"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Not today Justin
Product Placement
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cherry valley forever
Jules of Nature
$LAYYYTER
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@theartofmadeline
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occasionally subtle
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@ecaloshay
i feel like tumblr doesnt know about the pain and suffering that is english tap water,,,, girl there are stalagmites inside me
Lmao op lives in the south. The tap water up here is from fucking springs. It's so clean and fresh and has no stalagmites whatsoever. Cope and seethe southerner
My bones are so strong from all the chalk I've been drinking that I could mull you into a fine paste
You guys are like a two hour drive from each other
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im singehandedly repairing jewish-goyische relations through my outreach with my facebook friends
I briefly forgot there were normal humans named Elijah and wondered why this person thought they were getting messages from Actual Prophet and Messiah-Herald Elijah the Tishbite.
….yeah me too.
Me three.
Imagine getting visions of someone else’s holy prophet and having to text your friends like “….what am I supposed to do with that?”
“hey he’s back did you study this”
Getting a message from a prophet telling you to do things and instead texting your friends “wtf is this?” is very, very Jewish.
I’m over here laughing at the concept of Elijah announcing the Messiah over facebook. Posts to his wall and calls it a day.
@copperbadge
NGL every time this post pings my radar all I can think about is the absolute chaos that would have ensued if the Mishnah had initially been posted to Facebook and all the Talmudic discourse happened in the comments.
i am begging this brown bear sanctuary to rethink their phrasing
outta my way, straight boy
I love predictions of the future that oscillate between "eerily prescient" and "what the hell are you talking about?" Like that description of the year 2,000 written in 1933 where the author predicts flatscreen television, the glass wall trend in the homes of the wealthy, and the obsolescence of stuffed mattresses, but is also convinced that normal showers will be replaced by a device called the VAPOR LANCE that VAPORIZES the DIRT on you
Sometimes Apollo hits writers with prophecy and sometime it’s Hephaestus trying to make a pitch for his new product
the tension between the genuine cleverness of the joke and the incompetence implied by putting it on two-sentence horror is what makes this for me
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“We dressed up as the book Madeline, with six people dressed up as her and me as Ms. Clavel, their teacher. One of the Madelines, however, was the truly special one…the one with the beard, that is. Our experience was hysterical—I’d walk all the girls (and one guy) down the street in two straight lines. Guys would be walking the other way, whistling or hollering at all the pretty ladies. Then, as they got to the back of the line, they’d see my friend Brennan, then they’d see me, and I could tell that they were suddenly wondering if ALL the Madelines were men.”
Babygirl I know fandom history that you wouldn’t even care about
i know fandom history that even I don’t care about
It's my 18 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳 My Tumblr is legally allowed to drink in Australia. Yikes.
im having feelings about the uffington white horse again
so essentially there’s this cool horse drawn into the hills in england made out of chalk and it’s like 3,000 years old.
people carved trenches 3,000 years ago and filled them with chalk in the shape of a horse but what’s interesting is that if you fail to maintain the horse by adding new chalk regularly, it will disappear. for 3,000 years, we’ve been filling in chalk in this horse so it doesn’t disappear.
we’ll never know what the purpose of the horse was originally. we’ll never know if it had ritual or spiritual significance or if it was just art. but we do know that people maintained it then, and, even though the meaning of the horse has long been lost to time, we continue to maintain it now.
the people who made this horse are long dead, but they live through us still, don’t you think?
couldn’t agree more we’re best friends now
Your church-going, God-worshipping sister adopted a small child and you’re excited to see them. But when you do, the child is a menace. They’re throwing things everywhere, setting furniture on fire with seemingly nothing, chanting in Latin to summon demons, but the weirdest thing is that your sister doesn’t seem to mind.
“You literally adopted the antichrist, Anne. What the fuck.”
“Yeah, I knew when I saw him at the orphanage. I figured if the kid had some decent fucking parenting that we could avoid the whole ‘Revelations’ shite. Nasty business, that.”
George, who’s name has been kindly changed from Damien, approaches his new mother with a huge spider in his hands. It promptly bursts into flames.
“Good job, love. Now go find the rest.” George’s face makes no expression, but his eyes shine when he recieves a pat on the head for his efforts.
