akathecentimetre reblogged
I’m watching opera with @akathecentimetre. Rodelinda trashed the dining table it was fucking awesome.
it has been a Good Week
akathecentimetre reblogged
Hope you will return to the fandom soon with more amazing fics :)
I didn’t post these at the time because it was kind of a shit time in our lives but - GUYS. LOOK. AT. MY SKYWALKER TWINS.
akathecentimetre reblogged
One of the worst feelings in the world: when you are just desperate, like claw-your-own-skin-off desperate, to create, but the only thing that even vaguely appeals to you to work on is a nebulous half-feeling that might be dreamily related to some half-formed notion of a concept. I must! Make! No thing! Only make!
akathecentimetre reblogged
My wife and I will take the girl. We’ve always talked of adopting a baby girl. She will be loved with us.
And what of the boy? To Tatooine. To his family, send him.
akathecentimetre reblogged
"this work is problematic because of how it handles [subject]": reasonable premise for media criticism
"this work is problematic because it depicts [subject]": do not pass go do not collect $200 this is, as a general rule, a functionally reactionary and conservative argument
akathecentimetre reblogged
Pride and Prejudice (2005) + tumblr posts (part 1)
akathecentimetre reblogged
no, listen, when I say I want to integrate more specific solarpunk stuff in my life, i don’t mean to ask for yet again new “aesthetic” clothes that now you have to buy or make to show your support of the movement (screw that i’m consuming enough as it is), or more posts about impossible house goals, or whatever, I’m asking you what my options to build a portable and eco friendly phone charger are, im asking you viable tiny-appartment edible plants growing tricks on a budget, im asking tips to slow down when my mind and society tell me im not fast enough, i don’t need more rich art nouveau amateurs aesthetics or pristine but cold venus project, okay, i know i should joins associations where I am tho i’m constantly on the move, thanks for that, just, you know, can we get a bit more practical ??? how do I hack my temporary flat into going off the grid for the time i’m here
Hello! ☀️ Here are a few practical suggestions for stuff you can do:
- Make a bottle tower garden (a small one could do well on a windowsill)
- Make eco-friendly household cleaners
- Germinate strawberry seeds and care for the plants
- Grow plants from cuttings (you can grow almost anything this way)
- Make a sun jar
- Grow low maintenance houseplants
- Make a string garden
- Make a wall planter
- Germinate an avocado seed
- Make a shoe pocket garden
- Build a mini solar generator
- Re-grow kitchen scraps
- Find the right solar battery charger
- Recycle old solar cells
Hope you find something useful in there! I post stuff up from time to time under my diy tag. Feel free to drop me a message if you have any requests!
- grow oyster mushrooms on waste coffee grounds (also works with shiitake)
- a list of some food plants that can grow indoors with reduced light
- windowsill herbs
- egg carton seed germination
- germinate chayote and keep it as a houseplant (the root, stem, leaves, fruit, and seed are all edible)
- choosing a portable solar panel
- tips for energy efficient apartment life (but jsyk LED is better than CFL, and a tank bank or expanding water bottle is better than a brick or bottle of gravel)
- DIY draft stoppers
- DIY solar oven and recipes
- evaporative refrigeration
- use conkers/horse chestnuts to replace soap and detergents
- use baking soda as dry shampoo
- cleaning with vinegar do’s & don’ts and common myths
- DIY dryer balls
- apartment-friendly bokashi composting and DIY bokashi bran
- DIY moss terrarium for your soul (ain’t many souls slower or more patient than moss)
- and a list of some easy care indoor plants for your nerves
- and for your bathroom and your air quality
- recycle t-shirts into yarn for your crafts
akathecentimetre reblogged
Some creative attempts at capturing birdsong in musical notation from F. Schuyler Mathews’s Field book of wild birds and their music (1921).
Regarding that last notation, the scream of the Great Horned Owl, the text has this description:
“When that note comes, one will think he hears the ‘crack o’ doom.’ If the Screech Owl’s note is weird, this is horrible; it has the sound of murder in it. No cat on a back-yard fence can produce a yell as hideous!”
Full text available here.
akathecentimetre reblogged
I am slowly losing my mind over the shift towards video as the default media format.
I do not find this to be an efficient way to absorb information. I am bored and distracted by the time the largely unnecessary introduction is over. I can't use ctrl+f to find the specific information I'm looking for. If there are instructions to follow, I don't want to have to constantly pause and back up to the part I need.
At least give me a fucking transcript.
akathecentimetre reblogged
Maybe people on the internet would enjoy this 10 year old meme in embroidery form. Kit by https://www.etsy.com/shop/CraftyQueerDesigns
akathecentimetre reblogged
ALT
Voting as Fire Extinguishter (poem by Kyle Tran Myhre)
When the haunted house catches fire:
a moment of indecision.
The house was, after all, built on bones,
and blood, and bad intentions.
Everyone who enters the house feels
that overwhelming dread, the evil
that perhaps only fire can purge.
It’s tempting to just let it burn.
