I made a thing this morning :P

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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
we're not kids anymore.
dirt enthusiast
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

Product Placement

if i look back, i am lost
Cosimo Galluzzi

Kiana Khansmith
KIROKAZE

shark vs the universe
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izzy's playlists!
Xuebing Du
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Peter Solarz
Three Goblin Art
Mike Driver
wallacepolsom

seen from India
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seen from United States
seen from Argentina
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seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Bangladesh

seen from Netherlands

seen from Türkiye

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Tunisia

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seen from Italy
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@wiggitywag
I made a thing this morning :P
i do not care about the original plot. the show sucks ass. so here they are. BEST fucking FRIENDS on twitter
You ever think about how unified humanity is by just everyday experiences? Tudor peasants had hangnails, nobles in the Qin dynasty had favorite foods, workers in the 1700s liked seeing flowers growing in pavement cracks, a cook in medieval Iran teared up cutting onions, a mom in 1300 told her son not to get grass stains on his clothes, some girl in the past loved staying up late to see the sun rise.
there are scriptures all over the world painstakingly crafted hundreds of years ago with paw prints and spelling mistakes or drawings covering up mistakes. a bunch of teenage girls 2000 years ago gathered to walk around their hometown, getting fast food and laughing with their friends. two friends shared blankets before people lived in houses. a mother ran a fine comb through her child’s hair and told it to stop squirming sometime in the 1000s. there are covered up sewing mistakes in couture dresses from the 1800s, some poor roman burnt their food so well past recognition that they just buried the entire pot. there are broken dishes hidden in gardens of people no one even remembers anymore
…………their color combination is red and yellow…ketchup and mustard
Multiverse posters from Michelle's insta
Ocean Daze follow me on twitter / instagram / shop / buy a wallpaper or leave a tip
Allegra Thomas on Instagram
Roman mosaic floor discovered under a vineyard in Negrar di Valpolicella, Veneto.
#something about this really gets to me #how if you get enough dirt on your floor it just becomes the ground #and eventually someone is trying to farm in your living room
Concept art for Treasure Planet (2002)
Those are AMAZING!
nothing makes me blush quite like a michael leonard painting
just the way these paintings sit in the center of some precarious intersection of mundanity, voyeurism, casual nudity, and unassuming sexuality. each inhabits one of those moments where you steal a glance and then quickly force yourself to look away, except now the moment is lovingly rendered as a lush, warm vignette that invites you to look longer because of its very nature as a painting. the tension, the drama, the mystique. dare i say... exquisite
An SR-71 Blackbird once flew from LA to Washington DC in 64 minutes. Average speed of the flight: 2145mph.
“There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.
It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet.
I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat. There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury.
Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him. The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace.
We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: “November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.”
Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the “ Houston Center voice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios.
Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. “I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.” Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. “Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check”. Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: “Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.”
And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done - in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn.
Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: “Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?” There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. “Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.”
I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: “Ah, Center, much thanks, we’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.”
For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A. came back with, “Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.”
It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work.
We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast.”
-Brian Schul, Sled Driver: Flying The World’s Fastest Jet
Always reblog passive-aggressive Blackbird speed check
pretty hat :)
Bryn Jones on Instagram
proud to be a morosexual tbh. this morning i found out my 28 year old boyfriend does not know the alphabet and i've never loved someone so much
me: which of these should i use
bf: i don't know *pointing* a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r x t u v w s y z
me: why. what. why is s at the end what happened to it
bf: w s y z!
me: x
bf: what
me: q r s t. w x y z
bf: no
me: ...yes?
bf: *pulling out his phone*
me: this isn't a bit is it. do you not know the alphabet
bf: i know the alphabet! i - oh. i do not know the alphabet
me: it's x y z babe
bf: you know that makes so much more sense. in yugioh you have like. xyz and i was always like "why is it xyz that makes no sense"
me: i love you so much
bf: i'm good at the alphabet! i know all 25 letters
me: babe
bf: what
me: my darling there's 26
bf: ...
bf: i’m good at
the alphabet! i know all
25 letters
Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.
thanks haiku bot
jake peralta + text posts insp.
its fast fashion to YOU. im wearing a forever21 sweater i got during the bush administration.
in the words of my sister: they don’t tell you that when you buy a pair of athletic shorts from tj maxx in middle school that you will wear them until you are thirty