As the months go by, George seems to settle down. He adjusts to school, friends, and the positive reinforcement Anne gives him. She encourages the good he does, even though the powers he uses aren’t “good”. When she gets calls from the school, it’s about a rambunctious boy that won’t sit still. Not a destroyer of the world and innocence.
It’s at Christmas dinner, that you let slip your amazement to your mother. How good Anne is for him and how he’s improved a lot. Still summoning hellhounds for games of fetch, though.
“Oh, he’ll forget how to do that when he falls in love the first time,” Your mother laughs, smiling wide.
“How do you know that,” you ask bewildered.
“Because, you did.”
okay so someone please write the story of the family of super-low-key holy warriors who have made it their mission to locate the antichrist in every generation (because when one gets spoiled they try AGAIN) and adopt them and love them into not being the antichrist anymore, thus perpetually delaying the apocalypse
delaying the apocalypse via good parenting I love this
I would love to read this
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In class we were talking about how cats teach themselves to hunt around their collar bells, and this dude followed that up with “well you know how Santa has those reindeer covered in those bells, right?”
and what he going for was “the bells on cat collars are the same that reindeer are pictured wearing”
But what *I* heard was “Santa’s Reindeer are predator animals that are covered in bells for our protection” and let me tell you I did not appreciate that.
Just hear those slay bells jingling.
[to the tune of ‘Walking in a Winter Wonderland’]
Sleigh bells ring; are you listening?
On the reins, blood is glistening.
A grisly sight;
We’re anxious tonight,
Hiding from Santa Claus’ reindeer.
Gone away are the old deer.
Here to stay is a new fear.
As they fly along,
You pray a bell’s rung,
Hiding from Santa Claus’ reindeer.
They’re the same bells as on a cat’s collar
So their prey can hear when they’re around,
But cats learn to hunt around their collars
So they don’t make the jingle-jangle sound.
Carcasses were discovered.
Harnesses were bell-covered.
Apex predators
Who hunt in a herd;
We’re hiding from Santa Claus’ reindeer.
Hiding from Santa Claus’ reindeer.
On a lighter note.
The main reason I ever wanted to write a Hungarian mythology-based urban fantasy is that I needed to see someone do Bread Magic in a mundane modern setting.
Bread Magic shows up in a variety in Hungarian fairytales. It works like this: when someone evil, usually the devil, sometimes a dragon, wants to come into your house and hurt you, usually by taking your children, what you do is put a loaf of bread on the windowsill. It will speak for you.
When evil demands admission, the bread will say: First, they buried me under the ground, and I survived. When I sprouted, they cruelly cut me down with sickles, and I survived. They threshed me with their flails and I survived. They ground me to flour with their millstones and I survived. They put me in a bowl and kneaded me, then they put me in a hot oven to bake me, and I survived. Have you done all these things? Until you do all these things and survive, you have no power here.
This is pretty powerful magic I think, and it makes sense in a country where wheat is the staple crop and bread is the staple food. If you have bread, you are alive, if you have no bread, you are dead, therefore bread is life. It was customary to refer to wheat as “life” well into the twentieth century, and not in high literary circles either: rural seasonal workers negotiated their wages in so and so many sacks of life.
And I totally want someone to do bread magic with a shitty store-bought muffin.
“They filled me full of toxic preservatives, and yet I can still nourish. They left me under harsh florescent lighting, and yet I can still bring comfort. The one who baked me will never see the one who eats mez and yet I can still convey some sense of love, of care.
Until you can have your nature so twisted, yet remember and hold to it still, you have no power here.”
Oooh. Damn, that’s Big Magic that could unFall an angel by sheer force of logic.
anyone have that oil painting of the nun with the absolutely massive tits and it’s painted in like a semi-classical style
please help I can’t google “painting of nun with huge tits” bc it’s going to show me a lot of pictures that are not the one I’m looking for
I swear it looks something like this
I FOUND IT It’s “Délicate scène” by Paul Laurenzi
Recently my partner has started using the techniques we use to train our parrot Ripley on me to try to teach me Mandarin.
This might seem like it’s a clever lifehack or some kind of cute couples activity, but no; he just started using bird training on me without any warning or preamble. It hasn’t been very effective at teaching me Chinese but it HAS been very effective at teaching me how our parrot feels when we interrogate him about the qualities of various household objects.
Put yourself in my place (or in Ripley’s place). Imagine you’re minding your own business when suddenly someone thrusts two seemingly random objects in your face and makes an incomprehensible demand.
