The Theatre Shoppe

The Theatre Shoppe is a soon-to-be physical location in Vancouver, Canada where the magic of theatre can be purchased for a small fee. It will also be a place where poetry comes to life, where the wonders of the world can be purchased, where music can be captured, and where books roam freely. Also, there may be a cat, it hasn't been decided yet.

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Let's end by pointing out all the positive ways you can scare yourself and feel alive. You can tell someone you love them first. You can try to speak only the truth for a whole week. You can jump out of an airplane or spend Christmas Day all by your lonesome. You can help people who need help and fight real bad guys. You can dance fast or take an improv class or do one of those Ironman things. Adventure and danger can be good for your heart and soul. Violence and desperation are brutal things to search out. Why search out the horror? It's around us in real ways every day.

Amy Poehler, Yes Please

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Because what else are we going to do? Say no? Say no to an opportunity that may be slightly out of our comfort zone? Quiet our voice because we are worried it is not perfect?

Amy Poehler, Yes Please

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Clematis seed heads (David Ford, Woodland Trust)

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One of the things I have learned about me while writing about me is that I am really onto myself. I have got Amy Poehler's number, I'll tell you. I also learned that writing topless tends to relax me. Go figure. Life is a mystery.

Amy Poehler, Yes Please

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Clent Hills in Worcestershire (John Smart, Woodland Trust)

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Harvest mouse in the field (Jack Merrett, Woodland Trust)

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São Paulo artist Henrique Oliveira's amazing installation made of repurposed wood. Visitors can explore the roots and tangles of Transarquitetônica at the Museu de Arte Contemporânea da Universidade de São Paulo. See more photos of the construction on their website.

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D Base, 2013 - Oil paint and used computer disks on wood (Nick Gentry)

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Look for me in spring's transparent air. I flit like vanishing wings, no heavier than a sound, a breath, a sunray on the floor; I'm lighter than that ray – it's there: I'm gone. But we are friends for ever, undivided! Listen: I'm here. Your hands can feel the way to reach me with their living touch, extended trembling into the restless flame of day. Happen to close your eyelids, while you linger… Make me one final effort, and you might find at the nerve-ends of each quivering finger brushes of secret fire as I ignite.

Look for Me, Vladislav Khodasevich

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Shows that No One Told Me to Watch and Now I'm Super Mad About It: Peaky Blinders

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Sylviane wears rollneck, £45.99, zara.com. A-line skirt, £195, by Carine Wester, from urbanoutfitters.com. Shoes, £291, sandro-paris.com

Photograph: David Newby for the Guardian

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What I’m saying is, this isn’t the right kind of snow. Sure the anchors call it treacherous but I’ve met it down dark alleys all my life. No, snow should always be, as kids have it, a miracle of whiteness at the pane, flakes large enough to plink at the glass like a moth or a fingernail and dry out slow enough to watch drying out on the clothing of the one you love. Forget the ice-box favoured in the emergency room, it’s snow like this a heart comes bedded in. And forget those now useless runways; planes in mid-air grow sensitive, the riveted metal of their wings goosepimples as they go swooping through two kinds of white. The difference between snow and water is the difference between dialectic and a kiss, between a birth certificate and spare change. This much you already know. What you don’t know is snow, is slanted crystals the halo round a sodium lamp can’t bear without shuddering. While credit shifts and melts and hardens and is lost, as the great man says, as water is in water, his words are merely so many thought-bubbles made visible as we breathe in a snowy climate: white shapes of breath that want, like the smoke from a cigarette, or the super-slow-mo ripples of a cube of gelatine bounced off tile, to be the drapes and folds of statuary. The bare ruined choir, the coloured glass is stained to a white radiance and goes without remainder into water, a new beginning; yet the snow we ball and build into forts we’ll live in when all grown up wants to change, always, into a white beard.

Snow, Vidyan Ravinthiran

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Enoch Powell Electioneering in 1970, by Paul Hill.

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Frank Gehry's Cloud of Glass in Paris, containing an auditorium, a waterfall, art galleries and a restaurant.

Photos by Justin Lorget and Bertrand Guay

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Shows that No One Told Me to Watch and Now I'm Super Mad About It: Utopia

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A photograph from the European Space Agency shows an illustration of the supermassive black hole located in the middle of the very dense galaxy M60-UCD1. It weighs as much as 21 million times the mass of our sun. Lying about 50 million light years away, M60-UCD1 is a tiny galaxy with a diameter of 300 light years. Photograph: ESA/AFP

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GUYS HAVE YOU SEEN A BABY VICUNA BECAUSE I HAVE IT'S RIGHT THERE LOOK AT IT IT'S FREAKING ADORABLE!!!