.

I like the Mountain Goats

[loismacgiver-deactivated2018061]

why is this every straight ~*~kweer~*~ couple on here and on tinder and on okcupid and on twitter and on instagram and on facebook and on linkedin and on google+ and

[jointphotographicexportsgroup-d]

Hi this is legitimately the funniest thing I’ve seen in like three months

[asoundshift]

I love how much this guy sounds like Jamie Stewart from Xiu Xiu and I am also fairly sure this is also the subject of more than one Xiu Xiu song.

[thefeelofavideogame]

discovering the we rate dogs twitter is the creation of a soulless capitalist rich kid and every single thing about it is a carefully calculated marketing ploy is like peak 2017

[iirulancorrino]

#i’m not going to pretend like i saw this coming but i feel validated in my hatred of doggo pupper culture

[20aliens-deactivated20200625]

The Adventures of Guille and Belinda and the Enigmatic Meaning of their Dreams by Alessandra Sanguinetti

I spent my childhood summers at my father’s farm outside Buenos Aires. After the long highway drive and dusty dirt road, as soon as we arrived, I would run to the front of the car and begin the delicate process of unsticking the crushed butterflies from the still hot radiator. Most of them would be terminal, but one or two would cling to my finger, slowly regain center, revive and eventually fly away, always leaving behind some dust from their wings. 

I have two older sisters, but when I was nine, they were teenagers, existing in another dimension, so I would wander pretty much alone around the corrals, the sheds and the fields, talking to the horses and the cows, feeling sad for the perpetually frightened sheep, following my father as he made his rounds, chatting with the foreman’s wife Isabel, looking for snake skins on tree branches, turning beetles right side up, and flying kites made from newspapers.  In the evenings I cut up old New Yorker magazines my mother brought back from her trips to the US, and with those pictures I illustrated my own journal, “The Bumble Bee”, which I would sell to my parents for one peso.

At night we would set up chairs outside and wait impatiently for UFOs to appear, and count falling stars. The only trips we would take were to Doña Blanca’s place, where my father would bring tires to be fixed, and buy eggs, cheese and homemade jam. She had packs of dogs and puppies that would greet us jumping and clawing; sheep, goats, rabbits, ponies roamed loose, and heaps of animal bones, scrap metal, and old furniture were all in chaotic display. In the country, most places go from a dull quietness to an eruption of movement and noise when visitors arrive,  so I assumed back then that at Doña Blanca’s something out of the ordinary was always about to happen.

My parents sold that farm in 1981, and it would be a long time until I returned to the countryside. When I did, it was to his new smaller farm to the south of Buenos Aires, and I was older, just back from a year studying photography in New York.  One day my father took me along for a short drive to have someone fix his broken windmill pump. We drove a few kilometers and slowed down near a group of trees. A pack of wild looking dogs rushed out,  jumping and scratching at the pick-up truck doors, and a round woman opened a flimsy wire gate and walked towards us, both smiling and shrieking at the dogs to shut up.  It was Juana.  I spent the next few years visiting Juana constantly, photographing her animals and listening to her tales of days long gone,  her musings on life and on the Bible. She would tell me all her animals’ names, their histories, and, while gutting a freshly killed boar that she had raised, insisted that if you paid enough attention to animals you would be able to understand and see that each one is singular. 

There were always many visitors at Juana’s, and most of them would sit silently sipping mate and leave without saying a word. Once every couple of hours a car would drive past,  or a man on horseback would ride by and tip his hat in salutation. The most regular visitors were her grown daughters Pachi and Chicha, who lived nearby with their own families. They’d come over with their youngest daughters Belinda and Guillermina, and chat as they prepared sweet fried bread and sipped mate. Beli and Guille were always running, climbing, chasing chickens and rabbits. Sometimes I’d take their picture just so they’d leave me alone and stop scaring the animals away, but mostly I would shoo them out of the frame.  I was indifferent to them until the summer of 1999, when I found myself spending almost everyday with them. They were nine and ten years old then, and one day, instead of asking them to move aside, I let them stay.

