Ummm she's literally sensitive :/
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@dierdrick
Ummm she's literally sensitive :/
go back to sleep puppy *holds chlorophyll over your face*
haha yay! *starts making sugars*
i love this post and always reblog it because it reminds me of a game i used to play in the bath tub as a child which was called “plant sugars” and the premise was that i was a plant organism and i had to produce starches to store in my tuber
doing good baby
oh man. oh jeez
Justin Kirk as Prior Walter & Ben Shenkman as Louis Ironson ANGELS IN AMERICA (2003) — Episode 3
1. should we throw a party should we invite bella hadid
2. you people can’t do anything
3. name one hobby you have outside of media consumption
4. I think you guys might be thinking about yourselves too much
5. hard to remain patient with friends who focus solely on their own crucifixion. Get off The Cross, ladykins... we could use the wood!
6. name one toxin/hormone and its function
from @ceruleanfuckup
A recreation of what I saw when I was passing my boss's desk
This whole series is so goddamn funny
fuck, marry, kill: the wound that won’t heal, the past you can’t undo, the ghost that keeps returning
FMK - In order
The wound, the past, the ghost
The past, the ghost, the wound
The ghost, the wound, the past
The wound, the ghost, the past
The past, the wound, the ghost
The ghost, the past, the wound
Variation I forgor/bald/vanilla extract/results
The masculine urge to become a mountain man. Only come off the mountain twice a year to get supplies. Farm and harvest and hunt and build everything else. Talk to myself constantly. Stop coming into town for a few years after the age of 76. The sheriff finally comes up to check on me and finds the door to my shack wide open and my skeletonized body lying in bed, tucked up under the covers. They all forgot my name so they just put ‘Mountain Man’ on my tombstone. Shack left to decay but I’m not quite done having fun. My ghost lures lost hikers in and makes them keep me company. They come off the mountain rambling about the crazy old man in the hand hewn log cabin with fire in his eyes and leaves on the floor. I was alone in life but I don’t want to be lonely in death.
Whew guys sorry about that! Had a funny turn for a moment. Back to normal now.
You’re partially correct. This needs a gay subplot.
I was in love with another mountain man who lived on the other side of the mountain. We both liked being alone but sometimes it was alright to be alone together. His arthritis got bad and he couldn’t chop wood for himself anymore. Eventually his niece came to take him to the big city and put him in a nursing home. He didn’t want to go. I never saw him again. That’s why I died alone in my bed and not his.
If you asked Todd, he would know my name. 93 years old, blind as a bat with arthritis so bad he can’t move his fingers, rotting away in that horrible place his niece put him. He’d know. A smile would come to his dry lips to think of me, his fellow mountain man. He can no longer see but in his mind he sees me the way I was, in overalls with my rifle over my shoulder hunting squirrels. He knows my name but he dares not speak it. The words on my grave a more worthy epitaph. I wait for him on the mountain. None of the hikers that stumble in are ever him. He’ll return shortly, I’m sure. I’ll make him coffee on the wood stove one day. We’ll share some venison. He’ll come back from the holler. I know he will.
Sometimes it’s hard to read fanfic when you’re studying herbalism.. when they have the character preparing a tincture to use that same DAY!!?
Baby those dried herbs need to sit in that jar with high proof alcohol for at LEAST a month!
That’s why before the use of calendars ppl use to prepare their tinctures either on the new moon or full moon. A a full moon cycle is usually 28 days or so. And they would give the moon names so it’s easier to remember when/what month said tincture was bottled.
This is also why herbal medicine is prepare in small batches. You have to take your time preparing your bottles. Making sure everything is clean so you don’t end up with mold. Diluting your grain alcohol. Heckkk knowing when to pick your herbs for max potency! Drying your herbs! That takes a lot of time too!
I didn’t mean to rant lol
No, this explains literally everything to me, thank you.
have we ever considerred the possibility that doug walker is an escaped prototype from the lab where they grew mr. beast
the relationship is actually a little more complicated than many presume. artificial youtubers are typically created in bonded pairs, with their shared psychic field helping them to understand things like Algorithm. beast james is a lot more sensitive than a lot of his kind to Algorithm, but is also psychically more fragile. this sensitivity means he is prone to traumatic fugues when he is reminded of the youtuber gestation facility. doug, however, is incredibly psychically stable - and has taken on a mnemophagic role in order to sustain the dyad. to put it simply, doug remembers it so jimmy doesnt have to
Televisiones de cinco pliegues fabricadas en Shenzhen, la capital tecnológica del mundo:
In his 1978 hit "Only the Good Die Young", in which a horny young man attempts to convince a girl at the local Catholic school to have sex with him, Billy Joel sings the lines "Sooner or later, it comes down to Fate/I might as well be the one." This refers to Catholic schoolgirls' well-known fondness for the 2004 visual novel Fate/Stay Night; the viewpoint character is suggesting he might be "the one" to win the Holy Grail War. Notably, this indicates the shallowness of his attempt at seduction; Catholic schoolgirls are aware that the pursuit of the Holy Grail is both short-sighted and destructive, making the attempted brag repellent to the very audience he intends to woo.
