#sebastian — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #sebastian, aggregated by home.social.
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While some YouTubers are begging for likes and subscriptions, Sebastian of Linus Tech Tips first said to 'DISLIKE his video,' and then he talked about liking it.
#YouTube #YouTuber #tech #technology #psychology #Influencer #socialmedia #SocialWeb #community #Dislike #online #Sebastian #VideoCreator
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The #Trump regime considers himself at #war with #latinos. So let's use the #war #laws.
#Murdering #innocent #civilians is a #war #crime.
#Trump must be sued in the #International #Criminal #Court #ICC in #LaHaye.
I say your names :
Lorenzo #Salgado #Araujo, a 52 yo #mexican #family #father, and Joan #Sebastian #Guerrero, a 26 yo #colombian #famîy #father, mursered by #ICE and the #Trump regime : #MURDERED -
VR Troopers BOOM Studios Review: A Neon-Charged Revival With Heroic Swagger
WEPA! Now this right here is how you dig into the toybox of 90s nostalgia, pull out something that could have easily been treated like...
https://comiccrusaders.com/comic-books/vr-troopers-boom-studios-review/
#VR Troopers #BOOM Studios #Hasbro #Power Rangers Prime #Mairghread Scott #Sebastián Píriz #JP Jordan #Taylor Esposito #Taurin Clarke #Comic Book Review #Comic Crusaders #90s Comics #Sci-Fi Comics #Superhero Comics -
Hype for the Future 174C: City of Fort Smith, Arkansas
Overview The City of Fort Smith is a city located within Sebastian County, Arkansas, and serves as a major city and county seat within the State of Arkansas. Today, the community is home to the Art of Fort Smith, the Fort Smith Regional Art Museum, the Clayton House, the United States Marshals Museum, Miss Laura’s Brothel Museum, Butterfield Stage’s “City Hotel” Station, the Fort Smith Trolley Museum, the Fort Smith Museum of History, and Old Fort Smith. Old Fort Smith, by the way, […]https://novatopflex.wordpress.com/2026/04/23/hype-for-the-future-174c-city-of-fort-smith-arkansas/
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Aujourd'hui on se défoule et on danse jusqu'à l'épuisement avec SebastiAn.
#2019 #SebastiAn
https://www.aaadmusique.fr/sebastian-%c2%b7-beograd/ -
"Kiss the Girl" is a song written by lyricist #HowardAshman and composer #AlanMenken for #WaltDisneyPictures' animated film #TheLittleMermaid (1989). Originally recorded by American actor #SamuelWright in his film role as #Sebastian, "Kiss the Girl" is a romantic #calypso #loveSong; the song's lyrics encourages Prince Eric to kiss #Ariel before it's too late. "Kiss the Girl" had a mostly positive reception. The song was nominated for both an #Academy.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BNpW7cxzrw -
🎨💻 Behold, a blog post where #Sebastian #Aaltonen, the self-proclaimed #graphics guru, spends 30 years of graphics #wizardry telling us there's no #magic API! 🚫✨ Spoiler: it's as exciting as watching paint dry in a #virtual #world. 🎮👀
https://www.sebastianaaltonen.com/blog/no-graphics-api #API #tech #humor #HackerNews #ngated -
Emy Bernecoli #violin
Elia Andrea Corazza #pianoMusic by Max #Reger #Johann #Sebastian #Bach #Elia #Andrea #Corazza #Ottorino #Respighi
#Live #Recording, 16 May 2023
Weiden in der Oberpfalz, Germany
#classicalmusic #music #release #chambermusic #acousticmusic #classic #vivaldi #corazza
#live #recording -
finished icon comm for @Bunny_Bitez 😊:sapphic_heart::lesbian_heart:
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"Kiss the Girl" is a song written by lyricist #HowardAshman and composer #AlanMenken for #WaltDisneyPictures' animated film #TheLittleMermaid (1989). Originally recorded by American actor #SamuelWright in his film role as #Sebastian, "Kiss the Girl" is a romantic #calypso #loveSong; the song's lyrics encourages Prince Eric to kiss #Ariel before it's too late. "Kiss the Girl" had a mostly positive reception. The song was nominated for both an #Academy.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BNpW7cxzrw -
CW: uspol
(21 Apr) At the first whiff of power, these Republicans betrayed the rule of law
Every day the Trump regime tramples the rule of law makes Americans less free and less s...
