woodchips

childhood sounds

wind chimes, a creaking swingset, scissors cutting construction paper, “coming soon to home video”, barbie jeep motor, pool splashes, sidewalk chalk against pavement, the ice cream truck’s song, running on woodchips, bicycle spoke beads, jumping on a trampoline, popping open plastic easter eggs, hose water on backyard grass, lizzie mcguire theme song, opening a vhs tape case, playstation 2 start up, basketball dribbling in the driveway, zipping a lisa frank backpack, leappad book’s narration, playing with wooden blocks, walking down basement stairs, crickets at night, thermometer beeping

lunchables, dirt-caked sneakers, hot pavement, back to school commercials, animal cracker boxes, the smell of woodchips after rain, popsicle stained tongues, sidewalk chalk, scraped knees, “summer 2005” on a tie-dye bouncy ball, ant traps, rooftop fireworks, bug spray odor, windowsill crickets, chlorine-and-ice-cream-cold, sleepy rainbows, a barbie diary full of stories

innocent-woodchip  asked:

I FINALLY FOUND YA! I constantly see your art on my dash but never think to check your blog... bUT I REMEMBERED. I love your work and I'm glad that I finally followed you haha

aww thankx luv~ :)

every follow is appreciated~ feels like getting a vote in the cards at the end of an overwatch match! but even better actually! ^^

i got a lot of new drawings in the works~ (but gotta pause working on them today cause my eyes are fried) will probably update with something new tomorrow! i hope you enjoy em when they’re posted~ ^^

i have a twitter as well and i post the art on this blog over there too! :3

I like how every killer and survivor looks so messy and tousled in Dead By Daylight, dirt and blood covering them like they’ve been in this endless loop for god knows how long- and then there is Micheal Myres, looking like he walked out of a dry cleaners 30 seconds ago. The trapper is caked in scratches, metal and blood, the wraith is covered in dirty bandages and ripped cloth along with the nurse, and the hillbilly has half a shirt, just casually ripped on one entire side.

I’m pretty sure the only dirty thing on Myres is the bloody handprint on his shoulder, and the blood on his knife. Like, damn son, Michael is a clean freak, and I find that absolutely hilarious. Do you think if he rips his suit he pauses the whole match just so he can stitch it up again? Then proceed to murder the thing that caused the rip- say that lovely tree he happened to stalk by, which has now been turned into a pile of woodchippings.

Wild, man.

Places where Grantaire has thrown up:
-a fake potted plant
-inside of his own shirt while he was wearing it
-during more than one les amis meeting
-eponines toilet
-jolys toilet
-courfeyracs toilet and on some of his floor
-a childrens park after 2am which he proceeded to cover up with woodchips
-enjolras’ boots

4

Feed Me Railroads! — The M46 Rapid Railroad Destructor

Designed in the late 1940’s by the Army Corps of Engineers and Sperry Products Corporation, the M46 Rapid Railroad Destructor was a machine designed to destroy railways in order to deny enemy forces from using them in the case of a retreat. Built upon the chassis of an M46 Patton tank, the Rapid Railroad Destructor would first lift the railroad track into its maw with a winch.  Inside the device was a series of machines designed to totally destroy the railroad.  First, a set of six Browning .50 caliber machine guns loaded with armor piercing ammunition would shoot notches the rails so that it could evenly feed into the device.  Then the ties were smashed by a set of swinging hammers.  Finally the notched rails would be snapped into short sections by a set of rollers.  From the rear would be expelled a spray of woodchips and pieces of metal.  Incredibly, the M46 RRD could chew through rails at a rate of 6 miles per hour.

Only a few prototypes were produced, however the M46 RRD was rejected by the US Army.  The amount of .50 BMG ammunition needed to shoot notches in the rails was prohibitively expensive.  It was also determined that it would be easier and cheaper to use explosives.

The Playground

In the dark of night, a park lit by moonlight sits quietly, the only sound the light drizzle of water from the sprinklers coating the area. A playscape stood with its brightly colored plastic in a shallow sea of woodchips. Next to it, a wooden gazebo that came to a coned tip on its roof. Inside on the ceiling were the names of lovers long passed or long broken apart etched in chalk, markers, and even in the wood itself. As the time neared one in the morning, a low, rolling fog scattered along the ground.

Across the road from the neighborhood playground was a quaint, one-story house, its front door slowly creaking open. A small boy, no older than eight, poked his head out into the chilly air to check his surroundings as he stepped foot outside his home. Watching the street with a careful eye, he sprinted across the asphalt before any light besides the moon would shine on him.

Approaching the playground, he smiled, trying to kick the fog higher into the air. The boy continued to play on the playscape by himself, though cautiously and quietly. Every so often he’d stop totally, unmoving even in the slightest to listen in the direction of his house. Cuts and marks on his arms and face gave more than enough reason to be more scared inside than outside, watching for a man three times his size. When he grew tired, the child made his way to the gazebo, sitting down on the wooden bench under the small building’s protection.

He looked to the stars and through the leaves of trees at bits and pieces of the moon’s light, before moving his gaze down to the bench across from him. Leaned up against the back was a baseball. Worn and covered in dirt, it intrigued him. He stood and moved closer to the object, reaching a hand out for it. Before he could touch it, he heard a faint laughter in the distance. A girl’s. The boy whipped his head around to look behind him to find nothing there. He stepped away from the ball to call out quietly into the night. No response.

His hands shaking, he sat down across the gazebo from the ball. Beyond it was a small, thick growth of trees. Between the trunks there stood a shadow. Firm and unmoving, the moment the boy’s eyes met with it, a faint red glow revealed itself. In the distance, a crow’s call rang out through the air. The boy jumped, looking around for the source of the sound. When he turned back, the figure had gotten closer. The child jumped to his feet. He kept his eyes locked on the figure, never breaking contact with those two ever-brightening red eyes.

