Your Daily Click Reminder.

Jabalia… the camp of martyrs. This is what remains of our homes. This image shows the destruction of Jabalia Camp after the occupation forces withdrew. With every shattered stone, thousands of stories and dreams were buried. My family was displaced to the south, but even with the ceasefire beginning, the pain continues.

Returning to the camp offers nothing but scenes of devastation—no shelter, no water, no electricity, no schools, and no hospitals.

My family is living in indescribably harsh conditions. With the war ending and the truce beginning, we desperately need a helping hand to rebuild our lives. Your support can make a real difference—it can provide my family with a place to stay, clean water, and a path to live with dignity.

Every donation, no matter how small, plants hope and restores a part of the life we’ve lost.

Vetted by gaza-evacuation-funds

& by association by bilal-salah0

gofundme.com

Donate to Help my family to reach save out of Gaza, organized by Ahmad Khader

My name is Ahmed Khader, I am 29 years old, and I currently live in Belgium. I a… Ahmad Khader needs your support for Help my family to reac

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🇵🇸🔗Khawla's Family Campaign Update: 20🔗🇵🇸

Only 2 donations in 2 days! Please help Khawla's campaign raise $519 to reach $2,000 by Friday!

Even just $5, $10, or $20 can help push the campaign further to it's goal of $20,000!

If we can get 1,000 people to donate $20 we'll be able to reach the campaign goal as fast as possible!

$1,481/$20,000 as of September 3rd

Khawla is Mohiy's sister, you can find Mohiy's account @/mohiy-gaza2 with his own campaign vetted by @90-ghost .

[tag list under the cut]:

if you want to be removed from the tag list at any time just let me know 👍

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there’s a post about this family with tens of thousands of notes going around but i don’t know how much traction the fundraiser is getting so i’ll make another.

Hiyam Shehab (@hyamshehab92) is a Palestinian mother fundraising to evacuate herself, her husband Mohammed, their sons Zain and Yehya, and Mohammed’s parents from Gaza. the last donation was TWO HOURS ago, and they are still very far from their goal.

please donate if you can and share if you can’t!!!!

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Zaen and Yehya to get out of Gaza, organized by Fahed Shhabe

I am Muhammad Shehab from Gaza These are my sons Zaen and Yahya I write… Fahed Shhabe needs your support for Help Zaen and Yehya

‼️€16,469 of €25,000‼️

this campaign was shared by 90-ghost !!

My friend, I no longer have words left, and I don’t know if words can save a soul hanging on the edge of death.

My child… my flesh and blood… lies now on a ventilator, motionless, his eyes shut as if he’s silently bidding farewell.

The doctors told me coldly:

“Either you pay, or we turn off the ventilator.”As if my child’s life is a number on a bill…As if death can be bargained for.

$2,650… the price of life.

A price I cannot afford, a price I cannot allow my son to be taken from me because my pockets are empty.

Every minute that passes feels like a blade.I look at my child, but I can’t even touch his face through the wires and machines.I whisper to him, though he can’t hear me:“Hold on, my love… Don’t leave me… I’m so sorry… there’s nothing I can do.”

What kind of cruelty is this? What kind of world is this where a father has to beg just to keep his child alive? What justice is there when a hospital room becomes a slow, merciless execution?

My friend, I no longer ask for much just that I don’t have to carry him to his grave, instead of bringing him home.

Please help us… even with a word, even with a donation, even with a tear that moves the hearts of others.

My child is dying… and I am dying with him, second by second.

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Ahmed Hammad Provide For His Family, organized by Casimir Reynolds

My name is Casimir, and I am organizing this fundraiser on behalf of Ahmed H… Casimir Reynolds needs your support for Help Ahmed Hammad Prov

Save him before he fades away… before the coffin closes on my heart.

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #576 )✅️

Verified : @90-ghost

Verified:@bilal-salah0

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the motel room, or: on datedness

I.

Often I find myself nostalgic for things that haven't disappeared yet. This feeling is enhanced by the strange conviction that once I stop looking at these things, I will never see them again, that I am living in the last moment of looking. This is sense is strongest for me in the interiors of buildings perhaps because, like items of clothing, they are of a fashionable nature, in other words, more impermanent than they probably should be.

As I get older, to stumble on something truly dated, once a drag, is now a gift. After over a decade of real estate aggregation and the havoc it's wreaked on how we as a society perceive and decorate houses, if you're going to Zillow to search for the dated (which used to be like shooting fish in a barrel), you'll be searching aimlessly, for hours, to increasingly no avail, even with all the filters engaged. (The only way to get around this is locational knowledge of datedness gleaned from the real world.) If you try to find images of the dated elsewhere on the internet, you will find that the search is not intuitive. In this day and age, you cannot simply Google "80s hotel room" anymore, what with the disintegration of the search engine ecosystem and the AI generated nonsense and the algorithmic preference for something popular (the same specific images collected over and over again on social media), recent, and usually a derivative of the original search query (in this case, finding material along the lines of r/nostalgia or the Backrooms.)

