Breakfast before workout

Take two… Christmas Crack! #christmascrack 🧈🎄

Any other OKC fashion lovers here? I’m really interested in learning and getting involved with the local fashion scene, but I don’t really know where to start. Let me know if you have any advice! I just been talking to a model friend of mine, and we’ve been talking over designs we love and I’m afraid I’ve picked up yet another thing I’m very passionate about. #okcfashion #fashion #localfashionshows #nativefashion

Don’t Scream Together is a 4-player co-op horror set in a pitch black forest in 1993, where your mic is the real monster. You and your friends creep through the dark with camcorders and proximity chat, whispering as you search for symbols, relics, and batteries to keep the tape rolling until 8:00 AM. The forest listens to every sound; cough, laugh, or scream too loud and you either wipe the whole run or wake back up as the thing hunting everyone else. Each attempt shuffles the scares and only moves forward when you move. It hits Steam on December 3. #dontscream #horrorgaming #scary

on making the short film Nemesis by Jeff Richardson

Dead End Film House started as a group of cousins making movies together. Skyler, Louie, and I would sit around and build a story. Often I would take the fir...

lavishmade.com

Death in the mid-1800s was fast, messy, and uncontainable. Wooden coffins leaked and splintered, ground gave way above them, and illness dripped out into the world of the living. In an era of cholera panics and premature burial, one man decided the solution wasn’t a more attractive box, but a brand new machine for the dead. His name was Almond Dunbar Fisk. Fisk didn’t make a box. He made a shell. A coffin that fit the body, crafted entirely of cast iron, with a glass window over the face and an airtight seal. The lid locked down, the body within was insulated from insects, air, and moisture. Decay would slow. Internal gases would build. The body itself became a sealed specimen, neither corpse nor artifact, but a maddening, beautiful limbo in between. Affluent families, politicians, and senior officers clamored for them. Especially when travel was involved, when a body had to reach its final resting place over thousands of miles. Zachary Taylor was laid to rest inside one. Dolley Madison as well. Horror is partly clinical detachment, the detail and exactness of the unnatural. Metal screws biting into iron rim. Rubber gaskets swelling the seal. A glass plate framing a face that could be studied one final time as if under museum glass. Memorial, medical study, and private obsession with outrunning death all at once. You can view it as a matter of public health, of status, or as the ultimate way people wanted to believe they could manage death, with the right engineering. It’s why we see the Fisk coffin in Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein. Perfect set dressing for a century struggling between veneration and revival. It was a container, sure. But it was also a 19th-century attempt to hack time, chemistry, and mortality with human hands. So few remain today. Some rest in museums. Others are still out there, buried under cemeteries, iron ribs still intact, lids unbroken, rooms of stale air preserved around bodies that may be far better off than anyone treading on top of them suspects.