a sky quite like that, and she knew she never would again. A faint smile spread across her lips. This much she was still allowed.

She couldn't breathe.

The world fluttered in and out of existence, as if a butterfly were sat on her nose.

She was okay.

The sun began to crest its head over the horizon, vibrant scarlet to match the clouds above. The birds did not sing, nor did the deer begin to stir. The nymphs would not visit this morning.

She would be okay.

In and out, the world faded and re-ignited repeatedly. Dark crimson shadows fell over the forest. White flowers were painted pink.

It would be okay.

The world of reds and dark shadows swam in front of Osdea's eyes. From the darkness, her eyes landed on one figure, slowly approaching. The darkness encroached and consumed her vision. She pried her eyelids open, even if only once more. She would not let herself be robbed of her sight. Not yet.

She was out of time. She was not okay. She didn't want to die.

Light returned to the god. A soft face filled with love and sorrow stared down at her. For a moment, Osdea forgot about the tearing thorns in her chest, about the flowers covering her body, about the air missing from her lungs. For a moment, Osdea felt like she was dancing through the forest again, wanting nothing more than for Ezella to turn their attention to her.

Osdea watched as Ezella's lips moved, but no sound ever reached her ears. Why couldn't she hear the god? Why couldn't she hear the one person who's voice had rung through her head for days now?

Osdea opened her mouth, but the words she wanted to say were torn apart by the thorns within before they ever knew the breath of life. The scene before her clouded to a blur of reds again with only Ezella remaining in focus.

Ezella leaned down, filling Osdea's vision. Soft lips found her forehead, as if the flowers had parted specially for them. A drop of water rolled down her temple. It was warm. It was cold.

The clouds faded from her vision, and the thorns in her lungs disappeared. The god of love no longer felt the pinpricks of flowers weaving through her skin.

The god of nature rose with the rising sun, and began their daily care for the earth and its creatures.

The sun rose on the second morning. Where had previously laid Osdea, the god of love, now laid a beautiful flower bed, alive with dusty blues and pure whites. Sat in the center of the bed was a bush of roses, petals and thorns dyed the same blood-red colour.

Christophe Jacrot

Every living creature's soul can best be represented by a candle, sometimes burning so strong and bright you think it'll never go out, and other times a flame so small you think it'll go out with the slightest movement of air. When that flame goes out, the soul leaves the body like smoke. Although it is possible to revive the flame once it's gone out, it must be done quickly, and even the most skilled clerics and necromancers struggle with it. Once the flame is out with no chance of coming back, the soul becomes one with the magical energy of the world, making areas where many creatures have died incredibly dense with magic.