To find what one is looking for online, one must game the search engine with filters that only show content predating 2021, or, even better, use existing resources (or those previously discovered) both online and in print. In the physical world of interiors, to find what one is looking for one must also now lurk around obscure places, and often outside the realm of the domestic which is so beholden to and cursed by the churn of fashion and the logic of speculation. Our open world is rapidly closing, while, paradoxically, remaining ostensibly open. It's true, I can open Zillow. I can still search. In the curated, aggregated realm, it is becoming harder and harder to find, and ultimately, to look.

But what if, despite all these changes, datedness was never really searchable? This is a strange symmetry, one could say an obscurity, between interiors and online. It is perhaps unintentional, and it lurks in the places where searching doesn't work, one because no one is searching there, or two, because an aesthetic, for all our cataloguing, curation, aggregation, hoarding, is not inherently indexable and even if it was, there are vasts swaths of the internet and the world that are not categorized via certain - or any - parameters. The internet curator's job is to find them and aggregate them, but it becomes harder and harder to do. They can only be stumbled upon or known in an outside, offline, historical or situational way. If to index, to aggregate, is, or at least was for the last 30 years, to profit (whether monetarily or in likes), then to be dated, in many respects, is the aesthetic manifestation of barely breaking even. Of not starting, preserving, or reinventing but just doing a job.

We see this online as well. While the old-web Geocities look and later Blingee MySpace-era swag have become aestheticized and fetishized, a kind of naive art for a naive time, a great many old websites have not received the same treatment. These are no less naive but they are harder to repackage or commodify because they are simple and boring. They are not "core" enough.

As with interiors, web datedness can be found in part or as a whole. For example, sites like Imgur or Reddit are not in and of themselves dated but they are full of remnants, of 15-year old posts and their "you, sir, have won the internet" vernacular that certainly are. Other websites are dated because they were made a long time ago by and for a clientele that doesn't have a need or the skill to update (we see this often with Web 2.0 e-commerce sites that figured out how to do a basic mobile page and reckoned it was enough). The next language of datedness, like the all-white landlord-special interior, is the default, clean Squarespace restaurant page, a landing space that's the digital equivalent of a flyer, rarely gleaned unless someone needs a menu, has a food allergy or if information about the place is not available immediately from Google Maps. I say this only to maintain that there is a continuity in practices between the on- and off-line world beyond what we would immediately assume, and that we cannot blame everything on algorithms.

But now you may ask, what is, exactly, datedness? Having spent two days in a distinctly dated hotel room, I've decided to sit in utter boredom with the numinous past and try and pin it down.

II.

I am in an obscure place. I am in Saint-Georges, Quebec, Canada, on assignment. I am staying at a specific motel, the Voyageur. By my estimation the hotel was originally built in the late seventies and I'd be shocked if it was older than 1989. The hotel exterior was remodeled sometime in the 2000s with EIFS cladding and beige paint. Above is a picture of my room, which, forgive me, is in the process of being inhabited. American (and to a lesser extent Canadian) hotel rooms are some of the most churned through, renovated spaces in the world, and it's pretty rare, unless you're staying in either very small towns or are forced by economic necessity to stay at real holes in the wall, to find ones from this era. The last real hitter for me was a 90s Day's Inn in the meme-famous Breezewood, PA during the pandemic.

At first my reaction to seeing the room was cautionary. It was the last room in town, and certainly compared to other options, probably not the world's first choice. However, after staying in real, genuine European shitholes covering professional cycling I've become a class-A connoisseur of bad rooms. This one was definitively three stars. A mutter of "okay time to do a quick look through." But upon further inspection (post-bedbug paranoia) I came to the realization that maybe the always-new brainrot I'd been so critical of had seeped a teeny bit into my own subconscious and here I was snubbing my nose at a blessing in disguise. The room is not a bad room, nor is it unclean. It's just old. It's dated. We are sentimental about interiors like this now because they are disappearing, but they are for my parents what 2005 beige-core is for me and what 2010s greige will become for the generation after. When I'm writing about datedness, I'm writing in general using a previous era's examples because datedness, by its very nature, is a transitional status. Its end state is the mixed emotion of seeing things for what they are yet still appreciating them, expressed here.

