Yes yes i know love is love. But they are still killing CHILDREN. over this.
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@sphinxyvic
Yes yes i know love is love. But they are still killing CHILDREN. over this.

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A once-in-a-lifetime shot — the moon perfectly framed by a rainbow. Caught at just the right time. 🌈 🌕
Sourcing the photos as taken by Mark Ham on Instagram, according to one of the replies.
Happy Pride month to the moon
I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.
"Would you like to?"
"Sure!"
So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.
Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.
Tower Records, Tacoma Washington, 1978
That book above the No Smoking sign was the ONLY way to find out who sang a certain song or figure out the name of a song from the first line unless you walked around asking everyone you met if they knew the song or had the album liner notes in front of you.
The books were actually pretty hard to find in most record shops. When I was in high school we had to road trip an hour away to find a shop that had one. We would go in with notebooks full of random song lyrics and take physical notes to bring back to other people.
History can be fun and not depressing.
I worked at a record store on and off for about 10 years from 1986–1996 and we had a phonolog, which it was often my duty to update when the latest pages got sent to us. It could be a real pain to change the sections, but it was also a very helpful catalog! You had to lift out the sections and then open them, making sure that they weren’t too full or else the pages would fall out or get caught in the binding clips. It was a tricky thing! But useful as I said!
When my mother forgets a word, she is the queen of coming up with new words. Words that would take a third National Treasure movie to fully decipher. I was talking to her yesterday, and she said this: “You know the time for los jibbities is coming up. You must be so excited!” Oh, is it time for los jibbities already? I must have missed it on my calendar. Are we celebrating something? “Of course! We should all be celebrating, shouldn’t we?” OK, so los jibbities is a happy thing. It’s not like something is giving you the heebie-jeebies, which would have been my one and only guess. “Los heebie-jeebies? Now you’re making things up...and this is my show.” You’re right. The time for los jibbities is coming up. Is this a season? “Yes, the season for love. The season for pride.” OK, los jibbities. “Yeah, sound it out.” Los…jibbities. LGBTs! “Sí, mira cuz you’re gay!” “You couldn’t just say pride season? You couldn’t just… *laughs*
HAPPY LOS JIBBITIES EVERYBODY!!!

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Wait, you were actually born in the 1900's? Thats so cool
i am going to eat my own entire skin
Reblog if you were born in the 1900's.
happy pride to my favorite gif in the world
SLEEPING BEAUTY (1959)
dir. clyde geronimi, eric larson, wolfgang reitherman and les clark
She looks on the screen as if you could reach out and touch her… she had a quality no-one else ever had on the screen except Garbo.” - Billy Wilder
Happy birthday to the beautiful Norma Jeane Mortenson, best known as Marilyn Monroe, who was born on this day, 100 years ago 🩷
pick whatever option the person you're following who reblogged this post didn't pick. if they didn't say in the tags what they picked or if you're seeing the original post and not a reblog, pick at random instead.
first option
second option

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Happy Pride!
Every pride, you must reblog this. No exceptions
I love that four different people on my feed scheduled this joyous person to reblog by 8am on June 1. I look forward to seeing this a dozen more times today.
From Veronica Tucker via Pinterest
not every mutual fits neatly into an archetypal medievalism but there are some mutuals that im like yeah addressing you as “my liege” would come strangely naturally
what mutual is prev
my liege lord
my loyal knight
my wise wizard
my evil advisor
my brother in arms
my lady muse
my wild mermaid friend
my fellow alchemist
my dashing rapscallion
my monstrous foe

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Worcester Royal Porcelain Co., "Aesthetic teapot", 1882, porcelain, 15.4 x 17.5 x 8.6 cm, NGV.
@antiquesfreaks @sphinxyvic
like to charge, reblog to cast.