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so i made a potpourri with cinnamon and nutmeg and ginger and cloves and orange peel and anise and i have boiled it all day and it smelled so nice i took a sip and the sip was actually wonderful so now i have drunk four cups of potpourri juice and i am only now going to the internet to ask if i am going to Experience The Torments. or if i may have a fifth.
(i cannot quite explain it, but it’s like my entire low i have had a low grade stomachache, and normally i just deal but This Juice helps a little. i am unreasonably fond of it.)
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It's absolutely hilarious that Amok Time is also the first episode featuring Chekov. Imagine being 22 years old working a new job on a starship and when you clock in, the first officer is in heat
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[“When I used to teach creative writing, I would tell the students to make their characters want something right away—even if it’s only a glass of water. Characters paralyzed by the meaningless of modern life still have to drink water from time to time. One of my students wrote a story about a nun who got a piece of dental floss stuck between her lower left molars, and who couldn’t get it out all day long. I thought that was wonderful. The story dealt with issues a lot more important than dental floss, but what kept readers going was anxiety about when the dental floss would finally be removed. Nobody could read that story without fishing around in his mouth with a finger. Now, there’s an admirable practical joke for you. When you exclude plot, when you exclude anyone’s wanting anything, you exclude the reader, which is a mean-spirited thing to do.”]
kurt vonnegut
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the cultural object of the black hole is kind of remarkable. It's almost an anti-God in a sense, a negative infinity. Yeah there's this kind of dead sun that's collapsed into an infinitely dense point, and if you fall past its event horizon you're fucked. Every schoolchild knows this. A black hole can be introduced in a superhero blockbuster without any explanation except for its established look and the name "black hole", and this will be understood as the ultimate natural disaster, which even superman could not hope to defeat. truly S-tier cosmic object
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I’m finished with P.G. Wodehouse and I’m ready for R Rated Wodehouse now
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modern much ado about nothing where the tricking scenes are done using fake pocket dials…Benedick’s like “hello? hello? must be a pocket dial—wait, are they talking about me??” meanwhile Don Pedro’s phone is on speaker as they all talk directly into it
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it must be said the ancient greeks got a little funny with it
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Lark and Bower / Sarah Ward - 2020
During lock down, without a loom or studio, she started stitching small woven patterns by hand, using leftover yarn and a lot patience. What began as a way to keep going became a way of working.
Now, even with her full studio back, she still creates these tiny, time-consuming pieces. They're not made to be worn or sold fast, they're made to be seen, to remind us that weaving is an art, not just something for clothes. She uses waste yarn, old stock, and plant fibers to avoid adding more to the pile of fast fashion.
via @arthunter.me and @larkandbower
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AI industry groups are urging an appeals court to block what they say is the largest copyright class action ever certified. They’ve warned that a single lawsuit raised by three authors over Anthropic’s AI training now threatens to “financially ruin” the entire AI industry if up to 7 million claimants end up joining the litigation and forcing a settlement.
well…darn
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I love folklore so much because depending on the location and era it comes from it's either the most terrifying concept or the dumbest thing you've ever heard
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“But the thing that shocked me the most about Harriet was her cross-dressing. It’s an aspect of the novel that girls today would miss entirely (thank goodness!), but in 1965 Harriet’s spy clothes struck me as revolutionary. Back then, girls in blue jeans and hooded sweatshirts were uncommon, though not unheard of. But Harriet’s high-top sneakers were solely boys’ wear. I know for sure, because I used to beg my otherwise indulgent, liberal parents for them, and they refused, although they bought them regularly for my brothers.
I’ve read elsewhere of women my age who were inspired to keep notebooks and start their own spy routes, eat tomato sandwiches, and leave anonymous notes after reading Harriet the Spy and The Long Secret. At eleven I didn’t particularly like tomatoes, didn’t have the patience to write, and already had a spy route, so I wasn’t inspired to start any of those things. What Harriet did inspire me to do was to experiment with cross-dressing. I used whatever money I earned doing odd jobs to buy boys’ clothes on the sly and then went into other neighborhoods to play at passing as a boy. When an old man in a grocery store called me “Sonny,” I knew I had passed the test. It was remarkably easy to do, and it was as deliciously thrilling as sneaking into Agatha K. Plumber’s dumbwaiter. Over the course of a year, I developed an extensive wardrobe of boys’ clothes, which I kept hidden at the back of my closet when I wasn’t wearing them as my own version of a spy uniform.
It really came as no surprise to me to learn that at the time she was writing Harriet the Spy, Louise Fitzhugh had been a butch known within the lesbian community as Willie. When she came into a large inheritance, she bought men’s clothes and had them tailored for her, vowing never again to wear women’s clothes. I don’t know if she consciously thought of Harriet as cross-dresser, but I am certainly not the only one to have recognized her as a kindred spirit.
Which brings me to the purple socks.
Harriet the Spy fans will remember the Boy with the Purple Socks as a kid in Harriet’s class who was so boring no one ever bothered to learn his name. “Whoever heard of purple socks?” Harriet wonders in chapter two. “She figured it was lucky he wore them; otherwise no one would have even known he was there at all.” He later tells his classmates that his mother wanted him to dress completely in purple so he would stand out in a crowd, but he refused to comply, except for the socks. And, as it turns out, the purple socks do make him stand out in a crowd, not to the masses but to a smaller group of kindred spirits. He also stands out to readers in the gay community, for whom the color purple has symbolic meaning. The purple socks are representative of the details Fitzhugh put into her books that resonate with a gay audience used to reading between the lines.”
kathleen horning
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1. no way... gummy shark real????
2. sweet william
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I think I'm gonna call it Preen. Idk, working title.
oil on raw-ish canvas, 60"x72"
display tbd might do some funky stretching business idk
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In 1970, popular rock band the Kinks released a song where the narrator (young inexperienced man) hooks up with and develops feelings for a woman who turns out to be trans and/or a drag queen. And after a brief moment to process this, he's basically fine with it. Like it ends on this note of continued affection for Lola and with the sentiment that she isn't any weirder than anyone else. In fucking 1970. I just want to appreciate that for a second.
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