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@s-tarkid
Marilyn Monroe photographed by Ted Baron, 1954.
20 amazing vintage photographs of children playing in the streets of New York City from the 1930s and 1940s.
Source ♦ More of this
I see the breaking curtains The lights The darkness and I can see the sound That has been made here forever. I see the faces of actors and singers.
But mostly, I see you. I see your blue dress, Your nurses cap, Your golden dress, I see you smile And dance And sing And I know that you are home
I can only ever ask that you feel as at home In my arms As you do Under lights Before eyes Smiling, with your arms outstretched.
It was in the darkness behind the lights That I found you It is in this darkness behind the lights That I feel at home As long as you return To me after your kiss That I just can’t watch
Every single satellite orbiting Earth, in a single image. High above us, tens of thousands of kilometers above our heads, there are orbiting graveyards. They are filled with satellites that have burned through their functional lives, now “buried” in space. The graveyards are filled for a reason: A dead satellite is a dangerous one. On the surface of Earth, gravity pulls debris and trash to the ground, where it remains still. In space, gravity gives the same pull, but objects in orbit are always falling. With nothing to stop them, these objects fly around the Earth at astonishing speeds. Travelling 45 times the speed of sound, the debris is deadly. Graveyard orbits are orbits significantly distanced from wherever the satellites were operating before they died. Many functional satellites spend their lives about 36,000 kilometers (22,000 miles) above the planet, in a geostationary orbit - moving in sync with the rotation of the Earth, such that it always stays directly above the same spot. By disposing of the dead satellites, we hope to lower the risk of collisions between them, which would create even more debris. According to one prediction, the accumulation of debris might get so bad that we couldn’t safely navigate through it, effectively locking us out of space - a gloomy condition known as Kessler syndrome.
I see your face In every portrait. Each of your mannerisms Reflected in visions of those who are truly in love
I see your eyes Blueish-grayish-greenish Shining like the Atlantic.
I feel the soft touch of your fingertips In the breezes of springtime. I watch as you radiate the sunlight That flows like molten gold Across the fields and forests By which we drive.
For you darling, I would venture ten thousand miles To show you the world that you wish to see I swear to give you All the best pieces of me. And because you love autumn and springtime alike I will bleed over the flowers and tint them red to your liking. I will set myself on fire For your warmth and comfort; I feel no slice, I feel no burn, For with you I feel nothing but love and warmth and a welling up of tears that I must choke back though the relief and happiness is just too much to hold in.
I see our faces In old family portraits. I see us Placed in constellations high above us Placed by God or gods In both fate and faith That we should stumble upon one another.