Jules of Nature
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Doug Jones

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@the-quinoa-queen
Bartender… sleepytime tea…. and make it a double.
flores
By Martina Vilar del Valle
You know that Ada Limón poem where she’s like “i can’t help it i love the way men love”? my dad recently confessed to me that he became a shoemaker because they buried my grandma shoeless
oh…………………………………
Accident Report in the Tall, Tall Weeds - Ada Limón
@filmnoirsbian
Source
Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)
Remember. by Ebru
Rima Dadenji, Light upon light, Islamic architecture in Alhambra, Granada, 2015
To all of you who struggle with not being the fastest, not having more talent, and always getting second, ninth, seventeenth, or first alternate:
My club coach in high school constantly told us that we weren’t normal. That if we were, we’d have given up a long time ago. We’re swimmers. We push our bodies through more blood, sweat, pain, and tears than any other athlete. Swimming as a sport sucks ass. You think swimming is all fun? You’re doing it wrong. You’ve got to have the determination to show everybody what you’re made of. You’ve got to have the patience when you hit a bump in your training and don’t improve for weeks, months, years at a time. You’ve got to have passion. If you don’t have passion for swimming, then why the hell would you ever put your body through this mess? You have to want this more than anything else, you have to put your all into it, 100%, 24/7. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell you straight up–you’re wasting your time.
It’s gonna suck going to practice 20+ hours a week. It’s gonna suck waking up at 4:30, doing drylands, hitting your pace, doing test sets, doing lactate. It’s gonna suck when it’s your 100000th practice of your career, and you just want to quit because you’ve been through this 99999 times before. But it’s the passion you have inside you that will keep you going. The passion is what will set you, me, us apart from other athletes–from other swimmers. It’s what will make us great, elite, the best.
Because let me tell you this, it doesn’t matter how slow or fast you are, whether or not you have more or less talent than the person you’re racing against, or whether you’re going to a D1 or D3 school, or not even swimming in college at all. If you raced the best you could, if you left everything in the pool, and if you have passion, you’re already 10 times better than the kids who halfass the work.
coach: alright we're gonna do a distance set, but no freestyle.
and in that moment, I swear we were all backstrokers
This speaks to me on a spiritual level
frappemako:
the-one-inside:
someottersmarryhedgehogs:
noiselesspatientspider:
iheartuniversecookies:
angelas-extrasandstuff:
I would like to share this beautiful passage with all of you, it’s long, but worth it. And I swear to god I didn’t alter any of this.
….
Her long hair, still wet from the shower, had been combed down her back in a wet swath. Hilda was sitting on the floor, her round, wet boobs still wet from the shower’s water. She dried off the water with a towel, which then became wet.
Hilda gasped when she saw a reflection in her bedroom mirror: through the slightly open door, she caught a glimpse of the chiseled abs and square jaw of the mysterious stranger who shared her cabin. She stood and spun around, her breasts swinging heavily with the momentum. She grabbed the door and flung it open, revealing shirtless Torolf (which is seriously his name) quivering with desire in the hallway.
Torolf was ashamed at being caught, but his shame made him even hotter – hotter for sex. He stepped into the room, and his bulging abs accidentally smushed into Hilda’s rich chest.
As Hilda’s buttermilk bosoms squished up against his granite abs, Torolf almost had a dick aneurysm. “Hilda,” Torolf murmured thickly, his throbbing meat wand pressing against Hilda’s warm thighs. “There is a secret I need to not tell you: You are my forbidden desire.”
Hilda had been waiting to hear these words. Her heart was lifted on golden wings and soared toward a radiant sun of perfect joy. She saw herself and Torolf happy together, bathed in the golden light of love. Her snooch got all warm, too.
“Torolf,” Hilda moaned, her lush teats straining with desire. “I need you.” Torolf, coarse abs pulsing softly in the moonlight, stood silently. Hilda looked at him expectantly. “Oh, sorry,” she added. “Torolf, I need you – sexually.”
At hearing those beautiful words, Torolf flexed his rough-hewn abs and Hilda found herself being guided to her soft bed by the sheer force of Torolf’s undulating midsection. She parted her thighs in anticipation, exposing the soft pink petals of her clunge.
Torolf entered her like she was a lottery. His engorged pecker pushed inside her and she felt fulfilled with sexual fulfillment.
Hilda clutched at the bedsheets with lust and ecstasy and her hands. Her spongy love mountains hurled to and fro with each pounding. Her body was like a beautiful flower that was opening and somebody was pushing their dick inside it.
Then Torolf moaned, arched his back, and suffered from dick Parkinson’s. He pumped in all of his hot pearlescent sperms as Hilda spasmed with so many orgasms!
