“Cause here’s the thing. To know how it ends, and still to begin to sing it again. As if it might turn out this time. I learned that from a friend of mine.”
Hadestown and Orpheus and Eurydice over the years. Broadway, NYTW, album, and myth.
did u develop an emotional connection to joan of arc when u were a child and still cry every time you think about her or are u normal
NOVEMBER
emily dickinson, the letters of emily dickinson 1845-1886 / isaac grünewald, nunneklostret / katie peterson, the truth is concrete / william mctaggart, autumn leaves / jack turner, november leaves / valeriy mozok, preserves / margaret atwood, you are happy / taylor swift, champagne problems / pierre bonnard, dining room in the country / lyon phelps, november at bridgehampton beach / ivan dziuban, houses with red roofs / greg kuzma, a day in late november / john atkinson grimshaw, autumn regrets / l.m. montgomery, anne of avonlea / victor puzyrkov, autumn in the countryside / anne sexton, anne sexton: a self-portrait in letters
Source: sapphicpdf
Emily Dickinson’s Herbarium, circa 1839-1846 (Houghton Library, Harvard)
‘bread is bad for you’ ‘rice is bad for you’ sorry im not subscribing to the idea that staple grains that have been integral to cultures for centuries are evil. i love you carbs
40,000 years ago, early humans painted hands on the wall of a cave. This morning, my baby cousin began finger painting. All of recorded history happened between these two paintings of human hands. The Nazca Lines and the Mona Lisa. The first TransAtlantic flight and the first voyage to the Moon. Humanity invented the wheel, the telescope, and the nuclear bomb. We eradicated wild poliovirus types 2 and 3. We discovered radio waves, dinosaurs, and the laws of thermodynamics. Freedom Riders crossed the South. Hippies burned their draft cards. Countless genocides, scientific advancements, migrations, and rebellions. More than a hundred billion humans lived and died between these two paintings—one on a sheet of paper, and one on the inside of a cave. At the dawn of time, ancient humans stretched out their hands. And this morning, a child reached back.
A Timeline of Humanity:
Todays beanie of the day is Pudgy the Bear
Released in: 1993 • Sells for: roughly $20
the autistic view of the world has insight and beauty in it, and we’re taught that there’s something wrong with it.
What’s fascinating is that the parents who didn’t know it was the work of an autistic kid praised it as well.
theyoungestwhateleydaughter-dea
Technically, we don't know that it's an autistic kid's work, either. 5e infographic doesn't say Cadence is autistic.
"appropriate play skills" is such a horrid phrase, goddamn
people demonize autism so much that parents think their children aren’t playing “correctly”. it’s play, how could it ever be wrong?
I watch a fun IG reel of a maid getting dressed in 1790 vs. 1890. it's great! both maids are in practical, period-typical outfits with a few simple aesthetic touches because Humans Like Looking Good regardless of social class. you can tell they are maids because they put clearly functional aprons on, and the 1890s one is wearing a uniform-style cap. also the caption says they are. love it
I scroll down
the top comment: "but what did POOR women wear? you only ever show rich people's clothes!"
so uh. Was anyone going to tell me that the pink fairy armadillo is only six inches long
littlest babey......
*at the door to the selkie convention* good evening, ladies—allow me to take your coats
QUICK UPDATE: i am paying 182 alimony checks
I might be alone in this, but I really like the thing when specific accessories and clothing insist on you adjusting your body language to them. Like if you get long arcylic nails, you need to hold your hands like people with long arcylic nails do. Long skirts that demand that you hold the hem in your hand while going up and down the stairs like you're in a historical drama. Suits that force you to look at how everyone else is keeping their hands because you can't just shove them in your pockets.
I recently got myself a broad-brimmed hat that I wear every day now, and my favourite thing about it is how on windy days, I have no choice but to grab it by the brim to keep it down lest a breeze would steal it, like it's the fucking 1800s and I own a horse.
Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), poem 85 from “The Gardener”, 1914 Translated by the author from the original Bengali. New York: The Macmillan Company.
[Text ID:
WHO are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?
I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds.
Open your doors and look abroad.
From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before.
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across an hundred years.
/End ID]
