Remember, we don’t say “I love you,” we cut your head off and kick it against the wall.
Another year, another set of shitty Child ballad Valentines. Parts 1 and 1.5 here.
Remember, we don’t say “I love you,” we cut your head off and kick it against the wall.
Another year, another set of shitty Child ballad Valentines. Parts 1 and 1.5 here.
Hey guys I made Valentines for our six-person fandom. They’re super awesome. I’m great.
tonight begins tu b’shvat, the jewish new year (or bday) for the trees, and it’s one of my favorite holidays. one of the many things we consider on tu b’shevat is the hidden inner workings of the trees. in israel and many diaspora locations, the holiday falls toward the end of the rainy season and of winter. the trees have a lot going on inside and down deep in their roots! they’re metabolizing all the nutrients they’ll need to start bearing fruit when the conditions permit. we don’t celebrate this holiday when the trees are in their full flourishing–we celebrate it when we’re still in anticipation of that time.
i think there’s an analogy to recovery here. in early recovery phases, we’re soaking up nutrients and our bodies are very busy on the inside, metabolizing energy and repairing the systems that had, in a sense, to lie dormant in the cold of starvation. there may be little in terms of visible fruit (even to ourselves) in these early phases, but if you look closely, and if you understand and trust the internal processes, you know that the fruition is coming.
and, like the trees, we experience cycles in recovery. of dormancy or fruition. they depend on each other. in the winters we know the blossoms will come. and we appreciate these phases of inner movement, interiority, before that work moves to the outside and we again share ourselves with the world. chag sameach 🌳🌳
*trying to flirt with a guy* I dig your look. I'd love to see you tied to a tree and made to bear the wounds of St. Sebastian. Completely obliterated from every angle *remembers the social contract and gets nervous* Like, the jacket for example, where'd you get that
Happy honk!
just a reminder to my new followers that if were ever able to cross the explanatory gap and share our color perception qualia with each other, proving finally that we all do see colors differently, my red is real as shit and youve been seeing crap fake red. so come to terms with your shit fake red while it lasts
Tossing Another Log Onto The Fire voted greatest activity uncontested 50,000 yrs
i dont want to download tinder i want girls to invite me over through premonition and dreams
I dont have enough vices so i have to psychologically torment myself!!
The fucking job market is abysmal
Dancing Owl, Palaya Qiatsuq, 2013
so Kate Beaton did a comic on Ida B. Wells and that picture there is a click through and the whole thing is basically great
TIL a family in Georgia claimed to have passed down a song in an unknown language from the time of their enslavement; scientists identified the song as a genuine West African funeral song in the Mende language that had survived multiple transmissions from mother to daughter over multiple centuries (x)
In 1997 Amelia’s daughter, Mary Moran, and other members of the Moran family were invited to Sierra Leone, West Africa, where they were welcomed in Freetown by Sierra Leone’s President and then flown by helicopter to the country’s interior. There, in the small village of Senehun Ngola, Mary and Bendu Jabati met and sang this song together for the first time. Years earlier, Bendu’s grandmother had told her that this song, which had been passed down in her village from mother to daughter for centuries, would one day reunite her to long-lost relatives.
In addition to finding out where in Africa her ancestors were abducted into slavery, Mary Moran discovered the meaning of the Mende song: a processional hymn for the final farewell to the spirit, it was sung in Senehun Ngola by women as they prepared the body of a loved one for burial.
(The OP's link leads to a site with a recording of the song sung by both Mary Moran and her mother, Amelia)