ilx posts with striking imagery

i saw mother mac n santa claus

kevin mccallister on the tv, pairing a chalice of milk with kraft dinner. your uncle sips a white russian while his newborn spits up the last bottle. mother sets a pitcher of milk on the table, and you wake up to your subaru interior. with your right foot, you instruct the machine to turn out miles. you grasp the wheel and place the miles between you and the milk.

― accordion folder full of Zoobooks (Sufjan Grafton), Thursday, 9 December 2021 18:13 (one minute ago) bookmarkflaglink

when my gran moved in with my aunt in the 70s mum and dad inherited her freezer and found it full of frozen onions and lemons

― mark s, Saturday, September 17, 2022 5:51 PM

instant classic:

Today, I walked along the south coast, from the edge of the New Forest up into Christchurch. That whole chunk of coast has been monetised in one way or another, from £60-a-day beach sheds to tweely named and eyewateringly expensive seafood restaurants like the Lucky Lobster or the Oleaginous Oyster or whatever. _Everything_ was shut, each place with its own hand-printed elegy/notice as to why. I couldn't even get the ferry at Mudeford (only running two services, one at 10, the other at 5pm in honour of her maj).

Christchurch is, it turns out, the perfect town for totalitarian mourning. It's one of the most Tory places on earth and has a population all in fear of their lives, all ripe for some tea-towel out-the-window action. It felt like everyone was in competition. All the post boxes were decorated, people had blacked out their windows; each restaurant and cafe had huge signs up saying why they were shut. You could totally imagine anyone showing dissent having their windows caved in. It was a bizarre sight. Pretty much the only sign of life was in the doorway of the vast baroque Conservative Club, where an old lady with a frame and a trifle on her head was openly weeping into the street. The station was deserted and the ticket machine was wrapped in crime scene tape so I didn't buy a train ticket home. That one was on you, Liz.

― Shard-borne Beatles with their drowsy hums (Chinaski), Monday, 19 September 2022 17:36 (yesterday) bookmarkflaglink

I had a vivid dream about two weeks ago... Jerry Orbach-era L&O, with Det Briscoe on the trail of some shirtless, leather-jacket wearing cat burglar. When he finally catches up with the perp and his associates, they're wearing "Stipe/Biles '24" lapel badges. "Good luck with that," says Briscoe.

So, there are options.

― Michael Jones, Tuesday, January 31, 2023 6:07 AM (six hours ago) bookmarkflaglink

I also sleep with half a dozen radios and television sets turned on like Roky Erickson. I can't fall asleep otherwise. The idea is to get a bunch of voices talking over each other, either in a languages I can't understand or at an unintelligible volume. And over that, I'll have a couple of devices playing variations of 'rain on attic skylight with heavy thunderstorm', and I'll turn those up pretty loud. It's a delicate balance and I have to get it just so. Absolutely no music of any kind because it holds my attention and keeps me awake.

― The field divisions are fastened with felicitations. (Deflatormouse), Thursday, 9 March 2023 05:58

“Hello, room service? This is going to sound a little strange, but…”

Ticket scalping should be legal-ish but you should have to pay cash to a weird guy in a dirty San Jose Sharks Starter jacket for two tickets a block away from the venue like the good old days.

― papal hotwife (milo z), Thursday, March 9, 2023 11:47 PM

i hope an elephant falls out of the sky and lands on him, and fuses together with his body, so that at his funeral, his loved ones will have to choose between an open casket funeral with everyone seeing his head buried deep inside a dead elephant, or a closed casket.

and because of the elephant and him fusing, the casket will have to have enormous proportions and they will have to pay like 300,000 dollars for it and someone will raise it for them and then steal the money and donate it to an LGBTQ+ charity in his name.

― the manwich horror (Neanderthal), Monday, June 12, 2023 4:09 PM (five hours ago) bookmarkflaglink

Get a six pack of Mountain Dew Code Red, a bag of Flamin' Hot Doritos, settle into your corduroy bean bag chair, and cue up their entire discography on random. You'll be sweatin' and shiverin' no matter what the season

― the absence of bikes (f. hazel), Wednesday, December 6, 2023 8:59 PM

Along with several other Ilxors, I was born during the brief period known as the Gerald Ford era, meaning that nearly all of my memories of that decade are of the "Long '70s" variety that ran through '83 (wood-panel basements and weird swirly lights as room decor, leaded gas, classic rock's last stand on MTV before the Prince/Lauper/MJ era, malls with massive plants near the Miller's Outpost, you get the idea). Tormato, especially "On The Silent Wings of Freedom" (which might be the most 'Yes' song title ever), makes me 'remember' the late-70s, as if they are teleporting me to an era where I get to experience borrowed nostalgia, whether I actually experienced it or not.

― Front-loaded albums are musical gerrymandering (Prefecture), Monday, April 22, 2024 5:32 PM