https://s.faithcollapsing.com/tjw2f
Archive: ais: https://archive.md/wip/H8RR0#house-speaker-mike-johnson #opinion #politics #president-donald-trump #president-nayib-bukele #sebastian-gorka #secretary-of-state-marco-rubio #supreme-court #vice-president-jd-vance
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My Next Door Neighbor is a Vampire
“My next door neighbor is vampire,” Rivi tells me.
“Keeps late hours?” I ask.
“No,” Rivi says. “She’s an actual vampire.”
We are sitting on the front porch of the house Rivi shares with Boone and Tina. The sun is out today for what feels like the first time in weeks, which is a welcome change from the endless gray we’ve been caught up in as winter refuses to go away. If there’s such a thing as vampire weather, I doubt that today would be what I would classify it as.
“I know that I’m going to regret asking you this,” I say, “but how do you know she’s a vampire?”
“She told me,” Rivi says. “Duh.”
“Duh. Of course.”
She points across the street at a small green house that sits just alongside the river that flows through the center of town. “That’s her place there. Her name is Miette. She’s a hundred and fifty-six years old.”
“A hundred and fifty-six? She must look like a shriveled apple person.”
Rivi punches me in the arm. “She’s a vampire, dumbass. She looks young and hot.”
“Duh,” I say, rubbing my arm.
“Duh.”
“So how did you meet this vampire?” I ask.
“I was sitting out here night before last eating Skittles, and she was out digging in her garden.”
“Gardening at night. How very R.E.M. of her.”
“That’s what I said! So of course I had to go over and see what she was doing.”
“Very brave of you,” I say. “Going into the vampire’s lair to check out her vegetable garden.”
“I didn’t know she was a vampire then,” Rivi says. “I mean, that wouldn’t have stopped me going over, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I agree. I peer at the green house—the vampire house—and find
nothing unusual about it. It’s very well kept, and looks very inviting. Just what a vampire house would look like, I think. Lure you right in with all of its hominess and cuteness.“So I say hi and introduce myself. She says her name is Miette, and that she’s trying to get the rest of her garlic bulbs in the ground, even though it’s probably too late for them to come up this year.”
“Garlic,” I say. “In a vampire’s garden.”
“Hey, just because she’s a vampire doesn’t mean she doesn’t like garlic.”
“I don’t know, Rivi. I’m pretty sure all the vampire literature says that vamps hate garlic.”
“Don’t believe everything you read on the internet, Sebastian,” she says.
“It’s a hundred and fifty years of literature, but whatever. Go on.”
“So we get to talking, and pretty soon I’m helping her dig in the dirt, because you know me. Always helpful.”
“That is not the you that I am familiar with, but please continue.”
“She’s from Quebec originally, she says, but she moved to Maine about fifty years ago. Lived on the coast for a while, but felt it was a little too stereotypical being on a cliff overlooking the sea. Too goth, but not in a cool way. So she moved here in 2015, bought her house from an old couple looking to relocate to Florida, and the rest is vampire history.”
“About that,” I say. “How exactly did the whole vampire thing come up in the line of conversation? You didn’t cut your finger on a trowel and let her suck on it, did you?”
“There was no sucking of anything involved, thank you very much. You’re such a pig.”
“Vampires are known for sucking, Rivi,” I say. “Also, I am not a pig.”
“Oink oink,” she says. “Miette just brought it up in conversation. Said that I seemed cool and she figured that if I was going to be living across the street from a vampire, I probably should know what the deal is. So I don’t think she’s rude if she’s turning down invitations for brunch or afternoon dips in the kiddie pool in the yard.”
“She’d need a lot of SPF in her sunscreen.”
“It’s cool. I’m a night owl. I’m sure we’ll get a lot of hanging out time together once the sun goes down. About time I made a friend in this town anyway.”
“A friend who is a vampire.”