Datedness is the period between vintage and contemporary. It is the sentiment between quotidian and subpar. It is uncurated and preserved only by way of inertia, not initiative. It gives us a specific feeling we don't necessarily like, one that is deliberately evoked in the media subcultures surrounding so-called "liminal" spaces: the fuguelike feeling of being spatially trapped in a time while our real time is passing. Datedness in the real world is not a curated experience, it is only what was. It is different from nostalgia because it is not deliberately remembered, yearned for or attached to sweetness. Instead, it is somehow annoying. It is like stumbling into the world of adults as a child, but now you're the adult and the child in you is disappointed. (The real child-you forgot a dull hotel room the moment something more interesting came along.) An image of my father puts his car keys on the table, looks around and says, "It'll do." We have an intolerance for datedness because it is the realization of what sufficed. Sufficiency in many ways implies lack.

However, for all its datedness, many, if not all, of the things in this room will never be seen again if the room is renovated. They will become unpurchaseable and extinct. Things like the bizarrely-patterned linoleum tile in the shower, the hose connecting to the specific faucet of the once-luxurious (or at least middling) jacuzzi tub whose jets haven't been exercised since the fall of the Berlin Wall. The wide berth of the tank on the toilet. There is nothing, really, worth saving about these things. Even the most sentimental among us wouldn't dare argue that the items and finishes in this room are particularly important from a design or historical standpoint. Not everything old has a patina. They're too cheaply made to salvage. Plastic tile. Bowed plywood. The image-artifacts of these rooms, gussied up for Booking dot com, will also, inevitably disappear, relegated to the dustheap of web caches and comments that say "it was ok kinda expensive but close to twon (sic)." You wouldn't be able to find them anyway unless you were looking for a room.

One does, of course, recognize a little bit of design in what's here. Signifiers of an era. The wood-veneer of the late 70s giving way to the pastel overtones of the 80s. Perhaps even a slow 90s. The all-in-one vanity floating above the floor, a modernist basement bathroom hallmark. White walls as a sign of cleanliness. Gestures, in the curved lines of the nightstands, towards postmodernity. Metallic lamp bases with wide-brimmed shades, a whisper of glamor. A kind of scalloped aura to the club chairs. The color teal mediated through hundreds if not thousands of shoes. Yellowing plastic, including the strips of "molding" that visually tie floor to wall. These are remnants (or are they intuitions?) of so many movements and micromovements, none of them definite enough to point to the influence of a single designer, hell, even of a single decade, just strands of past-ness accumulated into one thread, which is cheapness. Continuity exists in the materials only because everything was purchased as a set from a wholesale catalog.

In some way a hotel is supposed to be placeless. Anonymous. Everything tries to be that way now, even houses. Perhaps because we don't like the way we spy on ourselves and lease our images out to the world so we crave the specificity of hotel anonymity, of someplace we move through on our way to bigger, better or at least different things. The hotel was designed to be frictionless but because it is in a little town, it sees little use and because it sees little use, there are elements that can last far longer than they were intended and which inadvertently cause friction. (The janky door unlocks with a key. The shower hose keeps coming out of the faucet. It's deeply annoying.)

Lack of wear and lack of funds only keep them that way. Not even the paper goods of the eighties have been exhausted yet. Datedness is not a choice but an inevitability. Because it is not a choice, it is not advertised except in a utilitarian sense. It is kept subtle on the hotel websites, out of shame. Because it does not subscribe to an advertiser's economy of the now, of the curated type rather than the "here is my service" type, it disappears into the folds of the earth and cannot be searched for in the way "design" can. It can only be discovered by accident.

When I look at all of these objects and things, I do so knowing I will never see them again, at least not all here together like this, as a cohesive whole assembled for a specific purpose. I don't think I'll ever have reason to come back to this town or this place, which has given me an unexpected experience of being peevish in my father's time. Whenever I end up in a place like this, where all is as it was, I get the sense that it will take a very long time for others to experience this sensation again with the things my generation has made. The machinations of fashion work rapaciously to make sure that nothing is ever old, not people, not rooms, not items, not furniture, not fabrics, not even design, that old matron who loves to wax poetic about futurity and timelessness. The plastic-veneered particleboard used here is now the bedrock of countless landfills. Eventually it will become the chemical-laced soil upon which we build our condos. It is possible that we are standing now at the very last frontier of our prior datedness. The next one has not yet elided. It's a special place. Spend a night. Take pictures.

