someone doesnt want to face the day
us @baileypayne
@thingonethingtwo FACTS!
Mike Driver
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styofa doing anything
tumblr dot com
Peter Solarz
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wallacepolsom

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if i look back, i am lost
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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Love Begins

Kaledo Art
dirt enthusiast

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@baileypayne
someone doesnt want to face the day
us @baileypayne
@thingonethingtwo FACTS!
behold the takeover of the trending hashtag #INeedStraightPrideBecause
Love the sarcasm
The thing I hate most about depression is that it tricks you into thinking you don’t have depression. It makes you think that nothing is wrong with you, that you just feel this way because you lack value as a person. Whether that’s in your relationships, your academics, or a view of yourself, it makes you think you aren’t good enough for any of that.
“It’s not the illness,” it says, “You feel this way because it’s who you are.”
Truth.
Sometimes i. forget Gender exists until i am Gendered in public. Startles me every tiem
For a very long time, people couldn't have imagined a circus without horses, elephants, monkeys and lions. But recently, Circus Roncalli has
Unzipped by Alex Chinneck
British sculptor Alex Chinneck has ‘Unzipped’ the façade of a building in Milan as part of the city’s Design Week festivities. To create the dramatic effect, Chinneck created a totally new elevation in the style of traditional Milanese architecture, which appears to open up to reveal the building’s interior. the interior spaces, on the other hand, are radically transformed through unexpected ‘openings’ in the cement pavement and stone walls.
Blowjob? or handjob?
full time job with health care benefits
Can’t believe Bram Stoker once sent a 2000-word fan letter to Walt Whitman which included his exact height, weight and how much he loved his poems and wanted to be friends with him, and that Whitman wrote back saying he liked his letter and hoped they could meet some day, how cute is that
And then he finally got to meet him and Stoker said “I found him all that I had ever dreamed of, or wished for in him” HOW CUTE IS THAT
bram stroker just mailed walt whitman his grindr profile just like that huh
Ok, I went to look this up, and it is amazing. Bram Stoker actually wrote this long-ass stream of consciousness letter that spanned about 2000 words and which–judging by most sites–had 0 paragraph breaks and just went on and on about his Feelings. He then proceeded to keep that letter in his desk for four years because he was too shy to send it. He finally sent it, along with a slightly less rambly letter, on fuckin Valentine’s day in 1876. In it are such wonders as:
If I were before your face I would like to shake hands with you, for I feel that I would like you. I would like to call you Comrade and to talk to you as men who are not poets do not often talk. I think that at first a man would be ashamed, for a man cannot in a moment break the habit of comparative reticence that has become a second nature to him; but I know I would not long be ashamed to be natural before you. You are a true man, and I would like to be one myself, and so I would be towards you as a brother and as a pupil to his master. In this age no man becomes worthy of the name without an effort. You have shaken off the shackles and your wings are free. I have the shackles on my shoulders still—but I have no wings.
[…]
If you care to know who it is that writes this, my name is Abraham Stoker (Junior). My friends call me Bram. I live at 43 Harcourt St., Dublin. I am a clerk in the service of the Crown on a small salary. I am twenty-four years old. Have been champion at our athletic sports (Trinity College, Dublin) and have won about a dozen cups. I have also been President of the College Philosophical Society and an art and theatrical critic of a daily paper. I am six feet two inches high and twelve stone weight naked and used to be forty-one or forty-two inches round the chest. I am ugly but strong and determined and have a large bump over my eyebrows. I have a heavy jaw and a big mouth and thick lips—sensitive nostrils—a snubnose and straight hair. I am equal in temper and cool in disposition and have a large amount of self control and am naturally secretive to the world. I take a delight in letting people I don’t like—people of mean or cruel or sneaking or cowardly disposition—see the worst side of me. I have a large number of acquaintances and some five or six friends—all of which latter body care much for me.
[…]
