The Sound of New Rain
Draw a monster. Why is it a monster?

Daughter by Janice Lee

I think about this quote a lot.   (via melisica)

Holy shit.

tairupanda:

derschneefiel:

The Pallas´s Cat, also called Manul, is a small wildcat living in the grasslands and steppe of central asia.
It is named after the german naturalist Peter Simon Pallas, who first described the species in 1776.

That is the most expressive and gelatinous cat I have ever seen.

adriofthedead:

first a girl gets stabbed and killed by a dude at school because she refused to go to prom with him

now seven women are dead and more are injured because some idiot tool felt like sex or even attention from women was something that was somehow “owed” to him

how many more times does this have to happen before we start getting it through our heads that male entitlement fucking kills people

makinaro:

Oh my god, I’m dying. This is incredible. 
*hissed whisper* …I’m reading them all in his voice…
Hannibal at the Zoo

makinaro:

Oh my god, I’m dying. This is incredible. 

*hissed whisper* …I’m reading them all in his voice…

Hannibal at the Zoo

fer1972:

Artworks by Mylovt

cumberbatched-in-the-shire:

whitebeltwriter:

There needs to be a bar or club or something that when you walk in there’s a rack of different color wristbands with words like “I looking for-“

  • girls
  • boys
  • trans
  • anyone
  • no one
  • friends
  • etc

So that everyone would know who’s looking for who.

Like:

"Hey that girl is cute. And her wristband says she’s also looking for a girl. Sweet!”

Or:

"He’s cute, but his wristband says girls. Oh well."

you are the future

The mistake people make when they talk about not being able to trust Wikipedia is in the implicit assumption that we could trust encyclopedias as infallible sources before Wikipedia.

I like Wikipedia because I know it could be wrong. Regular encyclopedias can be wrong, too, but my guard was never up in the same way with them as it is with Wikipedia. I like Internet media specifically for the reason that Aaron Sorkin doesn’t like it: because it makes it that much more difficult for me to have any illusions about the fact that the burden of critical thought is on me.

I don’t automatically trust bloggers because a group of people I’ve never met decided to give them a badge that says “reporter” on it. I don’t turn off my critical thinking because they’ve gotten to be some sort of “professional”. I have to judge them on the merits of their writing and history of thoughtfulness or thoughtlessness alone. That is a feature, not a bug, because we should never trust any news media outlet implicitly.

I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selflies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages.

Why Trust Is Worth It - Ze Frank and Cirque du Soleil

Innocence/In a Sense