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The Morning After I Killed Myself
The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.
I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.
The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.
The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.
The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.
Source for more facts follow NowYouKno
Before Pepperberg’s work with Alex, it was widely believed in the scientific community that a large primate brain was needed to handle complex problems related to language and understanding; birds were not considered to be intelligent as their only common use of communication was of mimicking and the repetition of sounds to interact with each other. However, Alex’s accomplishments supported the idea that birds may be able to reason on a basic level and use words creatively. Pepperberg wrote that Alex’s intelligence was on a par with that of dolphins and great apes. She also reported that Alex had the intelligence of a five-year-old human and had not even reached his full potential by the time he died. She said that the bird had the emotional level of a human two-year-old at the time of his death. Alex understood the turn-taking of communication and often the syntax used in language. He called an apple a “banerry”, which a linguist friend of Pepperberg’s thought to be a combination of “banana” and “cherry”, two fruits he was more familiar with. Once, Alex was given several different colored blocks (two red, three blue, and four green—similar to the picture above). Pepperberg asked him, “What color three?” expecting him to say blue. However, as Alex had been asked this question before, he seemed to have become bored. He answered “five!” This kept occurring until Pepperberg said “Fine, what color five?” Alex replied “none”. This suggests that parrots, like children, get bored. Sometimes, Alex purposely answered the questions incorrectly, despite knowing the correct answer. In 2007 at the age of 31 years old, Alex passed away. Alex’s last words to Pepperberg were: “You be good, see you tomorrow. I love you.” These were the same words that he would say every night when Pepperberg left the lab.
Illustrations by Hayao Miyazaki Howl’s Moving Castle (Hauru no ugoku shiro), 2004
That’s so fucking true!
Harry Pottery and the glorious puberty
Jesus christ Ginny wow
is no one else gonna comment how Hedwig was given abs or………
I DID NOT KNOW THAT THIS EXISTS
HOLY SHIT THIS IS BEAUTIFUL
I almost refreshed my dash a second ago. I almost refreshed my dash a second ago and missed this.
OMG I NEEDED THIS
THIS EXISTS?!?!?
🙌🏻🙌🏻🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🏻🙌🏻🙌🏻🙌🏻 Best thing ever made. EVER
Any experience with the Marshall EchoHead?
Sorry no experience with the echohead specifically.That line of Marshall pedals is constructed very poorly though. The shitty stomp switch is mounted to the main pcb and has a tendency to push through when stomped and potentially crack or break the pcb and surrounding traces. This happened to a ed1 compressor I had ages ago and a couple friends bluesbreaker 2s. Maybe they’ve gotten better since then but I’d stay away unless you baby that switch…
I have used the echohead live (to my surprise) for about four years, however I had another marshall stomp box which didn’t last a year so dumb luck with this one? I’m always expecting to have to replace it, and I can vouch for the switch not having the satisfying ‘chunk’ of an EHX, say, and the input/output jacks loosen really easily. If I had to buy again, I’d probably look elsewhere and invest a little more. Although my echohead has been excellent value for money..
charlotte-e93 and I literally eclipsing the rest of the band in Leicester last Friday.
We in kaizenmusicofficial have a new single out tomorrow. And come and like us on Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/kaizenmusicofficial?ref=aymt_homepage_panel
that one time i painted howl’s moving castle ~