"A lot of people say I seem masculine, but I don’t feel it. I feel intrinsically feminine. I’d love to be one of the boys but I always felt a bit on the outside." - Tom Hardy
Imagine the #overlyhonestmethods posts from Carlos’s team of scientists.
"This paper is shorter than normal due to the primary researcher turning into a tree before she could finish it."
"Test subjects were selected randomly by loitering outside Big Rico’s and offering illicit bread crust for all participants."
"Experiment time intervals were carefully chosen so that Carlos would actually be on time for his date for once."
"Potential errors include time loss from that cancelled Wednesday, the fact that the local government legally forbid us from mentioning the source of the data, and the loss of a substantial amount of recorded notes that were replaced with dead silence and the smell of vanilla."
"Some results were altered to sound more normal so we don’t get our funding revoked."
Tips from Windows95
When you abandoned Windows95 so many long years ago to the harsh elements of the basement or your nana’s house, something within it twisted. It was once your trusted companion, always offering helpful advice on how to better utilize its dazzling features, but now it wants something back: your soul. You can get your own free and possibly unholy hints at the tumblr: Windows95tips.
okay whenever I get terse about people not looking in my tags it is a good time to remind everyone
I tag very very scrupulously! I go back through the archive every couple days and make sure that things are tagged (usually just with celestial emporium of benevolent knowledge, because that’s my “random text posts” tag, but still)
And here is my well-maintained tags page, which has all my personal, thematic, and fandom tags all laid out. You can also check out my “About Me" page, which has links to my SPN blog, my Leverage blog, and my fic recs page—which, I will admit, is not as scrupulously maintained bc the coding is a pain in the keister.
So please make use of my glorious tags, and I will thank you~
Bang Bang - Jessie J (feat. Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj)
"religion" is a spectacularly non-specific topic, anon
Well then, let me show you, because that’s what I do for a living.
Right now, it’s this time of the year, and the little ones have just freshly hatched:
You’ll notice they’re still blind and naked when they hatch. So I make them little coats to keep them warm during their first winter:
See how they happily line up to put them on:
See? Better. Now they’re ready to go and explore the world.
And if they make it through the winter and we take good care of them, they will grow up to be strong and wise like their older fellows:
So, in case you were ever wondering, now you know.
Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence
Behold the Forms of nature. They discern
Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities
Which mortals lack or indirectly learn.
Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying,
Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear,
High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal
Huge Principles appear.
The Tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of
Arboreal life, how from earth’s salty lap
The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness
Enacted by leaves’ fall and rising sap;
But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance
Of sun from shadow where the trees begin,
The blessed cool at every pore caressing us
-An angel has no skin.
They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down into the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang —can angels measure it?
An angel has no nose.
The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes
On death, and why, they utterly know; but not
The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries.
The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot
Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate
Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf’s billowy curves,
Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges.
—An angel has no nerves.
Far richer they! I know the senses’ witchery
Guards us like air, from heavens too big to see;
Imminent death to man that barb’d sublimity
And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be.
Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior,
This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares
With living men some secrets in a privacy
Forever ours, not theirs.
C. S. Lewis
I just want to make a really good Jesus miniseries that’s all