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Yea man just go crazy aint nothing stoping you B)

found my ex’s t shirts in my clothes while I was sorting stuff…. Wanna punch something bc I miss him 👍

Did ya’ll know that I use canva to make my memes

Save my father please ‼️🚨

My friend, don't make me say goodbye to my father. 😭 The only thing left of my family. A month and a half ago, I lost my mother, who was taking her last breaths. 😭💔 I don't want my father to let his last breaths be in front of my eyes, just like I lost my mother. 😭😭 When I lost my mother, I had no choice, and now I have no choice but to lose my father. 😭😭 I don't want my father to die. The matter seems very difficult for him. Do you imagine what I mean, my friend?

I can't write these words, I bleed while writing this, I can't describe and I scream at the doctors and tell them I don't want my father to die, but no one is with me, and my father is independent in intensive care, and his body is completely covered with wires and electronic devices inside the intensive care, and my father lives on artificial oxygen, and his swollen eyes ask me for help 💔😭😭 and I have nothing but pain and tears 😭😭😭

My father is sick with Sultan's disease and hepatitis, and they told me that either you pay to get a battery for the heart machine, or we will remove your father's oxygen and take him out of intensive care, and he will die immediately. 😭💔😭

My friend, please, I am begging you. Can you imagine what it means to my father and the pain inside me? Can you imagine the life I am living? My friend, your donation will save the life of a human being like us, just like each other. We must help each other, my friend.

Can you imagine my father's life shattered and trapped between death or life, just a number on a piece of paper, and my father needs your donation to save his life? 😭🙏🏻

Chuffed

Medical Treatment for Mazen in Gaza

My name is Darius. I am raising money for Mazen, a Palestinian man from Khan Younis who is currently trapped in Gaza with his wife and six s

I haven't slept for days because of the conditions of saving my father. I see my father at the door of intensive care surrounded by machines and wires. My eyes are tearing up because I can't save my father and he is breathing with difficulty. I am afraid. Will this be my last day? 😭😭

Will my life become dark after my father's departure? 😭💔 Will I continue to imagine my father in front of my eyes during his departure? 😭😭 Imagine? Imagine?

When I hold my father's hand, I feel warmth and tenderness because there is no one in my family but my father, and I lost my sisters and everyone who cares about me, but my father is in danger and his last hours could be in a few minutes, my friend, donate when you see this, please, please, the matter is urgent 😭😭

I don't ask much from you. I just want my father to live and be my support. I want him to hug me and feel his warmth and tenderness and make up for the loss of my family.😭🙏🏻

I beg you please my friend please help my father don't let my father go don't let my life be dark I have no one but my father please donate please my friend save my father 🙏🏻

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Verified : @90-ghost

The countdown for the deal has begun and it will start tomorrow at 8:30, but no one will know if he will survive or not because Israel will commit the biggest massacres against civilians on that day, so I ask everyone to donate so that I can stay alive and get out as soon as possible.

Please donate

Help me so that I can rubble my father from his serious illness 🚨

I am Omar Mazen Rabah Hammad, I am 18 years old, with my father Omar, my father is 64, my father has Sultan's disease. I live alone. I lost my family and I live with my father. I am afraid of losing my father. We have lost many members of our family and my father suffers from many diseases. If I don't help my parents, I will lose my parents. I'm afraid I'll lose my parents and stay alone. 💔☹️

I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my parents. I'm younger, if I lose my brother I'll be alone at the beginning of my youth. I hope everyone stands with us. This has ruined our lives and destroyed my father with a disease that is getting worse with this war. I lost most of my family 💔💔

We suffer a lot in our lives here, no water, no healthy food, everything here needs money, and we don't have money. We had shops and we spent and live, but destroy everything there will be nothing left, my father needs medicine every three days and I won't be able to help my father's situation is bad, we need your help, support and donations so that we can overcome the purchase of medicine and food and we want to live as peacefully as we can, but my father is sick and unable to walk. We need money so that I can ruin my father, 🙏🏻

But unfortunately, our house was destroyed in this war and we are now living in tents, Dilapidated ☹️

Now we live in dilapidated tents my father is unable to walk

we are no longer able to provide the bare necessities of life

My family’s future has been completely destroyed and I can no longer live in Gaza. I want to leave it and treat my parents outside the Gaza Strip, so I need $5,000 per person.

I hope that everyone who watches my story will help me get out of Gaza and find a better treatment and life for my father and family.

I'm asking for help and,I hope you help me and donate to me to save my life from death

Donate, even if it's $20

‏I hope you can donate even $20, it will save my father's life ❤️🙏

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Omar evacuate Gaza and help his family, organized by Samy Hammad

I am Omar Mazen Rabah Hammad, I am 18 years old and I live in Gaza. Before the… Samy Hammad needs your support for Help Omar evacuate Gaza a

Share my campaign 🙏

Donate to me please 🍉

Verified : @90-ghost

Thank you all 🍉🇵🇸

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