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adakias.bsky.social
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@adakias.bsky.social
3 followers 11 following 5 posts
'Cause love's such an old-fashioned word.and love dares you to care for
the people on the edge of the night.And love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves
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Reposted by ada
im.a.whole.damn.town
Twin Peaks: Cooper enjoying some damn fine coffee.
Cooper enjoying some damn fine coffee. Twin Peaks S01E04 - Rest in Pain.
January 20, 2026 at 7:30 AM
Reposted by ada
saildraws.bsky.social
#deltarune
January 21, 2026 at 4:05 AM
adakias.bsky.social
everything in life is either an obligation or an expectation. the obligations you cant do much about. the expectations are where you can shake things up. if you want to keep your freedom you need to break expectations. break expectations enough and people will stop having them at all.
January 22, 2026 at 7:40 AM
Reposted by ada
kainonaut.com
I feel like I'm becoming a master of drawing aura farmers
META KNIGHT
January 19, 2026 at 3:51 AM
Reposted by ada
alanrockefeller.bsky.social
A Steller's jay that I saw this weekend at Salt Point State Park, California, USA.

#birds
January 20, 2026 at 9:43 PM
adakias.bsky.social
being sick is like being high if it sucked and wasnt like being high at all
January 21, 2026 at 2:08 AM
Reposted by ada
natcassidy.bsky.social
My mom died five years ago today. Here's something I wrote about her.

1/3
ROBYN GAE LACHER CASSIDY MARGOLIS June 2, 1952 - January 19, 2021 Someone held a knife to her throat and she said fuck you. It was a story we heard dozens of times growing up. The kind of story whose impact is blunted both by familiarity and the context in which it's told. Obviously, we knew she survived the ordeal, so, after the second or third telling, yeah, yeah, mom, this is the story where you were walking in Central Park and someone came up behind you, held a knife to your throat, demanded your purse, and you said fuck you. No big whoop. *** My mom was a consummate Baby Boomer. I don't just say that because, demographically, she was born smack dab in the middle of the classifying years. She embodied her generation's most quintessential trait: mythologizing her past. A childhood in the 50s. Adolescence in the 60s. Young adulthood in the 70s. I never complained about this habit—she raised me to fascinated by the decades that made up her life before the Big Bad 80s, which, for me, was when the time of myths ended and Actual Life began. I was always glad to hear the hits. The time her classroom was told Kennedy was shot. The time she watched The Beatles on Ed Sullivan. The time she watched men walk on the moon. The time she marched on Washington. The time Nixon resigned. Her myths weren't always writ on such large canvas, either. There were the more personal, intimate ones. Her first, brief marriage to a young hippie fisherman. The times?) she did acid and went cliff-diving off the coasts of Maine. The time she was beaten with a hammer for dating someone who wasn't white. The time she ran away and lived in Washington Square Park until a bit of stray graffiti gave her location away to her older sister, who'd been tasked with finding her. (Her name was Robyn and she drew her eponymous bird on a wall, a dead giveaway to those looking for her. It's a story detail so perfect, honestly, it really is like something out of a fairy tale. In fact, whenever I get around to getting a tattoo, I know that's the image I'm going to choose. But I always wanted her to draw it for me, and by the time I had the idea her motor skills were degraded to the point that that wasn't going to be an option—a story detail so anticlimactic, it can only be something out of Actual Life.) *** Sometimes myths are etiological-here's why the sun rises, here's why the sea is foamy. Sometimes they're just entertainment-here's why Troy isn't a place anymore, here's a cool way to kill a monster. But that's all genre; as a genre writer myself, I can attest that genre's nothing more than a fancy word to help you organize your bookshelves. However you classify them, what every myth really is is part of an index. A key ingredient to a person's identity. A point on a map to trace your finger along. You Are Here. Here There Be Dragons. This Way to the Food Court.
January 19, 2026 at 9:38 PM
adakias.bsky.social
sometimes things do not last.. they play their part in your life and then continue on. no point in fretting
January 20, 2026 at 12:31 AM
Reposted by ada
nakedpastor.bsky.social
STORM ALERT: This is my watercolor print We Grew Through Storms. I love watching storms, but I don't love being in the middle of them. Like many of us are right now. We can never predict how we are going to fare. But looking back we can say we've grown. So my hope is we will become better.
January 19, 2026 at 11:56 PM
adakias.bsky.social
je ne se qwah
January 20, 2026 at 12:18 AM
adakias.bsky.social
im so mallpilled. they're calling me the foodcourtmaxer
January 20, 2026 at 12:03 AM