Ants have the most badass lives of anything in the animal kingdom, life as an ant is like warhammer
Wake up in enormous underground cyberpunk metropolis
Venture outside with your ant buddies to forage scraps from an incomprehensible civilization of alien gods (each one several times larger than the city you've spent most of your life inside) for the glory of your GodMomEmpress
Get attacked by a platoon of soldiers from a rival megacity, they're an offshoot of your species except like twice as big (basically orks) and like 10% of them are genetically modified supersoldiers with wings
Luckily, you've been engineered from birth to spit acid so you and your antfriends successfully defeat the rival ants and their winged miniboss
Die from getting stuck on a jolly rancher
Ants are a fun way to look at cosmic horror, because they make complex decisions plus the whole eusocial thing, but most ants weight 1-5 milligrams, is the thing, and the human brain at a couple pounds or so is like without exaggeration a million times heavier than a whole ant. Imagine just... a brain, a whole brain that's a Boeing 747. But if you step back further, human lungs and circulatory system are so alien to most small arthropods. Pushing blood around in tubes would sound demented. Communicating by sound predominantly without pheremones, it would be cacaphonously loud to an ant, our scents would seem like babbling madness. The whole relatively isolated condition of human life must seem like the void is staring back, a being completely unable to see or comprehend the sights and language of insects that holds the power to destroy them all effortlessly. The vastness and total blankness of humanity to the insect is a cosmic horror to me.
I think you would enjoy reading Ursula K. LeGuin's short story, The Author of the Acacia Seeds. And Other Extracts from the Journal of the Association of Therolinguistics.
the first part of the story reads,
MS. Found in an Anthill The messages were found written in touch-gland exudation on degerminated acacia seeds laid in rows at the end of a narrow, erratic tunnel leading off from one of the deeper levels of the colony. It was the orderly arrangement of the seeds that first drew the investigator's attention. The messages are fragmentary, and the translation approximate and highly interpretative; but the text seems worthy of interest if only for its striking lack of resemblance to any other Ant texts known to us. Seeds 1-13 [I will] not touch feelers. [I will] not stroke. [I will] spend on dry seeds [my] soul's sweetness. It may be found when [I am] dead. Touch this dry wood! [I] call! [I am] here! Alternatively, this passage may be read: [Do] not touch feelers. [Do] not stroke. Spend on dry seeds [your] soul's sweetness. [Others] may find it when [you are] dead. Touch this dry wood! Call: [I am] here! No known dialect of Ant employs any verbal person except the third person singular and plural and the first person plural. In this text, only the root forms of the verbs are used; so there is no way to decide whether the passage was intended to be an autobiography or a manifesto. Seeds 14-22 Long are the tunnels. Longer is the untunneled. No tunnel reaches the end of the untunneled. The untunneled goes on farther than we can go in ten days [i.e., forever]. Praise! The mark translated "Praise!" is half of the customary salutation "Praise the Queen!" or "Long live the Queen!" or "Huzza for the Queen!"—but the word/mark signifying "Queen" has been omitted. Seeds 23-29 As the ant among foreign-enemy ants is killed, so the ant without ants dies, but being without ants is as sweet as honeydew. An ant intruding in a colony not its own is usually killed. Isolated from other ants, it invariably dies within a day or so. The difficulty in this passage is the word/mark "without ants," which we take to mean "alone"—a concept for which no word/mark exists in Ant. Seeds 30-31 Eat the eggs! Up with the Queen! There has already been considerable dispute over the interpretation of the phrase on Seed 31. It is an important question, since all the preceding seeds can be fully understood only in the light cast by this ultimate exhortation. Dr. Rosbone ingeniously argues that the author, a wingless neuter-female worker, yearns hopelessly to be a winged male, and to found a new colony, flying upward in the nuptial flight with a new Queen. Though the text certainly permits such a reading, our conviction is that nothing in the text supports it—least of all the text of the immediately preceding seed, No. 30: "Eat the eggs!" This reading, though shocking, is beyond disputation. We venture to suggest that the confusion over Seed 31 may result from an ethnocentric interpretation of the word "up." To us, "up" is a "good" direction. Not so, or not necessarily so, to an ant. "Up" is where the food comes from, to be sure; but "down" is where security, peace, and home are to be found. "Up" is the scorching sun; the freezing night; no shelter in the beloved tunnels; exile; death. Therefore we suggest that this strange author, in the solitude of her lonely tunnel, sought with what means she had to express the ultimate blasphemy conceivable to an ant, and that the correct reading of Seeds 30-31, in human terms, is: Eat the eggs! Down with the Queen! The desiccated body of a small worker was found beside Seed 31 when the manuscript was discovered. The head had been severed from the thorax, probably by the jaws of a soldier of the colony. The seeds, carefully arranged in a pattern resembling a musical stave, had not been disturbed. (Ants of the soldier caste are illiterate; thus the soldier was presumably not interested in the collection of useless seeds from which the edible germs had been removed.) No living ants were left in the colony, which was destroyed in a war with a neighbouring anthill at some time subsequent of the death of the Author of the Acacia Seeds. —G. D'Arbay, T.R. Bardol
via OP, @hexbugswallower
and do you also cry that Michelangelo is a better sculptor than you