Random Acts.
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@auntiesuze
Random Acts.
btw it's so fucking stupid you can be anxious physically in your body even after you've decided mentally you don't care. I'm supposed to be in charge here
so today this comment took me out at the knees
idk if this is an usamerican thing or not but it always blows my mind as a small european country resident that yall have many names and types of apples???? what do you mean its not just red yellow or green??? why is it so complicated??? who is granny smith????
'whats your favorite apple' 'red' 'no i mean like what type' '??????' actual conversatiom i've had with a mutual from usa
THIRTY TWO??????
Listen that doesn’t even account for all the weird shit local farmers are getting up to.
May I present the best apple:
the world is so big and beautiful
hey good luck today with whatever u got going on. u got this. and i hope something really nice happens to u today. u deserve it.
- Ocean sunsets -
by Pedro Gabriel
IF YOU SEE ANY PAINTING BY "EMILE CORSI" ON HERE, DO NOT REBLOG IT THINKING IT'S REAL AND FROM THE 1800s. IT IS AI-GENERATED AND EMILE CORSI IS NOT A HISTORICAL FIGURE
examples:
And if you love the vibes and wish you could find something similar painted by a real person, let me introduce you to John William Waterhouse, on whose work the AI was definitely trained:
Corsi is not real
John William Waterhouse official site
John William Waterhouse wikipedia
Ten billion ibuprofen and 14hrs of uninterrupted sleep will fix me
Happy Pride Month! Please don't buy pride merch from box stores or Amazon. Please buy from queer owned shops, and if you are on a strict budget please check depop or DIY before you turn to big box stores
If you're a queer owned business who makes pride merch (or know of some) PLEASE feel free to comment or reblog under this post and promote yourself
I always recommend @nerdykeppie !!
Thank you so much!
Our Pride crewneck sale is still going: Buy 2, Get One 69% Off!
We've brought our standard crewneck tee production in-house! Better quality, lower prices, and the attention to detail you always expect fro
I will make you a Captain Abearica in your pride flag colors.
https://www.etsy.com/shop/onbearfeet
I run Bird Brain Leatherwork. I create a variety of quality leather goods from fashion accessories to collars and more. i’ve even been commissioned to do upholstery before.
Check my stuff out and consider supporting a queer, trans, therian business this month.
Bird Brain Leatherwork is a queer-owned business based in the PNW focused on providing high quality and custom leather goods
So that’s basically how it went down
I resent just how fucking accurate this shitpost is, congratulations OP, you effectively illustrated how Darwin’s Theory of Natural Selection became accepted by the wider public using a FUCKING MUPPETS MEME, here is your A+, get the hell out of my office
Reblogging this manually. Op doesn't want credit for fear of being terminated.
*this meeting could have been an email voice* this cgi could have been a puppet
MAKE NAZIS AFRAID AGAIN!!!!!!!!!
MAKE RACISTS AFRAID AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thousands of starfish had washed up on the beach, and a little girl was diligently throwing them back into the water, one at a time.
A man came up to the girl and said, "You'll never save all of them. What you're doing is pointless. It doesn't matter."
The girl threw another starfish into the water. "It mattered to that one."
The man snorted and walked away.
The girl kept throwing starfish, one after another.
To throw one starfish back into the ocean takes a trivial amount of effort, but to throw ten, or fifty, is much less so. The girl had not learned much of biomechanics, but she began to feel the strain in her back. Her skin had softened from the seawater, and the starfish themselves were abrasive. Her fingers had pruned. Her shoulder hurt. She was cut, twice, on her fingers, as the same storm that had stranded the starfish had also brought up broken shells and crab carapaces. The skin of a starfish was like sandpaper.
She tried switching hands, and could throw the starfish less well, and it wasn't long before she had mirrored all her injuries. She was bleeding, though the blood wept rather than flowing, briefly staining the starfish pink before they were tossed into the ocean.
It seemed as though there were just as many dying starfish as when she'd started.
After three hours, the girl was sunburnt. A passing man had told her that she should stop what she was doing, and had offered her some water, which she took, but he hadn't helped to throw the starfish back.
The girl's hands were cracked, scraped, and raw. Saltwater found the wounds, but she'd gone numb, and her motions became more mechanical.
"It mattered to that one," she thought to herself, "It mattered to that one," over and over, like a mantra. Her muscles ached, but the ache became familiar. When she'd started, her throws had been beautiful things, guided by purpose, but now they were sloppy and threatened to pull her off balance.
She did fall, more than once, landing on sand that was filled with jagged debris, and sometimes she was slow to get up. But she did get up, because there were more starfish to save, tens of thousands of them.
Night fell, and it was harder to see the starfish, but they were still in need of help. She was tired, and the cuts on her fingers had multiplied. The skin had been wet for too long, and in one place, on her palm, where she had gripped a thousand starfish to throw them, a piece of white skin had come off.
Still, she kept throwing starfish.
Her mother didn't find her until after midnight.
"Hi mom," said the girl. Her voice croaked. She had been saying, "It mattered to that one" under her breath for long enough that her vocal cords had strained. She threw another starfish into the ocean.
"You need to come home," her mother said.
"These starfish will die without me," said the girl.
"I know," said her mother. "But you need to come home, because if you keep doing this, you'll collapse on the beach, and like a starfish, you'll need to be rescued too."
The girl stooped down, back aching, and picked up another starfish. Many of them had died by this point, but there were still uncountably many that lived. The rough skin of the starfish grated at her tender skin, but she rose and threw it, arm protesting, and watched it fall down into the water.
Her mother grabbed her gently by the shoulders. "I'm bringing you home," she said. "It would be better if I didn't have to carry you, but I will if I have to."
"I don't want to be the sort of person who leaves starfish to die," said the girl, shrugging off her mother. But a part of her did want to be carried, because she'd walked for miles along this beach, one stooping step at a time.
"I know," said her mother. "But to survive, you have to be. Save as many as you can, but take breaks, get good sleep, eat well. Then go back and save more."
The girl swayed where she was. She was close to passing out, though maybe it was because her rhythm had been interrupted.
Her mother held out a hand, so they could walk together, like they'd done when she was smaller.
And it was then that she noticed the scars on her mother's hands, the calluses and rough spots, the places where cuts had healed. She had seen her mother's hands many times before, but had never asked why they were that way.
The girl slipped her hand into her mother's and began to cry as they walked back home.