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Guildenstern: It’s autumnal. Rosencrantz (examining the ground): No leaves. Guildenstern: Autumnal - nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day… Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it… Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses… deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth – reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. At such times, perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere, by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.

Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.  

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the more I listen to the song the more I’m convinced it’s just dripping in sarcasm

I agree with others that this isn’t meant to be romantic, at least not the verses. I think this is still a really harrowing song that’s pointed at the media for chasing her love life so hard and for some of the shit they say. 

Like she’s talking about robbers and thieves and being jailed and ransom …. that ain’t love and that sure as hell ain’t the love that Taylor would seek out. That’s the reputation that the media and haters have given her. This is another song about the media calling her a man-eater. This is not a love song, folks. This is another “fuck you” song but it’s disguised as a fucking pop bop 

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sup fanboys lemme explain this

“you’re against censorship, but you complain about how women are drawn in comics, that’s hypocritical”

well you see friend, the problem here is you have mixed up CENSORSHIP and QUALITY CONTROL

i don’t think the government should stop you from drawing whatever you fucking well please, even if it’s spider woman’s cameltoe in a pose you traced from porn

please do feel free to draw and publish your own special comic “all the female heroes strung out on E and ready for anal” on your own time

just like i feel free to write the winter soldier sucking captain america’s dick on any given day, that is how fans do, it’s totally ok

but don’t be surprised when people can tell it’s your special fanboy bathroom reading even if you’re a paid artist for marvel or dc because buddy we know what that looks like and you’re not fooling anyone

CENSORSHIP is when your art is illegal

QUALITY CONTROL is when they hire david aja instead

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fozmeadows

THIIIIIIIIIS

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so the thing about my family is that we have two ancestors on my dad’s side who were buried in france, where I currently live. one died in the spanish civil war, and one died prior doing…we don’t know what. but he somehow managed to get buried in père lachaise. 

so anyhow, my gran sends me a message like “pls put flowers on ur uncle samuel’s grave because he’s gone over a century with none and it will make the ghost mad if he hasn’t already” because my family spends time in europe but never long enough to go all the way to père lachaise and give ya boy samuel jr. his death rites. so im like “ok gran I can do that” bc im a good grandson and you do not fuck with gran she doesn’t DESERVE THAT 

i figure out which plot he’s on and ask someone specifically where you can find uncle samuel jr. and they tell me where and so I arrive at the junction and. 

HE GONE. 

WHERE DID YOU GO UNCLE SAMUEL. 

*celine dion’s smash hit “my heart will go on” playing in the distance* 

in other words either someone stole my entire great great uncle samuel or he has risen again, ready to party in paris for all of eternity. 

You’re pretty chill about a corpse disappearing.

My guy, my dude, he’s been dead since 1851. He could be anywhere. He does what he wants.

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:-O

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battlships

It’s not actually known if lemons were made by humans or if they were just natural hybrids of citrons and sour oranges. Apparently it’s super common for citrons to fertilize basically anything they’re near.

great now we gotta kinkshame the fruit

Everything about this post is going in so many directions at once 

i had never actually seen a citron fruit so i looked it up and it’s basically a failure lemon

we did it a favor

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neuroxin
I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert… near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. 

                                              - “Ozymandias”, Percy Bysshe Shelly

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