The two lay still for a moment as the stinky scent of lovemaking billowed around the room. Hilda got out of bed, still shimmering with orgasm. She glowed with contentment, like a cat who ate the cream of the crop.
She walked across the room and picked up her towel, still wet with shower water. “Torolf,” she said softly, “there’s something I have to tell you…”
But her bed was empty.
Torolf was gone, escaped out the bedroom window. In the distance, Hilda heard the fading sound of galloping abs.
….
DICK
ANEURYSM
GALLOPING ABS
Who told this lady she could write?
Why did she ever stop?
IT GETS WORSE THE FURTHER IN THE PASSAGE YOU GO OMG
I will read this in Kermit the Frog’s voice
“Her body was like a beautiful flower that was opening and somebody was pushing their dick inside it” someone put that on a shirt for me
mii-makes-art
“entered her like she was a lottery”
I. Am. Dying.
I read this whole thing and now you have to read it also.
Oh my god this almost killed me
Writing at its finest..
@readbythestarlight
@halfblood-fiend Did I seriously just read ‘dick Parkinson’s’
But what did she have to tell him?????? I am now invested in this monstrosity of a book!
The metaphors are fantastic. Take notes guys :P
@neyluvzyu
@the-sassy-mime @squirrelstone @qmeup
What species are these people?!? The logistics are killing me. His granite abs are “smushed” against her buttermilk bosoms while his meat wand is against her warm thighs… Does she have a stomach?
and then his abs are galloping into the night…
(I think osa-p did this drawing)
It’s back!
Honestly, are there people who pay real money for this shit and then read it on a regular basis? Are they over the age of 13?
A Google search turned this up: https://www.sandrahill.net/ A New York Times BEST SELLING AUTHOR?????????? WTF?
It’s BACK!!! LOLOLOLOLOL!!!!! @tomstinkerbell
@vas-y–mollo
“Her spongy love mountains”
The truth is; you can plan and plan and plan, organize to the smallest of details and spend weeks working on end and yet you still will not know where life is going to take you. Life has a funny way of throwing the weirdest paths and trails at you, throwing adventure, struggle, change and growth right onto your doorstep. Ride the wave as it comes and let life carry you away.
Riding the wave by Amy Kennedy
02/04/16
(via satiricalwords)
I found an antique baby book from 1915, with original b&w photos, dates, names, locations, tiny journals, etc. I’m going to turn it into a short horror story. The few recorded incidents are already a bit strange. “There was something amiss with your eyes your first week, but your grandpa fixed you and there has not been a problem since.” They also never baptized the baby (there was a spot to record that) and the father was gone except for the weekend afternoons. There are a few more oddities, but they’ll have to wait for the story…
Obviously, I’m excited.
You seriously find the coolest antiques. And I can’t wait to read the spooky story you make out of it!
The great-grandparents’ names on the mother’s side have been scratched out (the bit of yellow is indented/etc. above the line but you can still make out some bits of names)! MATT THIS BOOK IS SO CREEPY ALREADY.
An update to this book (which I’ve been working on and off on, between projects). Thus far, we’ve found these odd anecdotes of the Baby being tongue-tied and having something off with her eyes:
“– a very hard matter for you to take your meals, for you were tongue-tied. You grandfather Blake fixed your tongue when you were about a month old, you had a little trouble with your eyes that developed when you were a week old, we were very anxious about that. Your grandfather Blake straightened that out, and, we hope you will never have any trouble from them again.”
I also took it upon myself to look up the actual doctor that delivered the baby (recorded in the beginning of the book), since doctors usually have more recorded history. As it turns out, the doctor in question was mainly a pediatrician who specialized in childhood deformities and abnormalities. But other than that, he also presided over the first use of the electric chair for the death penalty in Ohio.
And last night, I took a risk and very gently unglued some of the photos from their original positions in the books, revealing:
The first photos ever taken of the Baby were on the first Halloween after her birthday. She was born in the Summer.
We went to the Ohio History Center and I decided to visit their Research Archives to learn a little bit more about the 1915 Baby. What I discovered was a bit more than I am prepared to handle, or can even comprehend still.
While I’m aware that life is often stranger than fiction, something that was supposed to be a dead-end story that I could twist to fit a fictional narrative, has turned into a very odd string of coincidences.
(Names Changed to Protect the Living)
Here is a recap of the events of the 1915 Baby Book so far.
- In October 2015 I purchased the Book in Columbus, Ohio, which was about a female baby named Alice.
- Alice grew up in Ohio and the book stopped at about her 5th year of life.
- I learned that the doctor who delivered Alice also presided over the first death penalty in Ohio.
