#i feel it in my heart

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

An interesting demonstration of how the human brain works.

But also something of a lesson regarding perception, and the unreliability of subjective perspective versus objective reality.

You can be extremely certain about how you perceive the world, your "lived experience," that which you "feel it in my heart." But that doesn't mean it's actually true. And it doesn't mean we have to endorse it, or ignore or outright deny objective reality.

That's a "you" thing, not a "we" thing.

[little-alien-duck]

a comprehensive list of what each of the doctors would wear to sleep

one: looks like ebenezer scrooge with his nightshirt and cap 

two: footy pajamas

three: wears like silk pajamas in some fancy pattern, they also have ruffles

four: does not own/wear sleep attire. he passes out in what he passes out in 

five: normal flannel pajama set (at one point he, nyssa, adric, and tegan all wore matching ones like a family in christmas pictures)

six: one of those cat t-shirts you see at a gas station that grandmas wear and fuzzy pajama pants

seven: we’re back to a long nightshirt here and ace has made fun of him for it 

eight: fully nude (has scandalized companions before by accident) 

nine: tank top and boxers

ten: probably a t-shirt and flannel pants out here looking extremely dad-like

eleven: footy pajamas again 

twelve: again does not wear sleepwear bc he’s wearing that pair of sweatpants and hoodie during the day too making them not sleepwear (checkmate bill) 

thirteen: the same tank top and boxers nine was wearing

[thaliasthunder]

guys im getting canon lesbian piper catch me crying in the club

[gaygryffindorgal]

hpma; elliot evers

“i'll bring him down, bring him down, down ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah a king with no crown, king with no crown"

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[teehee-vibes]

So anyway

Caleb Wittebane/The Wittebro/whatever you call him carves stuff out of wood, right? We see him carving Philip’s mask, and it’s believed that he started the Clawthorne tradition of palisman carving.

So Headcanon that when he was alive, he carved a ton of toys for his kid when he and his partner were expecting a baby. But he never got to see them play with them.

[evenstarfalls]

global can only go up to 999,999,999...if we get to 1 billion boops they delete the website

[gayvbros]

the triad has these matching necklaces

[mostlykind]

my beloved Pickford I too get angry doing work that is well within my job description

[cutter-kirby]

good evening! ripred the gnawer is trans

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

"Anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the alse notion that democracy means that my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge." -- Isaac Asimov

[they-reap-what-we-sow]

'katya wasn't enough for goncharov' this and 'andrey should have abandoned his mission for goncharov' that how are none of you seeing the real issue here, how could why did ice pick trust Goncharov to feed his cats??? the man could barely feed himself if TWO (2) of his competent partners (katgonrey supremacy) chased him around with a sandwich jesus

I hope some cute lesbian (it's sofia) stole the kitties away while Goncharov was getting some from his incredibly attractive wife and ridiculously charming husband

[toruvi]

OMG WHO'S THE LAST GUY THAT LOOKS LIKE LEVI

OKAY SO apparently he's from an anime that's coming out next year called Buddy Daddies???

"Previously teased last week, the main cast, the main staff, a new key visual, and a teaser trailer have all been revealed for Buddy Daddies, an upcoming original TV anime about a pair of professional assassins who accidentally end up taking care of the daughter of a mob boss. "

HERE'S THE LINK IF U WANNA READ THE ARTICLE JKGHKFJDGH BUT IM DEF GONNA WATCH IT??? also the trailer for it is here too

[dearshelby]

honestly fuck tommy shelby and his ridiculously long eyelashes

[trippedandfell]

how far do i have to stretch to make “disaster comes from above” a religious allegory

[nationalharryleague]

Today has been so wonderful and full of joy and just unadulterated goodness that I started happy sobbing in a parking lot

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.