mustarintanen - Tumblr blog

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Mentally here

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still thinking about this youtube comment i screenshotted ages ago

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'Nymphs Dancing to Pan's Flute' by Joseph Tomanek, (1889 - 1974)

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One thing about researching world around you is that it becomes a bit friendlier once you know it better. If you see a random spider- you get scared. You see plants and consider them just weeds. You look at night sky and see a bunch of stars.

And then, you learn names.

Now, it is an orbweaver, and you consider them a friend. The greenery around is a laurel, or an alium, or osmanthus, and you know which of them to keep away from, and which of them are great herbs for tea. Now, you look up and see a whole parade of Venus, Ursa Major, or Orion. You now know their names, and, if you respect them- they become allies of yours.

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by heike gerdes

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as the wind blows; antelope valley, california

instagram - twitter - website

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‘A spotted flycatcher pair nesting in the palm of a statue’ (by Zsolt Semperger, original post here)

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''Jealous Moon'', lyrics by Harry D. Kerr & music by J. S. Zamecnik, 1918 Source

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Super fucked up that I can’t be a master-level expert in knitting AND woodworking AND silversmithing AND embroidery AND soap making AND spinning AND -

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Is it just me or does having a positive interaction with a stranger scratch a very particular itch? I think it's the reassurance that the world is not split solely into people who already love you and people who never will.

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Some of your books make it seems like you believe in actual literal magic, do you? ()

I can write down a few words and make people thousands of miles away, whom I have never met and will never meet, laugh tears of joy and cry tears of true sorrow for people who do not exist and have never existed and never will exist. If that isn't actual literal magic I don't know what is.

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2+2=5. "When a lie has been told enough times, it becomes real." Two and two is five. Every morning I tell myself I like who I am. How many times do you repeat the lie?

I don't hate myself. I love myself too. I'm surrounded by myself, hounded by my own cries, caged inside my own ribs. I love myself. My body is my temple but some days it feels like the ruins of Petra. I love myself. I just don't like myself all the time.

On rainy days full of blues, I'm tired of this body, of this mind. 2+2=5. If you could sell all your bad memories, only on the condition you'd have to give away the good ones too, would you still do it? Are you your memories or are you the vessel that houses them? Are you the product of your thoughts or the manufacturer? When you repeat a lie enough times, it becomes part of the truth, expands and births itself anew.

Two plus two is five. Am I the voice in my head or the notes of my heart? Am I the lies I tell myself? Lies of consolation, lies ot condolences. If I love myself, why do I keep seeing my corpse at the bottom of the ocean, on a road, slumped on my chair, buried in the dirt? If I like myself, why do I keep hearing four, four, four? Two plus two is four. Where do lies end and god's honest truth begin? Because lord I'm tired of not knowing.

-Ritika Jyala

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'Jubilee Procession in a Cornish Village' by George Sherwood Hunter

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'Treasure' by Norman Lindsay, 1925

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My cartoon for this weekend’s Guardian books.

p.s. my latest book cartoons collection is Revenge of the Librarians: tomgauld.com/comic-books-v2

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'The Pope and the Devil' from Die Muskete, 1916