And then I remember:
there are children inside.
just posting this to shout to the world that Luis Carazo has his fist around my heart every. single. time I watch him play like what the FUCK man
character art by @lizzart-zardonicz
akathecentimetre reblogged
if ever you find symbolism in my writing please tell me i’d like to know about it too
@agarthanguide is the best reader out there y'all
I FICCED AGAIN. But this definitely requires some explanation.
Simply put, I am a huge nerd. I'm in a huge phase of a) adoring the music of Handel and b) adoring the skill of countertenor Iestyn Davies, and so a while back I wrote a thing about the sweet triad of Rodelinda (queen), Bertarido (her king/husband, incorrectly thought dead) and Unolfo (Bertarido's still-loyal counsellor). Davies has played both Unolfo - in the 2011 Met production of Rodelinda that informed that first fic - and Bertarido, as I heard him do at Carnegie Hall just last week and in several other productions.
The images above are from him playing Bertarido in an English National Opera (ENO) production from 2014. If anyone out there happens to know if a video of this show exists, I will literally kill for it. And here is a little fangirl take on the sheer awfulness that exists at the heart of this opera, regardless of its happy ending. Massive thanks, as ever, to @agarthanguide for being my best enabler.
Unolfo’s blood is drying on his palm, tacky, heavy as mercury. Bertarido closes his fist, and the tide crashes in. Gundeberto had always been the soldier of the three of them. His brother the king, The Avaricious; the crude hacker of limbs, the bloodletter. Eduige, stern and straight-backed, was more suited to politics, the game of shadows and false appearances. Bertarido had always felt himself the one left over, the reluctant ruler, the Platonic striver after moderation. Gundeberto had died as he lived, gasping and cackling through the blood in his mouth, while Bertarido had been swept away from him on the battlefield and left for lost as the corpses rotted and stank. Passive. Weak. Concerned overmuch with virtue. These epithets have followed him all his life. I shall string their guts along my gates, he thinks, and the words become fire within him as he stares at his trembling hand. Unolfo, his dearest counsellor, his only loyal friend. He had been warm to Bertarido’s touch when the wayward knife slipped between his ribs, his blood quickened, Bertarido now knows, by the excited hope of saving his sovereign. His own name, splattered across Unolfo’s shoulders, has been tainted by the dark fears that had grown around Bertarido in his prison, in the filthy, festering dungeon of his enemies’ making. They have done this. Bertarido whispers it to himself as he stalks through the palace, striding from shadow to shadow, his vision narrowing and swimming at its edges. He has spent months railing against fate, against fortuna, against unshaped forces he has until now believed ruled his destiny as it was sadly cut short. He believes that no longer. Them. Grimoaldo, the tottering, frightened, pathetic usurper. Garibaldo, the true cruelty behind the false king, shorn of principles, delighting in misery. He puts names to previously blank faces. These men, these horrors, are real. It was not Fortuna who put a knife to the throat of Bertarido’s son, who oppressed his cabinet and ignored his people. Who has done God only knows what to his wife. Bertarido nearly stumbles, his breath caught in his throat. The pain rises, choking, and he clutches at a nearby doorframe as he lets out a dry retch, wracked into immobility for a brief moment of his rampage. They must die. The words swim through him so naturally that, were he not so overwhelmed, he would chastise himself. Mercy be damned. Until this moment, sweet, melancholy daydreams of what should have been have always risen to the forefront of his thoughts. Rodelinda, resplendent, smiling gently, maternal, catching his eye in a flash of passion as Flavio, dutiful and strong, nods to him. Unolfo hovering, immaculate as ever, promising and providing stability. His mind reaches, grasps – but it is gone, the peaceful world of his past shattered. Bertarido takes in a sharp breath, and something within him mocks all his hopes; mocks the very idea that it could ever have been thus again, what with everything that has happened in between. His bare, torn feet have somehow known where to take him. He stands back at the threshold of the dungeon, staring at the cooling pool of blood where Unolfo had so recently lain. Someone else has been here since – he can see other footprints on the grimy floor – but he cares not to speculate on who it might have been. Bertarido leans down; hefts the sword that was so recently pressed with glee against his own chest, the absurd weight of it. They will pay for what they have taken from me. His God is a forgiving one, he has been told. He turns away to seek his quarry, and sets out to put his reputation to rest.
akathecentimetre reblogged
“In 1549 AD Robert Kett yeoman farmer of Wymondham was executed by hanging in this Castle after the defeat of the Norfolk Rebellion of which he was leader. In 1949 AD – four hundred years later – this Memorial was placed here by the citizens of Norwich in reparation and honour to a notable and courageous leader in the long struggle of the common people of England to escape from a servile life into the freedom of just conditions” - Norwich Castle Plaque
akathecentimetre reblogged
"average president has 2 felony charges" factoid actualy just statistical error. average president has 0 felony charges. Felonies Don, who lives in a state of disgrace (Florida) & has 92 felony charges, is an outlier adn should not have been counted
now on the other hand, "average president has committed uncountable war crimes (no charges)" actually a perfectly valid factoid with no statistical errors or notable outliers and should be counted