“Don’t be racist, Sebastian.”
“I am not being racist, Rivi. I just don’t believe in vampires.”
“Well they believe in you.”
“Do they.”
“Of course they do,” she says. “I told Miette all about you. She’s looking forward to having you for dinner.”
I lean back in my chair. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re making a joke or not.”
Rivi pats me on the knee. “It’s just a little nibble, Sebastian.”
“I’m not being nibbled on by your vampire Québécoise, Rivi.”
“Just a little nibble,” she says. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Wait, did she nibble on you?”
“None of your beeswax,” Rivi says. “But maybe. She didn’t break the skin, though, so she says I’m not going to turn into a vampire or anything.”
“Oh, good,” I say. “I was worried there a second.”
“You were?” she asks.
“Of course not. There’s no such thing as vampires.”
“Yes, there is.” She points across at the green house. “There’s one living right in there right now.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say.
“Totally racist,” Rivi says, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest.
“It’s not racist to not believe in vampires.”
“That’s just what a racist would say.”
I look up at the vampire house (because now I’m going to be calling it that forever), and for just a second I think I see a curtain in a window on the top floor crack open, and then fall closed again. Because someone lives in that house, I think. And it’s not a vampire.“If anybody in this town has a friend who is a vampire,” I say, staring at the window, “it would have to be you.”
“S’what I said,” Rivi tells me. “You’ll see. You’ll meet her pretty soon.”
“Can’t wait. I can ask her all about her time in Canada. How she became a vampire. It’ll be a real interview. With. A. Vampire.”
Rivi punches me in the arm again. “Racist.”
“Shut it.”
About seven hours until sunset.
Guess I need to keep track of these things now.
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Review: Sebastian – “controversial and compelling.” Read it here https://bit.ly/42iYsGH by @FrankieWriter
In UK and Irish cinemas today.
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🇺🇦 #NowPlaying on #BBC6Music's #LaurenLaverne
SebastiAn:
🎵 Love In Motion (feat. Mayer Hawthorne) -
Zombie Chickens and Poultrygeists
Rivi and I are sitting on the porch at Boone and Tina’s new house, where they have given Rivi a temporary (or permanent, because who can really say) room in which to live. I have been over helping them to unpack, which has mainly consisted of carrying boxes up a flight or two of stairs, or down into the basement. I have been reminded just how much I hate moving, but I do it without complaint. I’m just happy to have my friends close by again.
“I haven’t seen any ghosts in the house yet,” Rivi says. “I’m very disappointed.”
“You will,” I assure her. “This house is almost as old as ours is. I promise you people have died in it.”
“They better have, or I’m moving back to California.”
I lean forward in my chair. “Listen, child, and I’ll tell you a Stephen King Country story that happened just yesterday at our house.”
“Is it scary?” she asks.
“Don’t know yet. Have to wait and see. Want to hear it or not?”
“Of course I do,” she says. “Spill.”
“So yesterday, as it’s starting to creep over into sunset, Hunter and I are sitting on the porch, because it’s forty-five degrees outside for a change, and we’re enjoying the warmth after weeks of sub-freezing temperatures. There’s still a foot of snow on the ground…”
“As I can see from where I sit,” Rivi interrupts.
“… and it’s super misty, because the warm air is bringing all that moisture up from the snow. It’s really pretty, and it’s really quiet, since we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Not like this nowhere,” she says.
“You live on a corner in a town, right on the street. It’s not the middle of nowhere. Shut up and let me tell the story.”
“Fine. Grump.”
“So we’re sitting on our porch, and Hunter looks out across the field and says, ‘Is that a chicken?’ I look where she’s looking, and sure enough, there’s a chicken walking across the snow, a fat, fluffy hen.
“‘Yep,’ I say. ‘That’s a chicken.’
“’Is it one of ours?’ she asks. The coop with our chickens is on the other side of the property, so it’s doubtful that one of them has come over here. It’s still too snowy for them to want to leave their run, and they hardly ever travel unless it’s in a group. The chicken we are looking at in the field is a breed called a Lavender Orpington, and until a month ago, we had two of them. One of them died back in early February, one of those mysterious chicken deaths which seem to just happen sometimes, where you have no idea what the cause is. As is our tradition with dead chickens, we put her into an open cardboard box and set her out deep in the trees on the property, returning her to nature. Circle of life, and all that.
