some of the soup recipes ive found remind me of when i was like nine or ten and battling a cold so my tastebuds were off. and i put grape juice in my chicken noodle soup. and it was my new favorite food for about a week
it's hell trying to find medieval western european recipes that are 1. somewhat autism-safe, 2. don't contain nuts or other allergens, and 3. aren't some horrible food crime
though you don't have to tell me that restrictions like these completely defeat the purpose
if one is to prepare a historical meal, one must make the conscious decision to eat something completely rank, get overstimmed and die of anaphylaxis and also tastebud poisoning
There's something about seventies horror that reminds me of live theatre, actually. The sets and costumes are often cheap, and when it comes to period pieces, more 'inspired by' than accurate; the makeup is big and visible; even when the effects are really good, the blood is usually unnaturally red. The acting tends toward the broad and stagey.
And yet, it's also clear that realism is not the goal. Rather, the movie works to draw you in to a unified fiction, to get you to share in its nightmare. The best seventies horror I've seen has a dreamlike, Vaseline-lensed quality, a sense that it doesn't matter whether or not everything that happens in the movie is likely or even possible in real life. We've stepped outside of real life into a self-contained bubble with its own logic and its own sense, a dark fairy tale where the corpses of young girls might transmute into hares or eternally hungry floating heads, or the night of All Hallows might summon a stalking, unkillable masked evil from the past, or a ballet studio might be entirely controlled by witches. Even the lowest-budget, most exploitative Hammer flicks don't escape the touch of that dreaminess, that velvety, enfolding unreality. The movie suggests a world, and we, if we are wise, gladly succumb to the power of that suggestion.
video source | daft punk - infinity repeating
Carrie is such a good tragedy cause. It was already too late from the beginning. Even if the love was there. That teacher? She fucking loved that girl. The girl who had her bf take Carrie to prom? Sure she was a dick at first but she really did wanna help. Even the bf seemed to really enjoy himself.
But it doesn’t matter cause the problem is at home. Carries mother is insanely abusive and manipulative towards her, keeping her unaware, childish and afraid. The teachers and principals are aware of this, but as of the 70s and Carrie almost being an adult they didn’t do anything. And that’s the tragedy.
If someone stepped in before, took her away from her mother, had her live a normal life without the Christian guilt, this wouldn’t have happened.
It’s her mother, after all, who tells her they will all laugh at her.
Even when they weren’t. Save for a few, the laughing Carrie hears is a hallucination. Everyone seems quite awestruck and sad. They were happy for her for a moment. Everything was okay for a moment.
But it wasn’t enough. The love was there but it was too late. Carrie is long past her breaking point. The girl she wanted to be, was so desperate to be, has already had her light snuffed out by her mother. Carrie White the monster burned with her mother that night, but Carrie White the girl died on that stage.
HAPPY 50th POTP ANNIVERSARY
no way this guy's been assaulting people with plungers for five whole decades now
i told myself i was just gonna do one doodle, and then the ideas hit me. whoops