#sometihng

[styrenwool]

Miscmber 25: SOmething Rong

[breadsticksandcheese]

GUYS

GIVE ME YOUR STRONGEST BREAD OPINIONS

please , its important

[preciousgoatbab-asriel-blog]

Músicas da vida

Dylan Hinnershitz se apaixonou pela música aos quatro anos quando a televisão doméstica quebrou. Não pôde ser desligado e o canal não pôde ser alterado, então vh1 ficou preso. 

Ele se apaixonou pelo tom da trombeta depois de ouvir o famoso trompetista Lee Morgan jogar em dedicação ao seu grande professor Clifford Brown. Dylan estudou o método de trompete de Bill Adam na Universidade Kutztown sob o Dr. Kevin Kjos e também estudou jazz com o baixista de Nova York, Scott Lee.

Site sobre música :

http://essaseoutras.xpg.uol.com.br/conceito-caracteristicas-da-musica-e-som-melodia-harmonia-e-ritmo/

https://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%C3%BAsica

A seguir, é extraído do novo livro de Dan Lewis, Now I Know. Lewis escreve um e-mail diário chamado "Now I Know", que começou em junho de 2010 com vinte assinantes e agora possui quase 100.000. 

Em novembro, muitas famílias americanas se reúnem ao redor da mesa, se banqueteando com uma refeição de Ação de Graças - a peça central é uma peru.

 É uma celebração de muitas coisas, mas historicamente se remonta a 1621, quando os colonos europeus ("Peregrinos", como as crianças da escola primária americanas certamente lhe direcionarão) marcaram a colheita com uma celebração similar. 

Saiba mais.

Tanto quanto podemos dizer, os primeiros exploradores europeus a descobrir (e comer) Turquia foram aqueles na expedição de Hernán Cortés no México em 1519. 

Os conquistadores espanhóis trouxeram essa nova iguaria de volta à Europa e, em 1524, chegou à Inglaterra.

 O pássaro foi domesticado na Inglaterra dentro de uma década, e na virada do século, seu nome - "peru" - tinha entrado na língua inglesa. 

Caso em questão: William Shakespeare usou o termo em Twelfth Night, que se acredita ter sido escrito em 1601 ou 1602. A falta de contexto em torno de seu uso sugere que o termo tenha alcançado um alcance generalizado.

[dreamersoul18]

Tell me what do you think about me 🙃

I don’t have something to do, so… Why not? 😂

[elusivefagguette]

me: rewatches akb0048

[kotabombastic]

Like or reblog and i’ll attempt to write the URL’s down. I want to use my pretty fine liners and fill a book because I have a super fancy book~

[ooc-pain-blog]

im JUST saying 

[caradocdearborned]

The Broken Mirror | Drabble

The silence that filtered itself over the small flat in London was deafening. It was normal, yet for some reason, this evening in particular made it unbearable. Doc found himself sitting alone, with just a single light on, his mind just barely functioning. He should have been happier, he realized on multiple occasions. His life only seemed to be improving, which was drastically different from last summer, yet he could only focus on the darkness that was crushing him instead of the light that was still penetrating the black room. There was still hope, a lot of hope actually, and as hard as he was trying, it never seemed to be enough. He could barely sleep anymore. Mostly from the nightmares, and now partially from the paranoia that was seeping into his head. Doc was concerned. What if Death Eaters found out who he was, and what he was doing? How many people was he placing in danger?

Suddenly he realized how selfish he was truly being. His decision to be in the Order, it could never just be about him. Every person that he ever loved, ever slept with, ever glanced at; they could be targeted because of him. He could be responsible for pain inflicted upon innocent people. He had joined the Order to protect people, to care for them, to give his life so others might have theirs. But what if he was simply aiding to the demise of those that he had ever called friend.

Doc stood up from the couch he was sitting on, and moved towards the lone mirror on the mostly bland wall. He had a hard time recognizing himself. The nose was most definitely his, passed down by his father. His deep brown hair was the same color it had always been, although he panicked for a moment when he thought he saw a grey hair lurking in the depths of his mass of hair. Luckily it was simply the lighting. The eyes though, there was something different in the eyes. They were the same shade of brown, and yet there were layers upon layers of anger, sadness, hurt, all woven together in an intricate pattern that hid all of those emotions, instead, presenting a solid front of perceived wisdom. Losing people does not make a person wise. Joining a cause does not make a person wise. Crying does not make a person wise, and nor does pain. Wisdom is only learned through experience, age, and the willingness to listen to others.

Doc had none of those elements on his side.

He was not wise.

He was still very much young.

He had no ability to listen to others, to be ordered around.

Yet as he continued to stare, he also saw something else that worried him even more. There was a single wrinkle in his forehead, one that didn't go away completely when he pulled his face taught. A worry wrinkle perhaps? Or maybe it was just a sign of struggle. Still, Doc wondered what it was supposed to mean in the grand scheme of everything. Was he just a simple wrinkle on the forehead of a war? A worry and nothing else? No great force to be reckoned with? Something easily just pulled taught? He had no answers except the one he used far too often. Doc pulled his arm back and punched the mirror straight on, shattering it on impact, yet not flinching a single muscle. Physical pain had always been easy to deal with. But being inconsequential, that was a different sort of struggle altogether.