“’I don’t think that’s ours,’ I say. ‘I’ll go to the coop and count ours, see if anyone is missing.’ I put on my boots and walk over to the coop, and it’s slushy and wet and slippery, so it takes a while to get there. I count the chickens, and then count them again to be sure: twelve chickens. The correct number. I slosh my way back to the other side of the house, and see that Hunter has lured the random chicken closer by leading her with a trail of chicken feed.
“’All our chickens are in the coop,’ I say.
“’I think…’ Hunter says. ‘I think this is our dead chicken.’”
“Shut up,” Rivi says now, peering at me.
“I’m not making this up,” I say. “Now that I can see this chicken up closer, it absolutely looks like our dead one. I know that chickens all look alike to people who don’t keep chickens, but you can definitely tell them apart when you see them every day. This chicken that is pecking at the feed by our porch is the same one that was dead, that I put in a box and carried out into the woods.”
Rivi punches me in the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday? I would have come right over!”
“It was getting dark,” I say. “There wasn’t time to mess around.”
“So what happened next?” she asks.
“I went back to the coop to get the chicken hospital. It’s an old dog crate that we use when we have to quarantine chickens for whatever reason. It’s too big to carry in all the ice and snow, so I just grabbed one end and dragged it across the property, while Hunter kept the zombie chicken occupied with food pellets. When I got close enough, we herded her up onto a snow pile, and then I grabbed her and we stuck her in the hospital.”
“Your dead chicken is now and alive and in the hospital,” Rivi says.
“And the hospital is in the mud room today, because we’re still working out where to keep her until we can reintroduce her to the flock.”
“Your dead chicken, who is now a zombie, is going to be put in with the rest of the alive, not-zombie chickens,” Rivi says.
“More or less,” I say. “I swear to you this chicken was dead when I put her in a box. And even if she was just in a coma or something, it’s been nearly a month. We’ve had negative temperatures, wind chills in the minus twenties, and anything that she could eat is under a foot or two of snow. I have no idea how this chicken survived.”
“And you’re going to put her into the coop with the normal alive chickens,” Rivi says. “This really is Stephen King Country.”
“Right? Do you see what you’re living in now?”
“This is the sexiest place I’ve ever lived,” she says. “Even if it is in the middle of nowhere.”
“You’re not going to be bored,” I assure her.
“I guess not.”
“Might be eaten by zombie chickens, though.”
“Show me a good time, Sebastian,” Rivi says. “Show me a good time.”
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Timothy Hutton Popsicles
What’s the temperature, Kenneth? Rivi texts me.
12 degrees right now, I text back. With a wind chill of -11.
Her typing indicator winks an ellipses at me for what feels like thirty seconds, then pauses, then goes again for another thirty. Finally, her message pops up on the screen: Fuck.
Still looking forward to moving? I ask.
I am going to die, she says.
You won’t die. You’ll just have to get a good jacket. And gloves. And a hat. And a scarf. And long underwear.
I’ll be dead and frozen in a block of ice like Encino Man.
Jesus, Rivi. That’s a deep cut.
It was either that or Iceman, but nobody really makes Timothy Hutton references anymore.
You’re a walking Wikipedia, I text.
It’s a living. Except nobody pays me to do it. So I guess that means it’s a hobby. Now I’m even more depressed. Thanks a lot, Sebastian.
It’s winter in the wood of Maine, I text. It gets cold here. You just bundle up when you go out and try to stay inside as much as possible.
I’m a California girl, Sebastian.
Who hates the sun. You’ll be fine. We won’t let you freeze to death.
Promise?
Scout’s honor, I text.
I don’t know if I’m ready for this.
You’re going to be here in about two weeks. You’re going to need to get ready pretty quickly.
There’s a long pause before her next message comes through. Am I making a mistake coming out there?
You’ll have to decide that on your own, Rivi. I love it here. Hunter loves it here. It’s the most peaceful place I’ve ever lived in. I think you’ll adjust, but if you’re going to change your mind, you need to do it really, really soon.