It is vain for me to try to quote any instances of what thoughts of yours I like best—for I like them all and you must feel that you are reading the true words of one who feels with you. You see, I have called you by your name. I have been more candid with you—have said more about myself to you than I have ever said to any one before. You will not be angry with me if you have read so far. You will not laugh at me for writing this to you. It was with no small effort that I began to write and I feel reluctant to stop, but I must not tire you any more. If you ever would care to have more you can imagine, for you have a great heart, how much pleasure it would be to me to write more to you. How sweet a thing it is for a strong healthy man with a woman’s eyes and a child’s wishes to feel that he can speak so to a man who can be if he wishes father, and brother and wife to his soul. I don’t think you will laugh, Walt Whitman, nor despise me, but at all events I thank you for all the love and sympathy you have given me in common with my kind.
Three weeks later–which, considering the speed of transatlantic mail at the time, pretty much means immediately–Walt Whitman wrote back. He had, at the time, been recovering from a paralytic stroke three years earlier that had left him, in his own words, “entirely shattered—doubtless permanently, from paralysis and other ailments,” but he still found the time to respond with a much briefer but still very affectionate letter, the opening paragraph of which read as follows:
My dear young man, Your letters have been most welcome to me—welcome to me as Person and as Author—I don’t know which most—You did well to write me so unconventionally, so fresh, so manly, and so affectionately, too. I too hope (though it is not probable) that we shall one day meet each other. Meantime I send you my friendship and thanks.
[letter source]
Despite Whitman’s parenthetical remark about the improbability of meeting, Stoker did eventually manage to call on Whitman a couple of times some years later, and expressed that
I found him all that I had ever dreamed of, or wished for in him: large-minded, broad-viewed, tolerant to the last degree; incarnate sympathy; understanding with an insight that seemed more than human.
Whitman, meanwhile, found Stoker “an adroit lad,” and “like a breath of good, healthy, breezy sea air.” Adorable.
#did walt whitman fuck BOTH bram stoker and oscar wilde?????#i’m so enchanted by this (via wildehacked)
Yes.
Can you elaborate on your thoughts on urban farming/the rich vs poor?
I think there are three issues:
1. Who makes money? (As in, “the big bucks”)
I’ve talked about this a lot with sex and farming, in that even when there is a sizeable portion of female farmers (30-50%), less than 3% of operations of a large scale are owned by women.
As the article said, you could break down who actually makes money from urban farming projects (and vertical, hydroponic, and aquaponic systems especially), by race and sex. Overwhelmingly it’s young white males with access to investment capital who actually make the big bucks, while women and minorities tend to the non-profitable, community-building, soil-based farming projects.
This is a wage gap, and an opportunity gap.
2. Who can treat gardening like performance art, and who does it to survive?
Someone with an MFA and very little practical knowledge about plants can dream up a floating urban garden project, and have all their permits expedited and get grant money flowing in.
Immigrant grannies who live in inner city communities and know how to grow everything in their front yards are the ones who are more likely to face zoning violations, resistance from municipal authorities, and run up against architectural controls.
This is not even getting in to issues like gentrification and environmental racism, that also limit access to safe places to grow.
3. Who does the “urban farming is the future” paradigm, serve?
I think languishing rural communities really get thrown under the bus in all this: “urban farming” has a cool factor, whereas traditional farming conjures up words like ‘redneck,’ and ‘hillbilly.’
Rural communities are being de-populated by urbanisation, and family farms are being bought up by mega-producers, and this is something that is dangerous for the food system. It’s only allowed to happen more when agricultural innovation is seen as something synonymous with “urban.”
Moving out on to the land to do sustainable soil-based production doesn’t have the same cachet as building a rooftop project out of shipping containers, even if the productivity may be higher and environmental impact lower.
In essence I think it’s complicated, but it mostly boils down to the actually profitable business of “urban farming” becoming the domain of already-on-top urbanites.
Feels like a Jelly Cam kinda day…
syd tha intellectual
update from Tan Jiu, translated by Yaoi-BLCD. IF YOU USE OUR TRANSLATIONS YOU MUST CREDIT BACK TO THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR!!!!!! (TAN JIU). DO NOT USE FOR ANY PRINT/ PUBLICATIONS/ FOR PROFIT REASONS WITHOUT PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHOR!!!!!!!!!!!
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I am on the floor
WHY ARE AMERICANS LIKE THIS
Obsolete by Peter McFarlane
(via Laughing Squid via Colossal)
The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth, it can lie down like silk breathing or toss havoc shoreward; it can give
gifts and withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can sweet-talk entirely. As I can too,
and so, no doubt, can you, and you.
—Mary Oliver, “A Thousand Mornings”