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the invention of the shovel was a groundbreaking discovery.

however, it was nothing compared to the broom. That swept the nation

10 hours ago

the invention of the shovel was a groundbreaking discovery. however, it was nothing compared to the broom. That swept the...

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i have had this picture open in a tab at work for like four days now. instant picker-upper. look at dis baaaby

10 hours ago

i have had this picture open in a tab at work for like four days now. instant picker-upper. look at dis baaaby

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The reboot fans would be okay with

10 hours ago

The reboot fans would be okay with

1 day ago

Why was the Ninth Doctor afraid of the Eighth Doctor? Because McGann Hurt Eccleston. :O Amazing!

You’ve heard of one shots, now get ready for none shots! It’s when you think of an idea for a fic and then don’t write it

2 days ago

You’ve heard of one shots, now get ready for none shots! It’s when you think of an idea for a fic and then don’t write it

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This racoon lives a life of decadence and luxery few will ever know

2 days ago

This racoon lives a life of decadence and luxery few will ever know

how come you can name your kid Lily or Rose and that’s totally acceptable but you trying calling em Baby’s Breath and everyone flips

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2 days ago

how come you can name your kid Lily or Rose and that’s totally acceptable but you trying calling em Baby’s Breath and everyone...

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Nosferatu and a murder of crows. Photos by Amber Maitrejean
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2 days ago

Nosferatu and a murder of crows. Photos by Amber Maitrejean

How the media depicts the Apollo 11 mission:

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Actual quotes from the Apollo 11 mission:

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2 days ago

How the media depicts the Apollo 11 mission: Actual quotes from the Apollo 11 mission:

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Norman Rockwell - Two Plumbers (1951)

2 days ago

Norman Rockwell - Two Plumbers (1951)

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the paper airplane competition ➿✈️

2 days ago

the paper airplane competition ➿✈️

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Absolute shenanigans

4 days ago

Absolute shenanigans

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memes for vampires
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4 days ago

memes for vampires

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Pigeon steals poppies from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Australian War Memorial, Canberra, Australia in order to build a...
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4 days ago

Pigeon steals poppies from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Australian War Memorial, Canberra, Australia in order to build a...

5 days ago

[Yes, I had to do it. Yes, all the voices are me. Lyrics under the cut.] Afficher davantage

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Blogging this tweet because this explains SO MUCH about the mindset of pretty much all the folks I’ve known who’re against...

5 days ago

Blogging this tweet because this explains SO MUCH about the mindset of pretty much all the folks I’ve known who’re against...

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I accidentally made a Chia Pet Skull
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5 days ago

I accidentally made a Chia Pet Skull

(or, An Autism Story By J. Murray with editing by Samantha Hack)

Imagine that you’re a sparrow, living in a family of sparrows in a town of sparrows in a world of sparrows.

But you’re kind of a shitty sparrow. Kind of the worst sparrow, actually.

You can’t fly. You’ve been to doctors who have prescribed medicine to help with flying. But you still can’t. You try every day, and every day you fail and this thing which all the other sparrows tell you is critical.

For a while, you stop trying. Failing every day just wore you down and you couldn’t do it anymore, so you stopped trying to fly. It was nice in some ways, but you felt guilty because you weren’t raised to give up. It made a rift with your family. Flying is an important activity that sparrow families do together. Isn’t your family important to you? Don’t they deserve for you to at least make the effort?

So since it’s nothing medically wrong with you, you go to a therapist, who diagnoses you with a phobia of flying. You work on overcoming your fear. You’re lucky, your family is very accepting of mental illness (other sparrows are not so lucky, and it hurts your heart to think about that). They appreciate and admire how hard you’re working. They try to include you, so instead of getting together and flying, sometimes they get together and all sit in their nests. That sort of sucks too, but it’s a definite improvement.

You continue to try, and fail, to fly. You try harder. You try as hard as you can. Sometimes you can’t even make yourself flap your wings, it’s just such pointless bullshit and you feel like you’ll never succeed. Sometimes you go up on a chair and jump off and flap real hard and go splat anyway.

Sometimes mean birds make fun of you because you’re a terrible screw-up.

For 26 years, this is what your life is.

One day, almost out of nowhere, as an afterthought, an aside, something barely worth mentioning because it is so obvious, a doctor says, “by the way, you’re a penguin.”

Holy shit. You’re not a failure. You’re a penguin. You’re not lazy or stupid or weak. You don’t have messed up values. You’re a penguin. You have always been a penguin.

There’s nothing wrong with you, you’re a beautiful penguin. The most perfect penguin. But it’s just a fact, penguins can’t fly.

Now when you’re with you’re sparrow friends and they’re all sitting in nests, you sit in a bucket of ice. Mostly you bring your own. Some bird restaurants are really accommodating and will bring you a bucket of ice to sit in. Sometimes mean birds give you shit about your bucket, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it did before, because you know you’re a penguin and you’re just exactly what a penguin is meant to be.

You give yourself permission to stop trying to fly. Not failing all the time improves your mood and overall function. You finally feel confident declining when invited to flying outings. You don’t waste the energy feeling guilty about it.

You love your family of sparrows, but you also find a whole community of penguins to love too. Things you thought were just you, like preferring fish to bird seed, things you thought you were totally alone in and wrong for, are common and accepted. Some are even admired. Your new penguin friends think your flippers and chubby penguin belly are lovely. You bond over how and when you discovered you loved swimming.

Knowing you’re a penguin means knowing where you fit in a world you never felt like you fit into. It means all the things penguins can’t do, it’s not a personal failing when you can’t do them. You’re not supposed to be able to. You can do other things instead. Sparrows are actually quite poor swimmers. You feel good about the things you excel at.

This is why I think labels are important. This is why I think “we’re all birds, let’s focus on our similarities instead of our differences” is harmful. This is how my autism diagnosis was like breathing, after holding my breath for 26 years.

Sparrows and Penguins by J. Murray (edited by Samantha Hack) is licensed under a

Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

Based on a work at sparrowsandpenguins.com.

6 days ago

Sparrows and Penguins

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u ever take some lyrics wildly out of context just for ur own nefarious means
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6 days ago

u ever take some lyrics wildly out of context just for ur own nefarious means

me: ugh i hate clichés

the plot: and then they find out that the character everyone thought had died holding off the enemy forces after helping the heroes escape was actually captured by the villain and has been alive this whole time

me, crying: omg they were alive the whole time

the plot: but it turns out they were tortured and brainwashed or mind controlled by the villain to forget their friends and see them as the enemy, so now their friends are forced to fight them in a tense and heartbreaking battle where both sides knows each other's fighting styles and weaknesses but are nonetheless unequally matched because only one of them is fighting to kill

me: *leaning forward excitedly* go on

the plot: unable to hold their brainwashed friend back indefinitely without having to hurt them, the hero chooses to throw their weapon aside in a last-ditch attempt to snap them out of it, saying something like "i know you're still in there somewhere. you can fight this" or "you would never hurt me" or repeating a joke or catchphrase they both shared through their tears and despite their injuries, tenderly cupping their friends' cheek with their free hand as they pin them to the ground and draw back in preparation to make the killing blow

me: *physically gripping the edge of my seat*

the plot: something in their expression changes, recognition and horror and self-loathing filling the blankness, but their face quickly hardens again and they bring their weapon down on the person they love as the villain laughs - only to change the direction of their attack at the last moment and deal the villain a mortal wound while they're exposed

me:

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...may I suggest an angsty version?? They only break free after they've stabbed their friend/can't stop themselves in time

YOU MAY NOT

6 days ago

me: ugh i hate clichés the plot: and then they find out that the character everyone thought had died holding off the enemy...

6 days ago

What's the real thing the 3am text/creepy grandma at your door prompt is based on!?!? Please, I need details!!! 💙

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Can confirm this

6 days ago

Can confirm this

So I got called into jury duty…

And I was put in the seat instantly, of course. I said, “your honor, I can’t be a juror on a two week trial, I have opera rehearsal.” And she said, “opera huh, well, sing something for us.”

And I did. In a federal court of law, in front of the judge, 75 jurors, the lawyers and the fucking DEFENDANT, I sang o mio babbino caro.

And the judge excused me.

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@districtswiftie13

YO I DIDNT EMBARRASS MYSELF IN FEDERAL COURT SO YALL CAN DOUBT ME.

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I know a lot of opera singers, and singing a full-on aria in a court room with only a hint of provocation is EXACTLY what they would do.

I know a lot of judges, and demanding an impromptu opera solo on a whim is also something they would do.

(And also one of the main reasons you can be excused from jury duty is economic hardship–basically, it would cause you unreasonable financial damage. If you’re a professional singer, a two week gap in your rehearsal schedule could do that for sure.)

As a muso, I absolutely believe this. I’ve got my accordion out of my carry-on and played a tune when airport security couldn’t recognise its weird mass of levers. Singers and musicians are just Like That.

Accurate.

My friend got stopped at the Canadian border coming back into the US. Border patrol took one look at his tattoed, ear-gagued, mutton chop wearing, hipster self, and said “I don’t believe you’re an opera singer. Sing something for me.”His wife immediately put down her knitting and plugged her ears, because Matt’s a contrabasso, and he does NOT sing quietly.Every other booth along the border stop had a head poking out of it within twenty seconds. And they let them pass without further contest.

One time I had a cole slaw craving at like 10pm so i went to KFC and the girl at the counter was like IT’S CHRISTMAS, SING ME A CAROL AND I’LL GIVE YOU YOUR SLAW, and I was like, oh, I uh—but then her coworker was like GDI STOP DOING THIS. YOU DONT HAVE TO SING. SHES BEEN DOING THIS ALL DAY

so of course I busted out the first few bars of Amarilli (which isn’t actually a christmas carol, but it was what i’d been practicing at the time so shhh), and let me tell you, nearly-empty fast food restaurants have GREAT acoustics

I’m just enjoying all these stories too much not to repost.  Don’t mind me.