That’s not helpful, she texts. You’re supposed to tell me what to do.
I never tell you what to do, I text. You always do your own thing anyway, no matter what anybody else says.
Crap. I forgot. I am kind of like that, aren’t I?
Completely. But hey, cheer up: I just checked and the wind chill is only -10 right now.
Shorts and sandals weather, she texts.
Positively tropical.
I’m going to die, she texts again.
Maybe, I reply. But look on the bright side: at least you’ll leave a good looking corpse until the spring thaw.
It’s the little things, Sebastian.
It truly is, Rivi.
Goodbye, Sebastian.
Goodbye, Rivi.
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Perpetual Drama Machine
“The power’s out,” Rivi says, on the other end of the phone line. “My madness is beginning to set in.”
“Your madness set in years ago,” I say. “That ship has sailed, hit an iceberg, sunk, and was swallowed by a sea monster way before today.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” she says. “I’m a delicate flower right now.”
“I apologize. Sincerely. With much sorriness. So much of it. Maybe you should call the electric company while your phone still has a charge, instead of wasting it talking to me.”
“You’re the one who lives in the woods, Sebastian,” Rivi says. “I thought you might have some tips or something to help me survive.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Out here, we have a generator, and a couple of cans of gas in the shed.”
“I don’t have a shed,” she says. “Or a generator.”
“Of course you don’t. Nobody in an apartment in San Francisco has a generator.”
“I barely have an apartment. It’s all in boxes, Sebastian. Boxes. This is worse than living in a Stalinist gulag.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I say.
“It’s bad. So bad. So very, very bad.”
“I see you didn’t pack your drama up yet, at least.”
Rivi ptthbts. “I’m dying from lack of electricity and all you can do is pick on me.”
“You need to toughen up a little bit before you get here. You’re going to lose power where you guys are at the new place. There’s no escaping it. How long has your power been out right now?”
“Forever,” she groans. “Fifteen minutes, at least.”
“Fifteen.”
“At least.”
I sigh. “First storm we had after we moved here, it was a week before the power company hooked us back up again.”
“I. Will. Die.”
The house creaks around me, and I look out the window, watching the birch trees bending in the wind of the latest incoming storm. “You won’t die. Boone and Tina will have a generator.”
“Is it too late to change my mind about this whole moving thing?” Rivi asks.
“Well, did you give your landlord your notice on the apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s too late. You’re stuck.”
She groans again. “When I’m dead, cremate me and keep my ashes in a box next to all the ones that have your dead cats in them.”
“I swear, you’re not going to die.”
“An ash party,” she says. “Put my hand in a little plaster mold and set it next to the kitty paw prints.”
“Rivi, hang up your phone and go for a walk. Go to the beach. Do something that doesn’t involve electricity.”
“I could sit here and cry,” she says. “Like a sad girl in the twelfth century.”
“Do you have the plague?” I ask. “Do you have cholera? No, you do not.”
“I might.”
“Rivi, you do not. Hang up the phone. Go look at the ocean. You might not see the Pacific for a while after you move. Might as well get your fill of it while you can.”
“They didn’t have the Pacific in the twelfth century,” she says. “More things to cry about.”
The house creaks again, and a swirl of fresh falling snow blows past the window. “Rivi, I have to go make sure the generator is gassed up. There’s a storm coming in.”
“No antibiotics, no electricity, no Pacific Ocean,” she says. “Just the plague and cholera and the Spanish Inquisition.”
“They didn’t have the Spanish Inquisition in the twelfth century either.”
“I shall go to the ocean and just keep walking out into it until the waves cover my head and I am consigned to the deep.”
“Rivi,” I say.
“Sebastian,” she replies.
“Please don’t forget to pack your drama before you move. It would be a shame for you to leave it behind.”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “You know me. I can always make more.”
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My phone buzzes with a call while Hunter and I are in Grossett’s General Store, grabbing cheese sticks and pizza slices. I pull it out of my pocket and see that it’s Tina, in another time zone from us, three hours behind.
