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August 13 2017

take-me-to-your-lieder:

gallusrostromegalus:

jewishdragon:

frosttrix:

bigscaryd:

animatedamerican:

rainaramsay:

argumate:

gdanskcityofficial:

collapsedsquid:

argumate:

If space travel doesn’t involve sea shanties then I think we’ll have missed an opportunity.

You see though, for sea travel you want big strong people who are capable of managing rigging.  For space travel you want small low-mass people who are technically educated, as they are called, nerds.  Your space shanties are going to be less booming and more squeaky.

in so far as there will be space shanties, they’ll be filk

I call shenanigans on the big strong people; sailors were young and malnourished by modern standards, and climbing around the rigging is easier if you’re small and light.

Like, I am 100% in favor of shanties in as many situations as possible, but I’m having trouble coming up with a mode of space travel that would require multiple humans to move in concert, thus necessitating songs with a strong beat to move to.  

Sea chanties were for providing a strong beat to move to.  Space chanties might very well arise just because we’re bored, out there between point A and point B for so long.

(Also yes, @gdanskcityofficial up there has the right of it.)

Space shanties are for warp piloting. Under warp drive, human time perception and time as measured by crystal or atomic oscillators don’t match. Starship pilots listen to a small unamplified chorus singing a careful rhythm while keeping their own eyes on a silent metronome that the chorus can’t see, linked to a highly-precise atomic clock. How the chorus and metronome fall in and out of sync tells the pilot how to keep the ship safely in the warp bubble and correctly on course.

Depending on route, a typical warp jump can last anywhere from one to ten minutes, and most courses consist of five to fifteen jumps before a necessary four to six hour break to check the engines, plot the next set of jumps, and give everyone a chance to recover. A good shanty team, with reliable rhythm, a broad, versatile, and extendible repertoire, and the stamina to do 3-4 sets a day over the course of a voyage, is just as vital to space travel as a pilot, navigator, or engineering team.

@tmae3114

YESSSSS

Other reasons Shanties will experience a revival in the space age:

  • We will sing for any freaking reason, or no reason at all, and Shanties are FUN to sing.
  • Deep Space is a lonely place and recruiting people suited to long periods of isolation might be a good idea.  People from Newfoundland/Labrador, for instance.
  • SPACE WHALES
  • THEY’RE DEFINITELY REAL I FEEL IT IN MY SOUL
  • “What Do We Do With A Drunken Sailor” is basically a revenge fantasy against your most incompetent co-workers and if there’s something humans love doing, it’s being petty.

What Do We Do With a Drunken Spaceman

jaclcfrost:

having a protagonist who’s emotional + cries a lot is…. Good. love that. will never get tired of that. love seeing them wear their heart on their sleeve. apathy is out. unrestrained emotions, no matter how embarrassing, are in

lightsaroundyourvanity:

i don’t know why lesbian and pirate sound so right together but they emphatically do

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no-melon:

i am honestly terrified about the show but… have a gangsey. i’m praying please don’t fuck it up!

gojiro:

Fun Vampire Fact; the reason that Vampires traditionally cannot see their reflections in a mirror is because mirrors used to be backed with a reflective layer of silver — which, as the metal of purity, would not ‘interact’ with Vampires, who are the Devil’s work.

However, modern mirrors have used aluminum as their reflective backing for many years now — and aluminum is not a ‘picky’ metal at all. So Vampires are able to see their reflections in modern mirrors.

August 12 2017

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zvou:

I love making these 💕

killltheotherilllusions:

How to kiss each sign

Aries: playfully kiss all around her face and neck and arms.

Taurus: wrap your arms around her and bite her bottom lip.

Gemini: gently kiss her once as a teaser, wait a while, then kiss her hard.

Cancer: let your hands wander over her legs and sides.

Leo: push her against the wall.

Virgo: give her a long, passionate kiss in the rain.

Libra: hold her face in both hands and softly press your lips to hers.

Scorpio: grab her hips and butt to bring her to you.

Sagittarius: pull her towards you by gripping her neck.

Capricorn: kiss her when she’s been waiting a long time for it.

Aquarius: take her by surprise with a quick kiss.

Pisces: lift her up so she’s sitting on your hips.

You open me like a flower
(a poor flower, of course, unfortunately)
who had given up waiting for the terrible
delicacy of spring.
— Alejandra Pizarnik, from To A Poem About Water, By Silvina Ocampo in “Extracting The Stone Of Madness: Poems”
(via adrasteiax)

taylor-ruth:

thisishangingrockcomics:

u have to sit on some soft grass or, a mattress in the sun sometimes to give your shadow a soft place to rest. she’s always on that pavement.. cement.. floorboards.. it’s not good for her

I want everyone 2 know I was on lethal amounts of Benadryl when I made this post.

When I’m in heterosexual company I find that if the topic of the epidemic comes up in conversation, most people always say the same thing. They tell me how ‘wonderfully’ gay men have responded to AIDS, how ‘marvellously’ the ‘gay community’ has united. They don’t want to know anything whatsoever about the epidemic, but they do like the idea that there is a plucky little community out there on the brutal heath of Tory England, ‘bravely’ holding its own.
— Simon Watney, Imagine Hope: AIDS and Gay Identity.
(via queer80s)
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LEAKED INFINITY WAR SCRIPT

silentwalrus1:

[WAKANDA]

CAMERA pans through an empty, futuristic-looking lab. The distant sounds of music are heard. Most of the rooms are dark, implying nighttime; only one set of lights is on, illuminating a single indistinct dark figure, moving. As we get closer the camera sharpens, and we see it is STEVE ROGERS attempting to wake BUCKY BARNES from cryostasis. He is doing this by performing the entirety of Britney Spears’ BREAK THE ICE (2007) dance choreography, complete with pelvic gyrations and cutout leather catsuit

[CUT TO UN HEADQUARTERS, SLEEK SILVER CONFERENCE ROOM] 

COLONEL JAMES “RHODEY” RHODES, concluding his presentation to representatives and architects of the SOKOVIA ACCORDS: and that’s why you’re all fucking fired. Tomorrow my task force and I head out to turn Oceantanamo into an extra large bucket of Lego pieces. General Ross, meet me outside so I can put the entirety of my robot-powered leg up your motherfucking stupid white ass

[CUT TO RESTAURANT, CANDLELIT, EXPENSIVE; LOW MURMUR OF PATRONS AND PIANO MUSIC IS HEARD] 

OKOYE, HEAD OF DORA MILAJE, approaching a secluded table: [IN WAKANDAN] Your Majesty, former Captain Rogers has broken into one of our medical facilities. He is currently attempting to wake former Sergeant Barnes. 

T’CHALLA, KING OF WAKANDA: [IN WAKANDAN] Finally. The minute his ass is room temperature make sure they’re carted to the border and left there. Use a wheelbarrow if you have to

SAM WILSON, across the table, looking resplendent in a red velvet suit and lit sensually by golden candlelight: do I gotta to go back to making cat jokes to get you to pay attention to me? 

[CUT TO TROPICAL BEACH, LOCATION UNDISCLOSED]

SHARON CARTER and NATASHA ROMANOVA are splashing in the waters of a gorgeous tropical lagoon. SHARON is attempting to pants NATASHA’S neon hawaiian-print board shorts. They are laughing. It is a scene of carefree joy and incredible homosexuality. It is understood that any moment now they will fall to the surf in a passionate embrace and tenderly yet lightheartedly make love in the sand

[CUT TO TONY STARK’S LAB]

PEPPER POTTS, holding two slices of bread on either side of TONY STARK’S FACE: what are you, Tony?

TONY: an idiot sandwich. 

[CUT TO AN ALIEN BAR, ON AN UNFAMILIAR, SEEDY PLANET IN OUTER SPACE] 

ROCKET THE RACCOON, gesturing emphatically to his ENRAPTURED ALIEN AUDIENCE: and that’s how we glued a pipe bomb to Thanos’ balls and made it rain purple people jizz all over the Omicron Nebula

PETER QUILL, TOPLESS and DOING THE SPLITS on the TOP OF THE BAR: Now who’s up for some SHOOOOOOTS 

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mostlyvoidpartiallysmog:

theroguefeminist:

gentlyepigrams:

blackness-by-your-side:

my utopia

The drag queen from this photo has spoken up about the photo.

I won’t speak for all liberals, but I’d like to see a future where it isn’t a big deal for a woman in full modesty garb to sit next to a drag queen in NYC. It’s become a bit of a sensation, but her and I were just existing. The freedom to simply be yourself in a sea of people who aren’t like you is a freedom we all deserve.

The central irony is that this isn’t some hypothetical future–it’s just present day reality. This is a picture of two ordinary people going about their normal lives despite how haters want to politicize it lmao. So the underlying message is not “future liberals want” it’s “people conservatives want to eradicate”

“So the underlying message is not “future liberals want” it’s “people conservatives want to eradicate” “

re-fucking-bloged

sleepyflannel:

if you’re lgbt reblog this and tag it with your favorite soda

guess who got the gay new york from the school library

I don’t know who I am anymore.
The previous sentence is a lie.
The previous sentence is a lie
Jackson Nieuwland, from “Compulsive Liar,” published as part of the 2016 Featured Finalists for Nostrovia! Press (via lifeinpoetry)

gaysun:

new top or bottom: which one of u drives which one of u is a useless gay who can’t

in July, at 17

exit152:

race car spelled backwards is still race car-
and other things Cal told you on the top bunk.
a slow story about summer camp. goes like:

blah blah blah, you loved the boy,
blah blah blah, it wasn’t enough to fix you.

tell me if there’s a way to make this better.
maybe all we need is some more time, or
a drink in your mom’s red van. a small,
weird touch on the hip after class.
only missed one birthday. only missed one period.
only missed him for one second. only interested
in things that don’t end in blood.

laying in the yellow grass with our new skins.
a pulse that hammers on and on and on
until somebody else can hear it,
and they pull it out of you and hold it to the light.
some shining, fidgeting wonder like:

look at that. look at how we go on living,
even after the best parts are all over.

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slightlyignorant:

Art:

Susanna Hesselberg, “When My Father Died It Was Like a Whole Library Had Burned Down” (2015)


Photo of art:

by Claire Voon for Hyperallergic

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