打绿色! He says, and holds out a book and a water bottle. 打绿色!
His body language and the tone of his voice make it immediately apparent that he’s reenacting the exercise in which we ask Ripley to touch an object of a particular color. Even with this knowledge, the sentence is a jumble of words I only sort-of understand. He looks at me expectantly and says 打绿色! again.
色 … that’s definitely the suffix that colors end in … so he probably wants me to choose an object that’s … well … I don’t remember what color 绿色 is, so I guess at random and I tap the green water bottle.
对啊! 对啊! He cheers at me and hands me a peanut. I feel weirdly patronized but our parrot is enthralled AF and now I’m worried he’s going to learn Mandarin faster than I can.
I like the idea in fantasy that humans are better at maintaining things long term because they set up societies or professions to do it whereas dwarves and elves and stuff are like “just get bob to do it he’s got a good few hundred years left” and then bob doesn’t teach anyone else how to do it
Elf: How have you kept this castle maintained for a thousand years if your lives are so short?
Human: We just train new people how to do it?
Elf: *gears visibly turning in their head*
Human: Are you alright?
Elf: I just realized that we didn’t have to let that whole city fall to ruin just because my grandfather died.
Human: What?
Human: Wait that’s why there’s ruins of elven cities even though you live for so long? You just keep not asking people how to do things? How do you learn anything?
Elf: There’s a lot of “you’ve got time to figure it out on your own” attitudes floating around in our society that I’m starting to question somewhat.
Elf: That sword, where did you get it?
Human: My cousin made it.
Elf: Impossible! Those metalworking techniques were lost a hundred years ago!
Human: What do you mean lost? My great-grandmother learned to make these swords from an elven smith, then taught it to her kids.
Elf: That's ridiculous. No elf would give such secrets to a human.
Human: They didn't. Meemaw delivered the metal to the forge, and no one kicked her out when she stayed and watched. She always said they barely acknowledged her even when doing business with her, like she wasn't worth noticing.
Elf: Come to think of it, my great-uncle always was rather single-minded when he started working.
Human: So he wasn't ignoring her, he just forgot she was there?
Elf: Oh, he was definitely ignoring her, too. He was super racist.
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my disdain for cigarettes is really conflicting with my incessant need to reblog art of mean women smoking
we need to invent a new thing that characters can do to look self-assured but a little world-weary
we've found it. everybody draw women playing mahjong
Dissonance with Joy Luck Club.
They’ve been rebuilding the Tower of Babel, but this time they have a team of linguists on site. Every time God smites the builders and invents a dozen new languages, the linguists have a dozen decently sized translations in about a month and work can start up again.
The linguists have been really into it. They say the new phonemes are fascinating. As for God, I assume that at this point he’s just curious to see how far this goes.
To keep us on out toes, God gives the next group of builders an extra place of articulation called the flongus between the pharynx and the glottis, creating an entire new column of the IPA chart with sounds between sounds that are literally physiologically impossible for non-flongled people to replicate.
Improved symbols for the flongal plosives ("gacks"), flongal trill ("hacks"), flongal fricatives ("groans"), and and the flongal lateral approximant ("moans")
Update: The builders have now simply switched to communicating entirely through a universal sign language like they should've done to start with. No sounds need be spoken, flongal or otherwise. The Tower steadily rises. Be seeing you soon, God, you little bitch.
update: the builders are all speaking different sign languages now
#update: some builders have developed new tendons which allow them to produce handshapes that other people cant
Hey, linguist here & truly not to put a damper on this delightful tomfoolery, but those grey cells in the IPA actually mean something: they reflect physiological impossibility, not merely coincidence about what happens to be unattested! There are no pharyngeal stops or trills because the back of the tongue can’t create total occlusion of the airway against the pharynx. The only reason glottal stops are possible is because the glottis itself can close entirely, creating the complete occlusion of the airway necessary for the acoustic qualities of a stop. Based on where the flongus is located in the vocal tracts of those affected, their tongues would not be able operate as articulators, meaning trills, stops, & lateral approximants will not be possible. Fricatives & regular approximants are possible if speakers can tighten their throats bringing the flongus closer to the front of the vocal tract causing partial occlusion of the air way, which is the necessary acoustic condition for these kinds of sounds.