“Hey,” I say, answering the call. “How’s tricks on the left coast?”
“Tricks are pretty good,” she says. “Our offer on the house was accepted, so it’s just getting paperwork signed now, in blood most likely.”
“Holy shit.” I turn the phone away from my mouth and say to Hunter, “They got the house.”
“Nice!” Hunter says. “Tell them congrats.”
To Tina, I say, “Hunter says congrats. So it’s official? You’re moving to Maine?”
“Sure looks that way. The beauty of remote jobs in the last stages of end capitalism, right? We don’t even have to take much time off, really. Boone and I are going to take turns driving, so the other one can work on a hotspot in the back seat. No reason to go totally broke on the drive, right?”
“It’s pretty expensive, moving across the country,” I say. “Whatever you can do to cut the costs, I’d say to do it. You hiring someone to move your stuff? Or are you just going to douse it all in kerosene and light a match?”
“Nah,” Tina says. “It’s just an apartment’s worth of junk. Well, plus whatever Rivi has, but you know what her earthly belongings usually amount to.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Twelve pairs of mismatched socks and some dead succulents, same as always.”
“She’s got ten thousand issues, but at least those don’t weigh anything in the back of the trailer.”
“I’ve helped her move those plenty of times. You think she would have lost some of them by this point.”
“Her issues are like tribbles. They just keep multiplying. I say that because that’s what she’s told me.”
“Too late to change now, I guess,” I say. “So when are you planning on heading this way?”
“Depends on how quick the closing is. We’re saying by the end of February, just to give us wiggle room.”
“That’s insane,” I say. “But it’s a good insane, Tina.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Ask her if there’s anything we can do for them on this end before they come?” Hunter says.
“Hunter asks if there’s anything we can do to help out over here?”
“Not that I can think of,” Tina says. “Keep an eye on the house for us. Make sure it doesn’t fall down before we get there to sign for it.”
“We’ll set up a guard. Keep the raccoons out. It’s right around the corner from where we are now, almost, if you need us to stop and send photos or anything.”
“Just evil eye any four legged vermin as you drive by, and that should be enough. That house has been there for a hundred and twenty-five years, I’m pretty sure it’ll still be standing when we get there.”
“Odds are pretty good,” I agree.
“We’re looking forward to getting out of here, Sebastian. This town is really turning into a garbage place to live. It’s really depressing watching it happen. I keep waiting to be hit by a robot car when I’m crossing the street now.”
“No robot cars here,” I say. “There’s one Cybertruck we see sometimes, but it’s bound to catch fire for no reason before too much longer, so that’s not a worry.”
“Ugh,” Tina says. “I saw they’re calling Teslas ‘Swastikars’ now. Appropriate. Anyway, I’m hopping off the phone. Rivi’s taking me to some new taco joint on 19th Avenue that she’s been dying to go to, which means that not only do I have to pick her up at her place, but that I’ll probably be picking up the tab, too.”
“Eat it up now,” I say. “There’s a severe lack of solid Mexican food here in the extreme northeast. You’re going to have withdrawals, I promise.”
“All life’s about making trades, Sebastian. I’ll trade tacos for less tech bro dystopia. Kiss your wife for me.”
“Will do. Keep us in the loop, lady. Tell Rivi to start paying for her own dinners for a change.”
“Oh, Sebastian,” Tina says. “Such a fantasy world in which you live. Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.”
“Shop as usual, and avoid panic buying,” I reply, an old goodbye I haven’t used with Tina in years and years and years, and had mostly forgotten until just this moment.
I have hopes that pieces of this nightmare year will still sparkle and shine.
I also have hopes that Cybertruck spontaneously combusts and that faeries dance around its burning frame.
Fingers definitely crossed and wishing on a star.
-
Sebastian Schub
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWjZb3Zkz88
#youtube_arteconcert #sebastian_schub #sebastian_schub_arte #sebastian_schub_eurosonic #sebastian_schub_esns #sebastian #schub #arte #concert #arte_concert #sing_like_madonna_sebastian_schub #sing_like_madonna #eurosonic #eurosonic_noorderslag #eurosonic_festival #live #folk #rock #music #live_music
