home of the plant wars

neither a pesticide nor an abstract vegetable

[rootlessly]

27 may 2025 — point lobos state natural reserve

[todayintokyo]

Tiger by 十筆斎

[pmamtraveller]

"Cats on a Plane" by artist Kelly Pringle.

[monacellipress]

Jellyfish mosaic tile piece, Havana, Cuba. From Great Houses of Havana.

[heidelbro]

“Protestant” is often used as a catch-all, but it flattens the depth of protestantism. There are many types of protestants. Presbyterians. Lutherans. Baptists. Continental reformed. Methodists. The Society of St Pius X.

[crabussy]

crazy how much your life can improve if you just Move Somewhere Else

[crabussy]

my mental health was abysmal when I lived next to a 10 lane motorway in a tiny cramped city that was too hot for me... as soon as I moved back home to aotearoa and got to live by the sea in a small town with lots of green spaces and libraries and cafes and art galleries and sea lions and dolphins and penguins and native birds my mental health SKYROCKETED to the point where it's honestly ridiculous. like saying "I LOVE BEING ALIVE... WOW WOW" out loud on occasion ridiculous. I'm so happy.

[crabussy]

moving somewhere better is lifesaving. wishing everyone trapped in a shitty area the absolute best of luck moving somewhere someday that makes you glad to be alive [: it makes such a huge difference.

[holespoles]

goma-ramen　"After the rain"

ごまらーめん「雨あがり」

[eliluminado7]

My name was Mitya Ivanovich of Ryazan. I was nine winters old when I died. In 1353 winter came early. The boyars took our grain, the wolves took our goats, and hunger took our minds. One night, I was sent to fetch water from the well. I leaned too far and saw my reflection tremble. Then the rope snapped. The well was bottomless, or so they said. They found my boots days later, frozen solid and standing upright like a man still waiting for spring. If you read this far, it’s too late to pretend you didn’t. You have until the next cockcrow to send this message to 10 villagers or one tax collector. A boyar’s son once received this message carved on birch bark. He laughed, said peasants have no ghosts, and burned it in his hearth. That night, his estate flooded with boiling kvass. A widow in Novgorod copied this tale and sent it to 12 others. The next morning, her cow gave birth to triplets. All healthy. She named them Mitya, Mitya, and Mitya. I still look over their bloodline. Send this to 10 people if you don't want to end up like the boyar's son. Your time starts now

[samimarkart]

Pigeon stack!

[julianplum]

🐟🐟🌕🐟🐟🐟🐟 // swallowtail shiners // gouache on hot press paper

[antiqueanimals]

Robert Hainard (1906 - 1999). Hermine. June 14th, 1930.

Hainard Foundation

[processes]

minimalist pencil sketches of cats by Shou Xin (手訫)

substack

[smokefalls]

If the mortal sin of the suicide is greed, to hoard stillness and calm for yourself while dispersing your riotous internal pain among all those who survive you, then the mortal sin of the martyr must be pride, the vanity, the hubris to believe not only that your death could mean more than your living, but that your death could mean more than death itself—which, because it is inevitable, means nothing.

Kaveh Akbar, Martyr!

[earhartsease]

[bardace]

Shut Up, I Don’t Care

[foruli]

My whole future just keeps collapsing more and more. First I ruined my career. Then I drove everyone away. Learned I will never be stable enough to date or have a family and grieved those things. Now it's learning I will actually never be mature enough to make friends again and I will have to live my entire life as my own only person and having to grieve human connection. I'll keep going, because there's no other choice, and I am alive so how can I complain, but everything feels so empty.

[foruli]

“There’s a strange contradiction revealed by the naïveté and kindness demonstrated by humanity when faced with the universe: On Earth, humankind can step onto another continent, and without a thought, destroy the kindred civilizations found there through warfare and disease. But when they gaze up at the stars, they turn sentimental and believe that if extraterrestrial intelligences exist, they must be civilizations bound by universal, noble, moral constraints, as if cherishing and loving different forms of life are parts of a self-evident universal code of conduct.”

—  Cixin Liu, Author’s Postscript to the American Edition of The Three-Body Problem