I just clap enthusiastically at performers.

The list of odd places hubby has sung songs starts and ends with literally everywhere he’s ever been. It’s harder stopping him. (He does parody lyrics. They are endless.)

This would not even be the weirdest thing an opera singer did in general, or that anyone did to get out of jury duty.

Weirdest conversation I’ve ever had with one of my children was, “That movie was so unrealistic with everyone bursting into song all the time.”

I was all, “Who are you and where have you lived your entire life?”

6 days ago

So I got called into jury duty… And I was put in the seat instantly, of course. I said, “your honor, I can’t be a juror on a...

With January, only honesty is ensured. Come as you are; if you don’t, they will rip away everything you aren’t. Their embrace is cold, but they can only take so much warmth from you before the two of you are one and the same. It is a relief like nothing else. Don’t get hung up on it when they leave. February says very little, so hold onto the words she does say. Write them down, save them. She is fascinated by the things you do, the things you never notice. When you feel her hold your hand, pause and breathe until she’s gone. She’s gone so quickly. You miss January. Stop missing January. March is not quick to make friends. Try as you might, as the weeks pass on, you will not find him if you look. He will find you, and he will approach so quietly, you’ll hardly hear him. He has one word to tell you, one very important word, and you probably won’t like it. But don’t tell that to his face, assuming you ever see it. He is damageable just like you. April wants to take you far away from winter. She grabs you right by the wrist and pulls you into her bright and buzzing world. It’s exhilarating just to be with her. She guides you along, she speaks the rhythm, the chain of command. It’s a dance designed for forgetting the stillness of winter. Join her. You won’t forget. May tries harder than anyone else has to make you forget. They offer you all manner of wines and sweets and each one is better than the last. You’re satiated for the first time that you can recall. Everything is beautiful. All your needs are met. You miss the feeling of needing something. Drink as much wine as you want, but it won’t go away. June gets it. June keeps telling you he gets it. June’s air is frantic with the pull of summer. It swarms your head. You miss January. Stop missing January. God, you miss January. January took a piece of you and now June is hurriedly rearranging all your other pieces in an attempt to fill you back in. Tell him to stop before you become unrecognizable. When he leaves, you will have no idea how to put yourself back. July carries you across the shore. You’re bleeding; from the empty spaces time has left in you some kind of blood is falling. July holds you, as you hover over sleep. He knows not where he is going; August calls from no one place and he drifts out to meet her. You see the many places time has reached. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blurs of places it hasn’t. Let your eyes close for a while. You need to rest. August keeps your eyes locked with hers. You wander in some sort of fog, the heat pulling you away from the ground in waves that twist your vision. You see August. Everywhere you look, you see her. Every sound, every smell, every good and warm feeling becomes August. January exists only as a pang of guilt in your stomach. You are hopelessly August’s. Don’t fight it. Not that you would. September holds your arm with an unspoken ferocity before August can walk away with you into times unknown. It is not cold, but you shiver. Nothing fits in your field of vision. But they take good care of you. Wonderful care. You’d much rather fall in love with September. You can’t seem to make it happen. Don’t give up. Don’t give up. Don’t give up. Your eyes blink and October has taken their place. You’re ready, he says. He takes you by the hand and brings you back home—except this isn’t home. It is where you have lived all your life but it isn’t home anymore. October lets you crash at his place and tells good jokes. It all bounces right off the surface, maybe making an entertaining ripple but nothing more. It starts to get cold again. Your thoughts run away from you. October doesn’t know how to fix this. Neither do you. Don’t give up. November watches you closely. She doesn’t say much. She knows what lies ahead and doesn’t want to tell you. You see indifference in her. She wants only to let you heal. You fall inside yourself. Your stomach feels like it’s shattered, and you don’t know how to fix it, only how to watch it fall apart. You feel like a turbulent mess and the world around you is only getting slower. You miss January. You miss January so bad you could hurt something. The shattered pieces inside you are sharp. Take one, hold it in your shaking hands. Look kindly at November. Watch how she says nothing, out of fear. December can’t do anything for you. Time has frozen, January is an eternity away, and December can’t be January no matter how hard they try. They can’t heal you; their touch is too coarse. They can’t fix you; you’re missing the most important piece. They can’t take you back to January; January is far in the past and the future has dropped off like a cliff. But they can see what you have been through. And they can feel the pain of the frostbite setting in. And they can hold you, closer and closer every second, as tears of their own hit your flesh like ice, and you grow colder and colder, and colder still, pulling you further and darker down, until deep down you two are one and the same.

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today I are. tired.
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7 days ago

today I are. tired.

sometimes making tea is less about drinking it and more ab it keeping you company

7 days ago

sometimes making tea is less about drinking it and more ab it keeping you company

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me realizing my experiences with sewing have been a lie this whole goddamn time:
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7 days ago

me realizing my experiences with sewing have been a lie this whole goddamn time: