All 179-244 (or So) Codes That Were Found So Far (no Spoilers)

I will never understand the narrative that people have to stay the same throughout their life when it comes to orientations and identities.

Hey, it's almost like people change constantly and things don't have to be set in stone?

Isn't the expectation that we change and stay changing since we have plenty of life lived and unlived?

People can be queer and not have their identities be forever, cishet people always question about whether queer people are sure about it or if they'll change their mind and it's like, maybe, so what? How is that the worst thing? When it comes to genderqueer people most understand surgery and what it means in the long run but so what? What's it to you, the person that isn't in their skin? Dear gods give it a rest.

If it sounds like the composer is trying to blast you with the orchestra until you're as deaf as he is, it's Beethoven.

If it sounds like the composer might be a vampire, it's Bach.

If it sounds like the composer is trying to set the violins on fire, it's Vivaldi.

Growing up neurodivergent coupled with abuse (mainly emotional) definitely shaped the way I see myself gender wise and existing in general.

I felt like a frankenweenie of a person. A stitched up creature in the shape of a dog that wore a shirt and pants.

It felt like my main abuser, my creator, didn't want me to be a human. That for some reason other children were stitched up with love and fresh flesh in the shape of a human while I was stitched up and patched together with wooden screws and dead flesh in the shape of a dog. And when people asked what the smell was she always pointed to me as if I'd chosen to wear a rotten suit.

I sat stuffed with organs that didn't belong at the table with my creator and others like her and tried to pretend I was made up of the same stuff. Everyone tried to pretend too. But there's a difference between a human's company and a dog. My tail always hit the table in loud thumps until it fell off and I would crank my head to chew while everyone else ate normally. Something always ruined the already horrible disguise. And then the whole table would point out how truly horrible the disguise was. I would retreat to the ground with my ears folded in.

My creator wasn't afraid of telling me how the green mold and cracking of bones were becoming too much of a problem. Most days it felt like she had given up on even looking at me. She had a dog for a child and I knew myself that I was in no way better than a real child. I was a dog. No dog made up for a human. And no human wanted a dog for a child.

I see myself in the mirror and try to imagine a version of myself that's human. A womanly me, a manly me. But I still end up poking and shoving that dead flesh back into its stitch before I get dressed. I know I'm human. I know I'm human, but here's a disconnect between the words me and human.

(Most of my posts have been me talking about my experience with being neurodivergent and having cptsd since Tumblr for me is a place where a bunch of skrunkly humans join and be skrunkly humans for however long this site stands up so here's another post about that.)

Anyways, that's it for tonight I got to scroll all the way back through my last searched tag since my Tumble crashed.

Had a dream last night about a gravity falls game where you play as young Stanley having to sneak around and lie to stay out of trouble with Filbrick. It wasn't really a horror game but it had a lot of horror game-like mechanics and there was a general sense of discomfort the entire time.

The only quest I can remember is one where Stanley gets a bad report card while Stanford gets a good one. Filbrick is out doing business until tomorrow so you have until the morning to try and make it look like you got good grades. There's an option to use white out on Stanford's card while he sleeps and write your name instead.

You could also get future readings from mom, who would give hints on what will happen to you next so you can start setting up lies and stealing in advance instead of scrambling to cover yourself last minute. (If you could figure out what the readings were hinting at. They got progressively more vague as the game went on, going from "I hear" and "I see", to "I feel")

You didn't get to see what happened when Filbrick caught him, it just cut to a game over screen. You could be caught and sent to your room three times before this happens (which ends the quest you're on. Because you failed to lie well enough). There is no way to win. The game would just keep going with scenarios until you lost or gave up

There was a vending machine on the board walk that had warped reflections in the glass that corrected itself when you looked at it head-on

Reminded of someone saying that that was his way of saying "Dude you're gonna follow right after me lol." and that has been in my head for the past month and a half just waiting for the hours to tick by until March.

I don't care what official translations say, I chose to believe "Et tu, Brute?" translates to "What the FUCK, Brutus?"

Beau is Afraid to me is a perfect representation of the abusive relationship between a parent and child.

The panic attacks and disassociation are no new story to the people watching it and at times it feels like it's happening exactly to you the way the movie draws you into the shoes of Beau himself.

The phone call between Beau and Mona is perfectly drawn out. The nerve in Beau's voice and the immediate disconnect between them emotionally are perfectly done. The silence tells you what you need to know, Beau is terrified of Mona and Mona has a hate for Beau that she can't even grasp herself. Disappointment not at the situation but at Beau. At Beau simply because he's her son and she's his mother.

When Beau hears Mona finally admit to hating Beau we see Beau snap. He loves his mother, he believes that she loves him even when he confesses his frustration and concerns in their relationship. He hears the person that practically controls his throughts, his emotions, his living situation, what stree he's on, the money he spends, and even the color shirt he wears hates him. He believes that Mona was protecting him from the outside world in some way he's finally understood that his mother wasn't protecting him. Mona wasn't helping him and she didn't even love him. He trusted her with his life and she hated him. He goes from kissing her legs begging to be forgiven to do anything to be forgiven to choking her.

When Beau is screaming for help from anyone, literally anyone. We see his eyes perfectly reflect the moment he knows no one will help him. He's trapped dying the death his mother planned for him with his feet stuck in the boards and not a single person believes that he's worthy of help or willing to help him. He's completely and utterly alone. Like the version of himself that was curled up crying on the forest ground because he searched for a home and comfort (interpreted family being comfort for him in general) in every corner of the world that the okay in his head could think of and it left him cold and hungry with just the hat on his head. Take this moment as a parallel to him sinking in the boat. He's searched in all the places his mother allowed him to search for some form of comfort from her and he's left without her love or her help in the end. Deprived of love, blamed by his mother for every emotion she felt raising him and accused of not caring at all. The masked woman telling him about his sins and guilts could be the voice in his head that agrees with his mother or the voice of his mother in general. Finally, we see him drowning and struggling under the pressure he's been convinced he created for himself and the story ends. And it's the perfect ending. It's so fucking horrible and perfect at the same time. My fucking God this movie was amazing.

This potato better bring me a golden potato.

Shoutout to all the children of parents that are abusive one way or another that sat their parents down and watched a movie that was a clear plea for those parents to realize that you needed them to be more of a parent and not an abuser. Sorry if it failed and congrats if it changed something if anything. Y'all did a good job speaking out even if it wasn't your voice speaking!

Hell yeah! Transness is no one way street and it ain't clear as a blue sky.

Your transness is whatever you want it to be with no care or concern towards others because they don't hold your soul. You do.

If an individual trans man did transition as a trauma response to misogyny, or a trans woman did identify as such because it's tied to her kinks, both of them would still be valid. Every reason for being trans is valid. When transphobes bring out those canards, we act like those are hideous things to be when we should be treating them like reductive stereotypes that are one of ten million different reasons someone might identify the way they do. Neither inherently undermines other trans people.

When you say "how dare you accuse me of being a disgusting faker like that" you're playing by transphobic society's rules. Do not believe that you can convince them your masculinity is truly destiny built into you from birth, or that your femininity is squeaky clean.