Sophie and Tess.

Product Placement
Peter Solarz
cherry valley forever

#extradirty

@theartofmadeline
Cosimo Galluzzi
we're not kids anymore.
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
todays bird

pixel skylines

Janaina Medeiros
Claire Keane
Game of Thrones Daily
One Nice Bug Per Day
Cosmic Funnies
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
dirt enthusiast
No title available
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Mike Driver

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@xineann
Sophie and Tess.
Chet Baker. My Funny Valentine
Bob Willoughby. A pensive Chet Baker during a Los Angeles recording session, 1953.
Almost me, almost you, almost blue.
King Tide Today on the Oregon Coast
Here’s a clip of the tidal surge moving up the beach into Cummins Creek at Neptune on the central Oregon coast. If you were on this beach at this moment, a beach we play on all the time during the summer, you’d be gone. Note the large logs moving inwards and the sound of large pebbles clattering during outflow. King tides occur during winter, when the earth is closest to the sun and the moon is also full.
I hate that i dont even have to think to get this refrence i just automaticaly know
“You must read, you must persevere, you must sit up nights, you must inquire, and exert the utmost power of your mind. If one way does not lead to the desired meaning, take another; if obstacles arise, then still another; until, if your strength holds out, you will find that clear which at first looked dark.”
Giovanni Boccaccio (via drakontomalloi)
Tulip Fields at Sassenheim, near Leiden, 1886, Claude Monet
Size: 73.2x59.7 cm Medium: oil on canvas
“When at last I came upon the right book, the feeling was violent: it blew open a hole in me that made life more dangerous because I couldn’t control what came through it.” ―Nicole Krauss, Great House
Why aren’t there more statues memorializing slaves?
Ya think?
August 17, National Black Cat Appreciation Day.
Marianne Rubin, age 89. Charlottesville.
Other people are not responsible for my responses or how I feel. But yes, anyway.
A woman selects baked beans at the Horn & Hardart Automat, New York, 1955, photo by Arthur Rothstein
Whereas there were once 40 H&H automats, the last Horn & Hardart in New York closed in 1991. Most of the automats were converted into Burger King restaurants.
Mother is both a noun and a verb. Some people had great mothers but lost them, some had or have mothers who never mothered them or stopped mothering them for some reason, treated them as adversaries or as worthless, and Mother's Day can be a punitive day for all those for whom this is true. The other half of the question of what there is to celebrate is what mothered and mothers you, how you mother yourself, how you celebrate and recognize what cares for you and takes care of you, and what you care for in return. I remember once looking at the Pacific Ocean, to which I often reverted in trouble, and thinking "Everything was my mother but my mother." Books were my mother, coastlines, running water and landscapes, trees and the flight of birds, zazen and zendos, quiet and cellos, reading and writing, bookstores and familiar views and routines, the changing evening sky, cooking and baking, walking and discovering, rhythms and blues, friends and interior spaces and all forms of kindness, of which there has been more and more as time goes by. And of my own mother I wrote, in The Faraway Nearby: Like lawyers, writers seek consistency; they make a case for their point of view; they do so by leaving out some evidence; but let me mention the hundreds of sandwiches my mother made during my elementary school years, the peanut butter sandwiches I ate alone on school benches in the open, throwing the crusts into the air where the seagulls would swoop to catch them before they hit the ground. When my friends began to have babies and I came to comprehend the heroic labor it takes to keep one alive, the constant exhausting tending of a being who can do nothing and demands everything, I realized that my mother had done all these things for me before I remembered. I was fed; I was washed; I was clothed; I was taught to speak and given a thousand other things, over and over again, hourly, daily, for years. She gave me everything before she gave me nothing. May you locate the ten thousand mothers that brought you into being and keep you going, no matter who and where you are. May you be the mother of uncounted possibilities and loves. ~Rebecca Solnit