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valkyriestrikeofthelashatterdome:

gotterdammerungs:

                             (x)

And then in the future, everything changes. He’s been through it all, of course-watched humanity rediscover the heavens above them, watched them begin to wonder what’s out there. He cheered with the rest of the world when they landed on the moon, cheered as if he’d found Isla de la Muerta all over again, because there was something new. New treasure, a new horizon. But then they stop going, stop exploring, and he goes back to riding tankers across the rising seas. So he’s surprised when one day he wakes up from a night with his bottle of rum (his truest companion), and hears that there’s colonies on Mars now, and they need ships to supply them. He spends the next decade crafting new identities, learning all he can to qualify for the job, and after several tries (and even more faked deaths-this immortality thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be in the age of the inerasable digital self) he gets it. The ships go nearly constantly now, the needs of the terraforming project creating an unbroken line of vessels from Mars to Earth and back again. “Show me that horizon,” he whispers to himself, his personal prayer of thanksgiving, each time they leave orbit, because the worlds, the stars are in motion and it’s never the same, with nearly three years for a round trip the ports are always different, even if they keep the old names. And finally one trip something goes wrong with the reactor, they’re too low on power and have to deploy the backups, and Jack (Lucky Jack, they call him, for he survives too many things he shouldn’t but science has yet to accept that maybe some things weren’t old wives’ tales after all) goes out for the spacewalk to bring up the solar panels. And as they rise, geometric patterns black against the sun’s glare, he’s struck by a powerful sense of déjà vu, because it’s all here-wind and sails, a ship beneath his feet and stars above his head, horizon in all directions. He wonders, for a moment, if the reason he’s still here is because the universe wanted a witness, to mourn the end of one age of exploration, and rejoice in the birth of the next.

(Source: jamesfrancos)

trainhardbestrong:

hannahroad:

hannahroad:

hannahroad:

Miley: “Dad I have something for Tanners bug collection”

my uncle: “that’s great”

Miley: “it’s a bird”

my uncle: “no its not”

-chirping noise-

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They let it go and it flew away just fine, so we’re wondering how she caught it.

update:

she caught another bird.

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update: she caught a squirrel today

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She is gonna rule the world one day with this power

  • SWERFs:

    I'm anti sex industry because I just want to help women! Sex work is sex trafficking!

  • Sex worker activists:

    Except it's not, they're two different things and the key difference between them is consent and autonomy. It's like comparing farming with agricultural slavery. Also equating sex work with sex trafficking actually harms BOTH sex workers and sex trafficking victims. There are hundreds, if not thousands of sex worker activists and academic sex workers who are working hard to improve working conditions and destigmatize sex work while creating a world in which sex trafficking doesn't exist and sex trafficking victims can seek support and help. Also by attempting to define and disempower two groups of people when you belong to neither is speaking over people who are perfectly capable of speaking for themselves.

  • SWERFs:

    Shhhhhhhh

  • SWERFs:

    Stop talking, I can't refute all these points but I just know you're wrong.

  • SWERFs:

    I know better than you because I am completely uninvolved in and ignorant about this industry. My ignorance makes me impartial.

  • SWERFs:

    Why are you telling me I'm talking over you, I just want to save you.

  • SWERFs:

    I'M HERE TO SAVE YOU STOP TALKING WHEN I AM SAVING YOU!

xxbecause-i-canxx:

hotmesswithouthehot:

lemonmintcoughdrops:

the-grudge-girl:

I live in Osaka, Japan and often use the subway to go to work in the morning. One day while I was waiting for the train, I noticed a homeless man standing in the corner of the subway station muttering to himself as people passed by. He was holding out a cup and seemed to be begging for spare change.

An overweight woman passed by the homeless man and I distinctly heard him say, “Pig.”

Wow, this man is insulting people and he still expects them to give him money?

Then a tall businessman went by and the man muttered, “Human.”

Human? I can’t argue with that. Obviously, he was human.

The next day, I arrived early at the subway station and had some time to kill, so I decided to stand close to the homeless man and listen to his strange mutterings.  A thin, haggard-looking man passed in front of him and I heard the homeless guy mutter, “Cow.” Cow? The man was much too skinny to be a cow. To me, he resembled a turkey or a chicken. A minute or so later, an obese man went by and the homeless man said, “Potato.” Potato? I was under the impression that he called all fat people “Pig”.

That day at work, I couldn’t stop thinking about the homeless man and his puzzling behavior. I kept trying to find some logic or pattern in what he as muttering. Perhaps he has some kind of psychic ability. In Japan many people believe in reincarnation, so maybe he knows what these people were during a previous life. I observed the man many times and began to think my theory was right. I often heard him calling people things like “Rabbit”, “Onion”, “Sheep”, or “Tomato”.

One day, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to ask him what was going on. As I walked up to him, he looked at me and said, “Bread.” I tossed some money into his cup and asked him if he had some kind of psychic ability. The man smiled and said, “Yes, indeed. It is an ability I obtained many years ago, but it’s not what you might expect. I can’t tell the future or read minds or anything like that.”

“Then what is your ability?” I asked eagerly.

“The ability is merely to know the last thing somebody ate,” he said.

I laughed because I realized he was right. He said, “Bread.” The last thing I had eaten for breakfast that day was toast. I walked away shaking my head. Of all the psychic abilities someone could have, that one must be the most useless.

HUMAN

HUMAN

SWEET MOTHER OF CHRIST

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