POV i’m withering away and the love of my life is acting like i don’t exist
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A Flower Mid-Farewell
By Jeff Stanford, 2026
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or more of my images at: https://jeff-stanford.pixels.com/
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Ţ̷̱̝̯̫̪̦͉̙̙͚̠̥̻̞̎̇͒͗̐̈̀̈͗̀͊͋͆͌̍̐́͑̈́̔́͑́̚͝͝ḫ̶̢̢̨̡̨̧̧͔͍̹̘̲̬̺̗̞̟̦̼͖̘͍̺̱̦̜͎̖͒̀͌̔̽̈̾̽̐̅̒́̅͐͘͘͜͝͝͝ͅe̷̛̛̖̩͖͒̐̓͆͑̀͐͐̉̇͛̽̈̔̇̉̉̉́́̅͛̌̎̑̂͋̎̈́̇̀̄̊̿̀̚̚͠͝ͅ ̶͇͛̏̉̍ẅ̸̨̛͎̣̗̮̬̗͔̝̫̤͎̰̪̞̼̙͇̺̥̜̻̥̯̲̯̥̩̰̜͙̬́̾̾̿̂͐̍̇̈́̑̾́̑̉̋̒̒͛̋̍̔̾̀͋̋̐̂̅̈́̕̚͜͜͠͝ͅͅỉ̶̡̧̦̻͓̭̱̘̮͓͖͉͉͕̠̭͇̦̞̭̝͇̻͖͖̜͙͙̫̙̬̠͈̻̭̀̒͗́͆̋̒̍̓͋͆̇̊̐͘̕t̴̢̨̡̡̯̤̜̖̠̼̫̠̬̖͔̮̤̺͙̦̞̤̞̞̝̩̫̪̭͈̱̰̬̩̪̤̬̥́̀̀̓̉̈́̀̊͗͗́́̔̀͊̓͋͂̀͌̉͊͑̄̒̽̈͒͊̆͌̆̏̈̾̌̑̓͆͗̕̕͜͜͝͝͠h̴̢̢̢͇̟̰̟̭̟̥͙̪͙̖̫͓̻̘̼̭̮̤͍̘͓̣͎̅̎̎͗̓̈́̐͗̈͜͜͜͝ͅͅè̷̛̬͈̲̗̘̙͕̝͔̖̭̙̗̱̺̼͍̱͉̤͎̘̰͉͙͉̭̠̝͔͚͈̍̋͌̋͌̃̽̇̇́͗͐͋̽͒̇̃̐̓́͆͐͘͘͜͝ŗ̵̡̹̣͈̤̫̳̞́̏̀̎̿̃͒̃̑͒͑̿̿́̔̃̂̄̕͝i̶̪̟̲̮͚͕̜͚̤̳̫̭͕̙̻̱͉̬̤̮̖̫͐̂̐̏̈͂́̍͑̔͋̈́̀̾́͆͗̐̉̓̓͑̅͜͠ͅṋ̵̢̢̧̨̨̯̱̦̬̥͔̲̱͙͙̤͔̭͍̥̲̦̹͓̩̣̬͔̻̰̼̫͕̙͈̲̣̲̠͇͕̲̪̌̿̀̓̄̓̎͐͑̔͐̋̀̄̓͆̐̂͆̆̏́̐̉̉͑͌̽̓̔̇̆̎̒̏͒́̚̕̕͜͜͝͠͝g̸̨̨̧̛͎͔̬͙̼̫̖͚̹̳̣̠͔͌̏͌̐̋͋̀̈̍̉̓̍͆̽͊̆͋̅̿̋͆̒̉̊̈́̐́͒̆͒̽̃̅́̌̔̎̅́̀̕͘̕͜͝͠͠͝ ̶̛̖̜̞̫̮͍͎̳̤́͊̋̋̐́̓̋̎͆̉̍̿͆̈́̐̊͌̓͊̾̔̈́̆͒̈́̌̆̔͑̈͊̆̎̽̎͘͘̕͠͠͠ͅì̵̛͙͉̯̣̝͔̣̯̙̜̭̄́̐͝͝ͅs̷̡̡̢̡̨̯̜̫̮̬̘͖͙̫͎̤̥̣̖̖͓̯̱̞̫͉̭̼̥̼̘̼͖̫͇͍͙̫̦̭͙̘̫͉͕̬̯͂̎̔̀̏̈́̃̈̕͜ͅͅ ̴̢̛̲̻̣̊́́́̒̏̍̇͑̽̇̑͂̀͛͊̉͆̀̓͊̏́̇̀͂́̍͗̃̊̏̄͘̕̚s̴̨̧̡̢̛̛̲̱̼̠͔̦͎͓͈͔̖̥͙͚̲͎̝̳̮̗̫͖̫̘̲̮̘͍̪̳͔̣̳̺̯̭͇̝̩̭̏͋̀͐̉͊̐̓̇̀̎͐̊̀͆̃̋͐̏̓̒̀͗̈̉̾̈́͌̆͆̀̋̓̀͘͘̚̕̕͘͜͜͠͠ͅͅp̸̡͍̪̝̖̘͕̫̻̗͙̆͐̆̉̃̌̔́̽̔̆̈̀͋̍̃́̾̋̿̂̐̓͊̇̒̇͆̕̚͜͠͝ŕ̷̨̨̨̧̧̛̛̛͎̗̼̝͍̰̝̟͖̱͂̒̈́͆̿͑̿̃̿̔̽̚ͅͅe̸̛͔̠̙̘̺̘͍̻̭̗̝͓̲͍̼̹͕̎͐̏̇̾̑͛͐͛̊̋̔̀͋̆̍̑͒̓͑͑̎͋̈͆̓̍̀͌͊̆̐̀̉̔̍͘͘͜͠͝ͅa̶͖̘̼̔̈́̽̀̆̏̂̈̔̽̈́̓͐́͗̀̽͆̈́͊̑̈́̽͒͊̀̿̈́̈́̋͗͛͋̋͐̒̉̔̀͋̕̕ḓ̸̛̗̅̌̿͐̔͗͛̈́̓́̔͌̓̍̅̌̓́̿͒̆̊̿̚͘̚i̸̢̡̩̺̝͇̦̝͖̲̱̻͉̗͚̞̦̫͖̮͚̥̩͇̙̞̱̻̼͕̭̼̤͎̳͎̻̻̠̞̞̟̼͒́͐̓̎͒̓̎ͅͅͅn̸̡̡̛͈̻̳̘͖̼̤̣̲͔̭̙̱̳̣̼̦̗̫͓̝̪̱͈͔̊̿̔̓͊̔̐͗̈́̎̄͐̊̌̈͆̽̈́́̈͌̊͗̃̀͐̑̈́̈́͘͝͝͝͠ǧ̴̡̨͍̥̺̩̤̫̟̦͔͍̻̤͉̠̺͙̯͔̩̜͍̱̖̰͕̜͓̦͓̞͎͈̘̣̯̩̱̩̳͚̄̉́̈̔̑̊̓̇̊̓̊̈́͊̀̍͂̎͋͒̋̉̐̈́͗̍͂̏̌͌̑̅̚͘͝ͅ
Ḑ̵̨̜̽̿̉̈́ŏ̷̝ẅ̶̨̳͚́n̸̼̣̉̐̀̒l̵̥̍o̵̡̬̣̓a̵͉̅̄d̷̝̰̂̏ ̸̨̨͒͌͠ṋ̵͑o̵̗̱̲̻̍̾ẉ̷͗̈́̿͜ ̴̞̽ō̴̥̽̊r̷͎̿͠ ̷̣͕̭͂͆̈͠w̵̭̠̲͌̈̈́ì̵͍̻̌͛ẗ̸̫͚́ḧ̴̩͓̟̮́̾̆ë̵͎̫͜r̸̭̣̍͗͠ẽ̵̲̻̿͘d̶̡̯̹̀͑́ͅ ̸̨̳̏̃J̷̫̮͓̞͐̽̑o̵͇̔̄̌ṉ̷̞̗̆a̵̝͉͆ŝ̸͕̓̋͝ ̴̹͎͆w̷͍̤̼̄͊i̵̧̲͙͑͘͜l̶͈͈͚̃̎̾́l̷̲̦͊́͝ ̸̦̥̼͇̐̑͗͝f̷͍͓̻̆̀i̸̻̲̳̔͑n̷̤̙̰̉d̵̢͔͍͔͒̒̅ ̵̫͕̾y̷̧̡̘̜̓̾o̴̫̥̳̿̃̎u̴͉̯̼̪͊ ̷̖̳̱͈̋́
Answer
Hi, Realm! I’ve taken to calling you realm in private because I do NOT want to call you stupid. That’s wrong, and you’re not stupid, even though you post self-described silliness.
I had to take some time to myself when I got your ask, and then when I got the question if I had gotten your ask, because I believe you’re getting ahead of yourself and passing on your overwhelming fear of being critiqued onto other people, and are frustrated that I do not share this fear. You said in your comments you were ready, and you were warned by my intro post, and my long responses, that when I break something down, I truly do like going deep.
I wasn’t “acting” like we’re friends, I think your behavior was always friendly. To me, the internet is a place of innocent until proven guilty. However, I need to address you and the audience because I’m finding something a little concerning in the fandoms that your poll let me talk about. I just answered an anon about young people in fandoms made for mostly white Americans, and I think part of that answer can also be said to you.
Assuming that you’re young, because it is mostly young people who apologize for their lack of liberalism rather than their lack of education, I tell you and other young fans of white-sourced media: it is not me that you are apologizing to. In fact, I am part of the generation that was affected by so-called cancel culture. The fear of things happening to you online is real, but it HAS to be trained with the knowledge that groveling doesn’t look good either.
Explaining yourself away a billion times sort of defeats the purpose of looking in the mirror, listening to your own mistakes, and letting those mistakes become your teachers. If you never make mistakes, if you are forever afraid of making mistakes, if you apologize in terror to those with a different experience than you, you will not leave the conversation wiser, because all you did was put down your ideas and run away. Others cannot explain their perspectives over the sound of you running away in a panic. Trust me, I also had a “say sorry and bolt” phase.
Another issue I see in young fandoms is one that I see here, defending things that you never said. I used the word palatable. That’s on me, that’s intentional, and that’s the word I wanted to use, because of what it means for me, and you, and the rest of the audience.
Palatable means “something people want to consume, are able to consume.” We are all consumers, wanting to consume entertainment. That’s not a bad thing—companies, good and bad, make their stuff in the hope we actually get entertained. You wanted it to be palatable, because in its current state, gatcha gaming and its racism disturbs you. I said that right now, WuWa is NOT consumable to you, even though you WANT it to be. You have standards, and you wanted a way to live with your standards and your love of gotcha at the same time.
I can be excused for assuming you were white, because (unless you meant to type “me and the OTHER POCs”) you chose to separate yourself from any and all people of color in your wording. If you are non-white, then congratu-dolences, this issue actually affected you. I saw you trying to be loud, but I even started this in the first place because I could tell you don’t know your own argument yet. I could tell you didn’t HAVE a perspective, you WANTED one before going about your protesting.
I said what I meant to say after carefully reading and re reading, typing and editing, what I said. I can make mistakes and assumptions like any other human. I’m not holy. But I am a person who wants to write with a conscious, scholarly activist mind. If you didn’t say it, that more than likely means it’s the words I chose to use in order to teach my audience.
Right, now on to the final paragraph of your ask. On this blog I am going to ask everyone to learn the importance to sit back and think.
I dont believe in one person asking for moral absolution to another over such a huge problem as Racism in Games. I can’t prescribe you a certain amount of rituals to get rid of racism since I’m just One Person in a sea of persons trying to speak their ideas. One person and one order, as I said, is a start, but not the end goal. The end goal is community.
Learning about cultures and race is not a hard instruction manual like a LEGO set. Here’s problem three, though I’ll only mention it quickly: The good people of the internet need to learn to not be spoon-fed research. If you want it, you will have it.
You are your own power to change. Ask yourself why you enjoy the characters in these games. Ask yourself why you don’t enjoy the characters in these games. Seek out the words of POC gamers who talk about why they like and dislike gatcha (or any other piece of media actually).
Lastly, everyone, don’t be afraid to truly rebuild your opinion. OP, I commend you for coming here to talk about starting.
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Not many foxgloves this year. Sad as often a great display on the Remutuka pass. Foxgloves have a medical history beginning with its use in traditional European folk medicine for dropsy. Its modern history started with William Withering ( a physician born in Wellington Shropshire England ) in the 1780s. He documented the plant’s effects, transforming it from a folk remedy into a trusted medicine by studying its use for heart conditions. He identified its active ingredients, established effective dosages and est dangerous overdoses, ( the difference is close!), and described the symptoms of overdose, paving the way for the development of modern digitalis-based drugs used to treat heart failure and atrial fibrillation. #foxgloves #medicine #history
ALT
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I appear to have contracted one tonsilitis(?) a few days before my college graduation
Chat have any of you had tonsil issues before what did yall do for pain relief ive just been sucking on honey-based coughdrops and that seems to be working but also im running out and also i cant keep downing these cough drops
Help
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Empty
Have you ever felt what it’s like to hold the still beating heart of your once best friend, turned betrayer and enemy, in the palm of your hand as blood stains your skin and clothes? No? How about the feeling of driving a dagger through the heart of the man you once called brother? What about falling in love with someone, only to find that they’ve been the one you’ve been opposing for years, and you have to make a decision; kill them, or watch your people die? Or going from being loved and cherished, and held like you were the most important thing in the world, to being the laughing stock, the weak link, the odd one out, ridiculed and belittled until your heart can’t take it anymore, and you finally snap, and the only thing you want is death; being either you die, or the ones who hurt you die, with no in between?
No?
None of these?
I wish I could say the same.
From a young age, I could feel it. I could see it. Previous lives, all filled with pain and suffering. Every time I closed my eyes, falling into the abyss of sleep, it was like I was there. Standing in their place. Standing where I once stood, through time and space. I couldn’t change it. I could only relive it. The hurt, watching things I never wanted to see. The pain, feeling things I never wished to feel. Like torture, but when I woke, no scars marred my skin. Only the twisted feeling in my mind and chest, slowly driving me mad.
Yet… of all the physical pain and torture I fell victim to whilst wrapped in memories of lives that may have once been mine, never did I hurt as much as now. Not physical pain, but emotional and mental pain. Simple words digging into my skin like white hot iron hooks. My own brain betrays me, filling me with self-hatred and loathing. The whisper for death echoing through my head, near daily, luring me closer to the edge. The feeling as if I’m going to slip, falling off the edge into the seemingly sweet embrace of death. I pray for it. I beg for it even. But even so, I will not die. Like the universe is working against me. Always one step ahead, leaving me two steps behind.
And I begin to feel this pit. The hole inside my chest. Like my will for life has been ripped from my chest, leaving me empty and lifeless, even as I still breathe. I feel a rage I didn’t ask for, and despair I wouldn’t wish on anyone else. The wish for death coming louder, more clear. Except, it wished not for just mine, but others. And I begin to fear myself. The wicked intent behind my eyes, masked all too well, with fake smiles, and forced laughter. There are times where what feels wrong, is right, and what is right is wrong. So I stay to myself, hiding, covering my emptiness with a mask. A mask so well made, so often placed, I don’t remember who I am anymore.
My lungs still breathe, my heart still beats, but my mind…
My mind is no longer there.
Just…
Agony.
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“Autumn is coming to a close,
and winter is drawing near.
Life is as fragile as a rose,
and mine is withering, I fear.”
— Withering, Danielle Barlow
Picture by (@mushistini)
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dang the quality difference between the writing of a scene I want to work on versus one I’m forcing myself to get out is. Palpable.
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Today’s Haiku with Picture 869
Summer withering
Of grass is the evidence of
Pesticide use
夏枯れは
農薬使用の
証拠なり
(2023.07.09)