[madeofmold-deactivated20170726]

i can barely stomach heterosexual relationships in movies

let alone heterosexual relationships in movies starring nicolas cage

[madeofmold-deactivated20170726]

[triparto-deactivated20160408]

GJAHDGJADDJAD

[pompkinsoups]

I know a lot of people have different feelings on OJST but man oh man they all look like this to me

[pacificrim-archive]

[larkandkatydid]

I think there is a concept that we don’t talk about enough when we are talking about 21st century homophobia: and specifically (though not exclusively) homophobia directed against lesbians.  I think it’s something that I’ve seen in people who were some variety of  “born again” social conservative (ie. they are familiar with LGBT ideas because they used to run in left-y, queer-studies, etc, circles).  I also see it reflected in the un-changing popularity of “former lesbian married to a man” memoirs.  And finally in the post thread I’ve seen going around today about how straight women infantalize gay women and gay relationships. 

It’s this idea that homosexuality is a harmless, but childish millennial affectation.  Of course when you are in college you want to live the #vanlife or dye your hair funny colors, or have “sex” with other girls.  You might even act like you are “dating”, or even ridiculously enough that you are “married”.  But this is just like a millennial posting a picture of their dorm as #domestic.   I mean, that’s nice and all, but real grown-ups are straight. 

This idea drives a fair amount of actively hostile homophobia:  It’s insulting to my real adult marriage for you to use the same word for your college girl play marriage.  Lesbians wouldn’t let me marry my loving  husband the same way your fellow binge drinking frat friends won’t let you grow up and be responsible. LGBT people in general are the ultimate millennial stereotype: refusing to just grow up and have normal hetero relationships. 

 I think it’s also at play in more subtle liberal forms of homophobia. Of course only assimilationist gays want to get married!  I mean, why would you fun loving rebels want to be just like us squares? What even is the point of acting like your gal pal is your wife? How boring!  

I just feel like I have a lot more understanding of what is going on when I see homophobic shit when I realize that there is an unspoken framing that heterosexuality= adult responsibilities,  homosexuality= frivolous youth subculture.

[yarter-deactivated20170523]

Flipped / Switched

[h-e-r-s-t-o-r-y]

FAGS IN SUPPORT OF DYKES😊Gay & Lesbian Rights March on Washington. April 25, 1993. Over 500,000 LGBT and allies gathered for the largest March in history to end discrimination against gays and lesbians. Photo: Porter Gifford #lesbianculture #fagsfordykes #lesbian #gay #trans #bi #gayrights #lesbianrights #1993 http://ift.tt/229fbEi

[8675309123456oliviaaa]

:)

[charomora]

[smashing-yng-man]

[dog-mom-666]

Visit Original Link

“"Play with matches if you think you need to play with matches Seek out the hidden places where the fire burns hot and bright Find where the heat’s unbearable, and stay there if you have to. Don’t hurt anybody on your way up to the light… And stay alive. Just stay alive.”

[straightboyfriend]

[emolumentsclause-deactivated201]

2016: women can do anything! even presidents! even GHOSTBUSTERS!

2017: nolite te bastardes carborundorum

[17689954285-deactivated20180831]

I wanna have big muscles

[starrover]

― Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

[nubbsgalore]

built five hundred feet into the permafrost of a norwegian island located some six hundred miles from the north pole (and twice that from oslo), the svalbard global seed vault is the world’s largest and most secure seed bank. 

safe from earthquake and flooding, and designed to last a thousand years, its mission is to serve as a backup for planet’s agriculture in the event of a catastrophe, be it from drought, floods, disease, war (see: syria) and/or the slow moving disaster of climate change.

known as the doomsday vault, it has amassed over 840,000 seed samples since the first deposit, that of rice seeds, was made in 2008 by the late kenyan environmental activist and nobel peace prize winner, wangari maathai. 

since then, all countries, save japan and china (the later of which is believed to have already lost 90 percent of its rice varieties) have entrusted the site with their agricultural heritage, and the collection, as of now, covers about half of the world’s known crop diversity.