Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Syrian man drinking tea after his house was bombed 

Syrian man drinking tea after his house was bombed 

Monday, September 1, 2014
brazilwonders:

(by Vitor Teixeira)
Instead of wondering when your next vacation is, maybe you set up a life you don’t need to escape from. Seth Godin (via liberatingreality)
Friday, August 22, 2014

nickiandretti:

truest shit i’ve ever read. 

(Source: sentimentaldecadence)

newwavefeminism:

determinedone:

Boondocks Comic Strip

Boondocks speaking blunt truth, as always…

newwavefeminism:

determinedone:

Boondocks Comic Strip

Boondocks speaking blunt truth, as always…

jtotheizzoe:

Best Astrophotography of the Year, as chosen by the Royal Observatory Greenwich.

From both an existential and purely technical/photographic aspect, these shots blow my mind. Check out the full gallery of winners at My Modern Met.

(Top two images by Mark Gee, bottom image by Adam Block)

Bonus: Check out grand prize winner Mark Gee’s breathtaking video of a rising moon and tiny human silhouettes, pointing at it and ooh-ing and ahh-ing and generally marveling at the lunar awesomeness. It’s just … wow.

(Source: tra-nsparent)

halaalpussy:

greenthepress:

carlboygenius:

We are negligent and we are killing our world.

siriuslikesboys:

☾ fucking breathe || 2 + hours of music to help you calm down after a panic attack.


i. those to come - the shins ii. greendale is where i belong - ludwig gorranson iii. kisses and cake - john powell iv. moon river - audrey hepburn v. the predatory wasp of the palisades is out to get us! - sufjan stevens vi. to build a home - cinematic orchestra vii. chantiers navals 412 - lj kruzer viii. pacific rim theme - music box version ix. up all night - oliver tank x. falling asleep with a book on your chest - lullatone xi. wind forest - my neighbor totoro xii. sea of love - cat power xiii. such great heights - iron wine xiv. flower garden - howl’s moving castle xv. can’t help falling in love - fleet foxes xvi. i will follow you into the dark - music box version xvii. holocene - bon iver xviii. boats and birds - gregory and the hawk xix. the breaking of the fellowship - lord of the rings xx.howl’s moving castle theme - music box version xxi. skinny love - birdy xxii. flesh and bone - keaton henson xxiii. never play - emily & the woods xxiv. morning talk/supersymmetry - arcade fire xxv. to your health - keaton henson xxvi. blinsided - bon iver xxvi. wolf trap motel - husky rescue xxviii. i don’t like it like this - the radio dept. xxix. help you breathe - oliver tank xxx. feel real - deptford goth lxi. child i will hurt you - crystal castles lxii. the departure - gattaca lxiii. i was lost without you - mass effect 3 lxiv. saturn - sleeping at last

[listen]

siriuslikesboys:

 fucking breathe || 2 + hours of music to help you calm down after a panic attack.
i. those to come - the shins ii. greendale is where i belong - ludwig gorranson iii. kisses and cake - john powell iv. moon river - audrey hepburn v. the predatory wasp of the palisades is out to get us! - sufjan stevens vi. to build a home - cinematic orchestra vii. chantiers navals 412 - lj kruzer viii. pacific rim theme - music box version ix. up all night - oliver tank x. falling asleep with a book on your chest - lullatone xi. wind forest - my neighbor totoro xii. sea of love - cat power xiii. such great heights - iron wine xiv. flower garden - howl’s moving castle xv. can’t help falling in love - fleet foxes xvi. i will follow you into the dark - music box version xvii. holocene - bon iver xviii. boats and birds - gregory and the hawk xix. the breaking of the fellowship - lord of the rings xx.howl’s moving castle theme - music box version xxi. skinny love - birdy xxii. flesh and bone - keaton henson xxiii. never play - emily & the woods xxiv. morning talk/supersymmetry - arcade fire xxv. to your health - keaton henson xxvi. blinsided - bon iver xxvi. wolf trap motel - husky rescue xxviii. i don’t like it like this - the radio dept. xxix. help you breathe - oliver tank xxx. feel real - deptford goth lxi. child i will hurt you - crystal castles lxii. the departure - gattaca lxiii. i was lost without you - mass effect 3 lxiv. saturn - sleeping at last
endpositive:




Tupac holding his middle finger high after being shot.

One of the dopest photo’s i ever seen.

the realest. RIP.

if you don’t reblog this you deserve to be shot by Tupac’s ghost.

endpositive:

Tupac holding his middle finger high after being shot.

One of the dopest photo’s i ever seen.

the realest. RIP.

if you don’t reblog this you deserve to be shot by Tupac’s ghost.

(Source: the-beautification)

Friday, May 23, 2014
nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time. She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.
But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.

This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.

But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.

Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.

That’s what love is. Attention to detail.

And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.

But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.

But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:

One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.

And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

THEY’RE MADE OUT OF MEAT


“They’re made out of meat.”

"Meat?"

"Meat. They’re made out of meat."

"Meat?"

"There’s no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They’re completely meat."

"That’s impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?"

"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don’t come from them. The signals come from machines."

"So who made the machines? That’s who we want to contact."

"They made the machines. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."

"That’s ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You’re asking me to believe in sentient meat."

"I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they’re made out of meat."

"Maybe they’re like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."

"Nope. They’re born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn’t take long. Do you have any idea what’s the life span of meat?"

"Spare me. Okay, maybe they’re only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."

"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They’re meat all the way through."

"No brain?"

"Oh, there’s a brain all right. It’s just that the brain is made out of meat! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you."

"So … what does the thinking?"

"You’re not understanding, are you? You’re refusing to deal with what I’m telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat."

"Thinking meat! You’re asking me to believe in thinking meat!"

"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?"

"Omigod. You’re serious then. They’re made out of meat."

"Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made out of meat. And they’ve been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years."

"Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?"

"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the Universe, contact other sentiences, swap ideas and information. The usual."

"We’re supposed to talk to meat."

"That’s the idea. That’s the message they’re sending out by radio. ‘Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.’ That sort of thing."

"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?"
“Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat.”

"I thought you just told me they used radio."

"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat."

"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?"

"Officially or unofficially?"

"Both."

"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing."

"I was hoping you would say that."

"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?"

"I agree one hundred percent. What’s there to say? ‘Hello, meat. How’s it going?’ But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?"

"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can’t live on them. And being meat, they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."

"So we just pretend there’s no one home in the Universe."

"That’s it."

"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you probed? You’re sure they won’t remember?"

"They’ll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we’re just a dream to them."

"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat’s dream."

"And we marked the entire sector unoccupied."

"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"

"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again."

"They always come around."

"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the Universe would be if one were all alone …"

TERRY BISSON

(via yourmomfanclub)

Yes. 

(via mini-wrants)
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
sqauts-and-other-stupid-shit:

coldwarbirthcontrol:

heroinpuppy:

oceanicxxx:

This is so true…

den explain all dis paper 💵💵💵



^^^^reblogging for the fucking comment

sqauts-and-other-stupid-shit:

coldwarbirthcontrol:

heroinpuppy:

oceanicxxx:

This is so true…

den explain all dis paper 💵💵💵

^^^^reblogging for the fucking comment

(Source: obsidianxxx)

Saturday, May 3, 2014

asfadedasmyjeans:

danieldempsey:

My dude straight loving him some nsync.

Me. Every day.