#you even seen the fly? it’s like that

[mf-ladle]

What if Mary Jane Watson was a disgusting fucked up monster spider-woman in another universe? What if the world was made of pudding?

[twanettee]

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Fellow Psych enjoyer!! Im watchin psych at this very moment lol, i know its a tough question bc i dont even have a definitive answer but like, what's your favorite episode?

hmmm well i did very much enjoy the episode where Lassiter & Henry bond over fishing... i also like the episode where Shawn gets kidnapped & ends up on top of a moving car <3

[compacflt]

pics from the airshow yesterday

[hauntedorpheum]

first time people tell a content creator GIVE US MORE ADS

[queenlucythevaliant]

🪆would love one featuring Russian thoughts on God! ✝️

SO. I could have sworn that I've posted "Avvakum in Pustozyorsk" on this blog before, but I can't seem to find it so here it is.

(For context, this is written in the voice of a 17th century Russian Orthodox priest and religious dissident (an "Old Believer"). Avvakum was sent to the military outpost of Pustozyorsk where he was imprisoned four fourteen years, then eventually burned at the stake. It uses this historical voice to reflect on the religious persecution of the Soviet era. Also, it's fairly long, so I've highlighted my favorite stanzas.)

Avvakum in Pustozyorsk The walls of my church are the ribs round my heart; it seems life and I are soon bound to part. My cross now rises, traced with two fingers. In Pustozyorsk it blazes; its blaze will linger. I’m glorified everywhere, vilified, branded; I have already become the stuff of legend: I was, people say, full of anger and spite; I suffered, I died for the ancient rite. But this popular verdict is ugly nonsense; I hear and reject the implied censure. A rite is nothing – neither wrong nor right; a rite is a trifle in God’s sight. But they attacked our faith and the ways of the past, in all we’d learned as children, and taken to heart. In their holy garments, in their grand hats, with a cold crucifix in their cold hands, in thrall to a terror clutching their souls, they drag us to jails and herd us to scaffolds. We don’t debate doctrine, of books and their age; we don’t debate virtues of fetters and chains. Our dispute is of freedom, and the right to breathe – about our Lord’s will to bind as he please. The healers of souls chastised our bodies; while they schemed and plotted, we ran to the forests. Despite their decrees, we hurled our words out of the lion’s mouth and into the world. We called for vengeance against their sins along with the Lord; we sang poems and hymns. The words of the Lord were claps of thunder. The Church endures; it will never go under. And I, unyielding, reading the Psalter, was brought to the gates of the Andronikov Monastery. I was young; I endured every pain: hunger, beatings, interrogations. A winged angel shut the eyes of the guard, brought me cabbage soup and a hunk of bread. I crossed the threshold – and I walked free. Embracing my exile, I walked to the East. I held services by the Amur River, where I barely survived the winds and blizzards. They branded my cheeks with brands of frost; by a mountain stream they tore out my nostrils. But the path to the Lord goes from jail to jail; the path to the Lord never changes. And all too few, since Jesus’s days, have proved able to bear God’s all-seeing gaze. Nastasia, Nastasia, do not despair; true joy often wears a garment of tears. Whatever temptations may beat in your heart, whatever torments may rip you apart, walk on in peace through a thousand troubles and fear not the snake that bites at your ankles – though not from Eden has this snake crawled; it is an envoy of evil from Satan’s world. Here, birdsong is unknown; here one learns patience and the wisdom of stone. I have seen no colour except lingonberry in fourteen years spent as a prisoner. But this is not madness, nor a waking dream; it is my soul’s fortress, its will and freedom. And now they are leading me far away and in fetters; my yoke is easy, my burden grows lighter. My track is swept clean dusted with silver; I’m climbing to heaven on wings of fire. Through cold and hunger, through grief and fear, towards God, like a dove, I rise from the pyre. O far-away Russia – I give you my vow to return from the sky, forgiving my foes. May I be reviled, and burned at the stake; may my ashes be cast on the mountain wind. There is no fate sweeter, no better end, than to knock, as ash, at the human heart.

--Varlam Shalamov

[icewindandboringhorror]

A very interesting cloud formation!

[uncanny-tranny]

A little-discussed practice in injectable hormones is that one must alternate their injection sights. For example, I inject in the thigh area intramuscularly. Last week, I had injected in the lower half of my thigh, and this week, I injected in the lower right.

By alternating where you inject, your body is given more time to heal. This ensures that there is less of a chance for your body to build up scar tissue, which is less than ideal.

[swagging-back-to]

if youre over 17yo and you cant cook youre useless

[talentforlying]

oh yeah. it's all coming together.

[bobtheacorn]

I have a 3 y/o and it's after turkey day and she developed the Sniffles this weekend so today we laid on the couch and binged Mickey Christmas movies/specials and Duck the Halls (2016) was one of them and I just have a couple of questions that I'd like to ask the furry fanfic whump authors that were sitting in that writers room pitching ideas, chief among them....... Why?

[loumauve]

..we'll see about that, Aloy.

[worm-wood-words]

No thoughts only characters with wings

[pebblezone]

Idk how welcome home has overrun literally all of my social media but I guess I welcome it

[buggo-buggo]

chiyo: winged pikmin

kagura: red pikmin

tomo: white pikmin

yomi: purple pikmin

sakaki: glow pikmin

osaka: blue pikmin

kaorin: yellow pikmin

yukari: rock pikmin

nyamo: ice pikmin

[the-golden-ghost]

...There's people who have NEVER seen a bat in person?