(via webster)
Acquired Stardust
taylor price
cherry valley forever

Kiana Khansmith
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

No title available
Not today Justin

Kaledo Art
Claire Keane
AnasAbdin

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shark vs the universe
No title available

izzy's playlists!
styofa doing anything

@theartofmadeline
YOU ARE THE REASON
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

Love Begins

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

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United States
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seen from Germany
@stuff-and-that
(via webster)
Damn, this is so good
my sleeping pills just kicked in heavily and im genuinely on the verge of tears because i for some reaon remembered a misprint in a 1980s newspaper that switched the captions between Far Side and Dennis the Menace
when ur son is about to run into a hedge
“Write novels.”
I have a friend who’s a journalist. She’s ridiculously awesome and I really want to name her because everyone should know just how awesome she is, but this isn’t a time where it feels wise to reveal the political thoughts expressed by a journalist in private, at least not without her permission. The day before I saw her last week, I’d locked myself out of Facebook and Twitter. I’d been forced to realise the psychological harm they were doing me outweighed any political good my frantic clicktivism could possibly be accomplishing. My brother had called, on my sister-in-law’s instructions. “R. says you’re tweeting and facebooking constantly about politics,” he said. “She said ‘call your sister, I don’t think she’s doing well.’” “I’m okay, probably,” I’d told him. “I don’t think you are,” he said. I felt a little better, though not by much, by the time I met my friend for lunch. She was shaken, she said. Democracy was falling apart. I muttered weakly that perhaps it wasn’t quite that bad. She said she’d rather act now than hope for the best. I agreed. But act how? She said she was getting onto the board of various charities. She was writing about the best way to report on extremism, avoiding the terrible false equivalencies of the “he said/she said” approach which has blighted our discourse with such ghastly effect. I said I was supporting the Stop Funding Hate campaign. Giving to Planned Parenthood and ACLU over there, refugee charities over here. Writing letters. Trying to think of useful ways to get involved in local politics. “You know what you should do,” she said. No, I really didn’t. “Write novels,” she said. I told her that in the days after the election I felt as if art had been revealed as an empty joke. An indulgence we could no longer afford. As if I would never be able to justify doing it again. What we were even going to write now? Flimsy, tinselly distractions from ghastly reality? Or sharp-eyed, unflinching commentary that no one except the already-convinced would ever read? What was the point of art? “No, no!” she said. “Art is what will save us.” “But it hasn’t,” I wanted to scream. We tried and tried. We’ve filled the world with our stories, our songs – we’ve tried so hard to make our stories better - with diverse casts and empathy and hope – and it’s not enough; no one’s saying it was perfect, or that the attempt was anywhere close to finished. But we were trying. And now look. It is so important, she told me, that there is art already made and due to come out in the coming year that embodies the opposite of this. Diverse, progressive stories, that are not going to go untold whatever happens. I’d had in my mind two quotes. Peter Cook, on Germany’s satirical clubs of the thirties “that did so much to prevent the rise of Hitler.” And Kurt Vonnegut: “During the Vietnam War, which lasted longer than any war we’ve ever been in - and which we lost - every respectable artist in this country was against the war. It was like a laser beam. We were all aimed in the same direction. The power of this weapon turns out to be that of a custard pie dropped from a stepladder six feet high.“ But if they hadn’t been there? I thought, looking at my friend. Who was fierce and bright-eyed and smiling. Those useless satirists and artists and musicians pouring their spirits into their art and watching it land on the floor of history like that dropped custard pie? What if there was nothing to look back on in those times but a culture in militaristic lockstep, or perhaps worse, slumped in dead-eyed indifference? After those years-long nightmares, what would there have been to wake up to? Maybe it was absurd to find the thought more chilling than the reality of what had happened, to feel that it would have been an international death of the soul, but .. still … If artists couldn’t prevent disaster, could they at least preserve something precious from being lost while it endured? If they hadn’t stopped a single war, had they at least kept the rot from penetrating the human culture unchallenged? It’s not enough. It’s not enough. “Write novels,” said my friend stubbornly. “Write novels.”
Beautiful, fantastically helpful post. Thanks so much for sharing!
Shadow Doodles by Vincent Bal Related: Everyday Objects Blended With Simple Sketches
These are delightful
paranoid parrot
I do like, 90% of these.
hold up doesn’t everyone do/think these things?
It me. All of them 😫
Oh god, me too
I'm so glad other people 'test the url' before pasting it to people
you didn’t need a video of an otter eating lettuce, but here you go
baby animals blog
You are wrong. I desperately needed this.
is hungry
sometimes u go on google searching for a reference image and you just find something that is totally not what you are looking for but is better than anything u could have ever dreamed
who is she
[source]
the moment I saw this woman I was completely overcome with the feeling that she was, at that very moment, somehow divorcing me
I never shoulda signed that pre-nup
Corgi on a Carousel
This may be the best thing to ever happen in the history of this planet.
I could watch this all day 😁😁😁
HAPPY DOGGO
tonight’s aesthetic: Cookie Monster philosophizing in an art museum
This just changed my life.
The lasagne one has opened my eyes
the last one. profound.
I love you Cookie Monster
a delicate scale
group costume idea
Batman getting thrown under the bus by every single member of the Justice League
So I have a question. I'm a white ally. I just started college, and there are lots of culturally diverse people in my dental programme. However, one of the guys has moved from Kenya. I worry that he might feel out of place, or a bit homesick at times. Do you think it would be okay if I taught myself some Swahili to let him know I'm there to chat if he needs someone? Do you have any other ideas of things I can do to make him feel comfortable without going crazy overboard? Or is it weird?
Listen dogg, the fact that you think you can fucking “[teach] yourself some Swahili” means both that you think this shit is somehow about you, and that you have a hugely, HUGELY, inflated sense of your own abilities and place in this fucking story. Take all this time you’re spending making this about yourself and just be a normal friend to this dude.
As if he can't just speak English when he's studying in an English-speaking country?? The arrogance of white people knows no bounds
i feel obligated to repost for this year
Music is important.
Dead forever