- April 2016, my spouse and I visited the Ohio History Center hoping to learn more about Alice.
- We found that Alice was married and had lived in a house only a few doors down from us. Columbus is such a large city that this was quite a surprise, considering we pass by the house often and the Baby Book was found at an antique store we don’t frequently visit.
- We also learned that Alice had two children.
- One of Alice’s children had passed away. He died in the same city I was born in. I was born thousands of miles away from Ohio, in a small town that I’ve never been back to as an adult. This is especially odd to me since I only came to Columbus because of my spouse living here, and only purchased the Baby Book because I thought it would be mostly Ohio based. There was no discernible reason why he had moved to that city.
- Alice herself had died in Chile, mining and investigating Inca ruins with her husband and son.
- Her son and husband stayed in Chile after her death, but Alice was sent back to Ohio to be buried.
- Alice is buried on the same grounds my spouse and I are getting married at, a fact we had previously not known before we booked the venue.
- Her remaining son has an extensive blog, where he details Alice’s life in Chile. He also remarks that his brother and Alice died of a Family Curse, which has “been recorded since 1780.”
- I have tried to contact her remaining son, as I feel I have a sense of responsibility to let him know that I have some of his late mother’s history in my care. I may have to resort to snail mail since none of his online contacts are working. I would like to include one of the photographs of Alice, even though he writes that her death was painful for him.
Life is always stranger than fiction. Sometimes the dead dictate things that the living cannot.
I’m every one in this
Rest stops on highways are liminal spaces where the veil is thin and nobody can tell me differently
Explain
The explanation is that liminal spaces are in between places that bridge Here with There, so in fairy tales we often have the Fairy Ring, the Forest Clearing, the Sudden Misty Foggy Forest, the Bridge, the River, graveyards, in some cases
We also have a ton of american urban mythology around famous roadways and sites off the sides of roads
Archetypes like these occur to mark the places in the world where the veil goes thin and humans can have extra-worldly experiences, out of the ordinary way of living
So why wouldn’t transient spaces like rest stops where everyone is just passing through from one place to the next, never stopping for too long, not be a liminal space where spirits frequent, too
Especially since nobody would know if they were real or not
Ok but this speaks to me
I always feel like something isn’t quite right at rest stops
I once slept though three gas stations on a road trip, and the second the car started to slow to turn into a rest stop, I was basically wide awake.
My mom and I were on I-90 in a blizzard once and pulled off at the first exit we could find. Turns out that if we’d gone even a mile further, we would have happened on a 49-and-counting car pileup, and that 90 was closed for MILES. How we found an unblocked ramp was a matter of great debate, but where this gets weirder still is that at the bottom of the ramp was a closed truck stop and an open church full of teenagers–they went for youth group, the blizzard started, and they were stuck until the snow stopped. They fed us leftovers from their potluck dinner, prayed with us for safe travel, and when the snow let up they saw us on our way.
Three days later–Sunday–we were traveling back and decided to stop at that church to thank them. We found it thanks to the truck stop, but this time it was the truck stop that was open and the church that was closed. Neither of us remembered it looking so decrepit on the trip down, and granted we saw it first at night in a snowstorm, but you’d think we’d have noticed the boarded-up windows. So we asked in at the truck stop.
The church had been abandoned for ten years. And yet I still had one of their youth group programs under my sun visor, very clearly labeled for the previous week.
To this day I’m sure we crossed dimensions somewhere on I-90, and that’s how we stayed safe. You could tell me it’s because the truck stop was a liminal space and I’d 100% believe you.
I don’t mind when this post goes around again because sometimes I get stories like this
A few months ago my family and I were traveling from Dallas to Austin and we pulled into one of the rest stops with a little park and the tornado shelters (we have those in Texas) and I saw a little girl crying. Her clothes were dirty and he hair a mess. When I asked her what was wrong she said she fell down and took a tumble and couldn’t find her mom. So I walked around with park area with her. She got excited and pointed at a young lady dressed in clothes from what looked like the 40s and said “that’s my mommy”. I walked the girl over and it was her mother. She was happy to see her little girl and thanked me profusely. When I left to go back to my car I found a bear that had to have belonged to the little girl, but when I went back to where they were, they were no where to be seen. When I asked my dad if he had seen the pair, he had no idea what I was talking about. So I definitely did some time hopping or something
This is a really common tale with ghosts, a lot of times you don’t even realize you’re talking to one until someone else is like what do you mean you were talking to a person, there was nobody there
OMG i’m so glad i found this post, i’m going to put my story under a cut just because it’s quite lengthy but IM SO HAPPY I FOUND THIS
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