To the people that know I exist (basically nobody)
I’m moving Tumblrs. I’ll make a new one later tonight and I don’t think I’ll delete this one but I may in the future.
It’s me bitch
New tumblr at @noodlemoustache

titsay

Kiana Khansmith
d e v o n
todays bird
almost home
Peter Solarz
i don't do bad sauce passes

★

pixel skylines
noise dept.
hello vonnie
Xuebing Du
Three Goblin Art
NASA
Monterey Bay Aquarium

izzy's playlists!

Origami Around
sheepfilms
No title available
dirt enthusiast

seen from Germany

seen from Germany

seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from Brazil

seen from Türkiye

seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Panama

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
@moustachenoodle
To the people that know I exist (basically nobody)
I’m moving Tumblrs. I’ll make a new one later tonight and I don’t think I’ll delete this one but I may in the future.
It’s me bitch
New tumblr at @noodlemoustache
To the people that know I exist (basically nobody)
I'm moving Tumblrs. I'll make a new one later tonight and I don't think I'll delete this one but I may in the future.
what a vicious attack
Lmaoo yo
Found Here
Did I ever tell yall about the time I had a really vivid dream that I overheard some dudebros talking about sucking dick and one of them said “I’d suck a dick” and his bros were like “but bro you’re straight” and the response was “It doesn’t have to be a guy’s dick. Don’t be a transphobe, Chad” because I just remembered the phrase “Don’t be a transphobe, Chad” and now I’m laughing
I’m reblogging this because I just remembered “don’t be a transphobe, chad” again
tell ur dogs i said hi ok?
look…………….. write as much shitty fic as you want. nobody can stop you. you’re learning constantly and it’s better to write hackneyed implausible ridiculousness than it is to not write at all out of fear of fucking up. you’re good
There was an experiment a professor did. I think it was pottery students. He did an experiment of “quality” vs “quantity”. One half of the class he told; you have to make as many pots as possible. Good pots, bad pots, shitty pots, whatever. The more pots you make, the higher your grade.
The other half of the class were told, “you can make only one pot”. But that pot had to be perfect. The quality had to be high; the highest quality pot would get the best mark.
But when it came to the grading, they noticed something weird.
All the best quality pots were in the ‘quantity’ group.
The guys who were literally churning out pots, trying to make as many as possible, not concentrating on the quality. But every pot they made, made them better at making pots. By the end of the month (I think it was a month) - they had some pretty awesome pots coming out, because they enjoying finding all the ways and all the things they could do to make all their pots. Where as the ‘quality’ guys had spent their time reading up on pots, and technique, and researching and planning; which was all great but they’d had no further practice at actually making pots.
The best way to get really good at something, the only way to be really good at something, is to make lots of shitty attempts at that thing several of which will fail. If all you create are perfect things then you won’t improve, because how can you improve on perfect?
tl:dr MAKE YOUR SHITTY POTS.
My shelf is filled with shitty bowls and beautiful bowls and each one was a learning experience
A traveler stops to rest in a small village at the edge of a forest. All through the night, he hears rustling outside the inn, and the sound of mysterious creatures creeping among the trees.
The next morning, he asks the innkeeper about what he heard. The other man nods sagely. “Ah yes, the wood is dark and mysterious. The village has many stories, but to find the truth, you’ll have to ask the trees themselves.”
So the curious traveler packs some bread from the inn with his belongings and starts off into the forest. The ground slopes down, down, and the underbrush thins out but the canopy gets denser. The darkness is soothing like deep water. Here, there is no rustling–just a heavy silence.
The traveler spends the first night nestled in the roots of an enormous oak tree, and when he awakes, an acorn has sprouted into a robust sapling where it fell on his coat. His second night he spends in a ring of mushrooms that weave his dreams with light and song. His third night he crawls into a hollow log that smells sweet with decay and smoky with the memory of a long-ago fire.
The forest is strange and unnatural, but it does not seem threatening. The traveler speaks to the trees every day as he walks but they do not answer. Still, he knows that they listen. His path is laden with sweet fruit and herbs, for he runs out of bread quicker than he would like.
Finally, on his fourth day of walking, the traveler comes to a stump in the center of a large clearing. The earth around the stump is obscured by layer upon layer of dry, dead leaves, and the boughs overhead form a continuous ceiling. A hatchet sits embedded in the stump. As he approaches, the traveler sees the letters of a hundred languages engraved in winding script around the handle of the hatchet.
“What is this place?” the traveler asks, half to himself.
A soft voice emanates from the hatchet. “You seek the secrets of the wood, and here they lie. Ask what you will.”
So the traveler asks his questions. The hatchet weaves a story of enchantment and legacy, of the people who once lived among the trees and the people who now live alongside them, of the slow, even breathing of the forest and everything within it.
At the end of the hatchet’s tale, the traveler speaks up once more. “I was told that the trees themselves would tell me their story. Who are you, and why are you the one who holds these secrets?”
The hatchet chirps a little laugh. “As for why, that is too long a story for even me to tell. But who am I? I am the lore axe, and I speak for the trees.”
The most dangerous game is resting your eyes after you turned off the alarm clock in the morning
boof
secret boof here
HEAVY IS THE WEBHEAD THAT WEARS THE CROWN
me after taking 4 flintstones gummies