A short spurt of static screeched out, the figure of the shadow glitching into another position, closer to the gazebo. Now clearer to see than behind the trees, the shadow was a small girl. Her wispy hair faded off around the small of her back, and a frilly dress went down to her knees. The only discernible features on her face were her eyes, almost trying to speak to the boy.

The child under the gazebo held his breath as long as possible, his body frozen in fear. A chill of cold air swept through the park, causing his body to shiver. The shadow had stopped moving towards him now, though something else was… off. He looked to where the baseball was sitting to find another sitting beside it. Panicking, the boy whipped his head around left and right before laying eyes on another figure, this time a boy. A bit taller than he was, with glowing orange eyes that stared right back at him. A whispering sound came from where the baseballs were and two more had appeared. Both used and beginning to tear apart. Their shadow correspondents were a girl with only one arm and bright green eyes, and a girl dressed in boy’s clothing, her hair cut short and choppy clearly by an unprofessional. The tomboyish girl’s eyes shined a deep, saturated blue, which along with the others, locked their sights on the boy in the gazebo.

They approached him, all disappearing and reappearing with a loud burst of static. The boy tried to scream, his heart pounding, but sound was beyond him now. The children of the damned stood around him, all holding a baseball. Their presence was… warm. Soothing against the chill of night. The small boy ceased to shiver, and slowly regained his composure. His eyelids fell as they grew heavier, and his feet shuffled towards the girl with red eyes. Her face was all black until she began to smile at the boy. There were no teeth nor tongue, all that was seen was a white, deadly smile.

In her hands, the first ball the boy saw on the bench. The shadow girl held out the toy to him, and he reached to grab it. As the girl’s smile grew wider, whispers grew louder and louder, from the other three shadow children under the roof of the wooden fixture. The boy’s hand hovered over the baseball for a moment and came down to touch it.

Silence.

The child tried to open his eyes, but all he saw was a bright yellow glow. He wondered where it came from, and why he couldn’t move. Until the click-clacking of a girl’s dress shoes on wood echoed through the nothingness he found himself in. He heard her sobs, though muffled like he was inside of something. He felt strange, all he wanted… was to take her. The crying quieted down, and the shoes came closer to the boy. Quietly, the girl spoke.

“What’s this baseball doing here?”

Compost Toilets in Solarpunk

In my (granted short) amount of time exploring solarpunk, I have never once heard anyone mention compost toilets! So here are my thoughts.

If you don’t know what compost toilets are they are basically toilets where the poo and pee goes into a big compost box instead of into pipes.
Basically a large box is built above or below ground and then a toilet seat can be added on top of it with a hole leading in. You do your business, wipe with biodegradable tp, and then usually scoop in a few woodchips to help with the composting. When the box needs to be emptied machines or people with carts empty it and bring it to a place to be used as fertilizer.

It should be self explanatory, I think, why this fits in so well with solarpunk. Basically, it creates a way to live without wasting so much water, a way to nourish the ground, and a way for humans to give back to their environment in the basic way that all other animals do.
Compost toilets are so cool because generally humans have fucked up the cycle of the environment by eating food and then not returning their waste to the ground. Compost toilets remedy that issue.
But of course, anyone who has ever been in one may protest “they’re so ugly and clunky!!! They smell disgusting!!! They only work sell with one toilet!!”
While that may be true of the few I’ve been in, that’s just the way our society has made them. It’s very easy to modify that.
Solarpunk compost toilets would have underground boxes. The insides would look basically like normal bathrooms. Except of course, they would have the ability of being decorated and beautifully designed just like every other building. They could also have decorated steps that lead to the door to empty the compost box, and solar powered machinery capable of emptying it. Not only that, imagine the adorable matching woodchips cans and the widespread use of biodegradable toilet paper. There could also be above ground boxes that use the sun to speed up the compression and process of compost.
Plumbing is still a good idea for running water, but with the large infrastructure shift solarpunk calls for there’s no reason these two systems can’t exist side by side.

Long story short, compost toilets are great and our future should include more of them. Especially our solarpunk future.

Daily Poem 10 (3/20)

This poem ends with ‘poo-tee-weet’

The city sparrow hops
on the exposed piping
of a sprinkler, the machine
left for dead, half tinkling
over a mountain of brown dirt,
woodchips, and cigarillo butts.
The flowers are in the deathbed
of the sprinkler, all off-yellow
egg-yolked onto Teflon stems
melting out over the skillet
making an omelette with the
mushrooms: white-grape and
blueberry cigar ends. The bird leaves
and the shrieking roaches ask why,
the sparrow says “Poo-tee-weet.”

J B. Kwing

anonymous asked:

You're 13??? YOU'RE SO TALENTED AND GOOD AT ART WHAT EVEN also will you go to art school/do you know yet (any type)? I'm debating over whether or not to go to an art-focused high school... any advice (I completely understand if you're not sure)? (yup I'm one of the pre-pubescent little woodchips aka middle schoolers)

aaaaahi you know ive been contemplating about this a lot but i guess i’m not going to art school! i’d like to keep art as a hobby & something i learn/explore by myself gradually so i’ll be going to a general high school (?is that what u call it), idk yet about college. art school is v good if you want to study more styles and like hone your skills more professionally!! it’s really about what you’re looking for i guess. follow ur heart fellow lil woodchip! & thankS EEEE

Absent Father Figure

REQUEST: For @grandmasnewdog “Hello! I was wondering if you could do an imagine where sister!winchester sees a little girl and the little girls dad at the park and it reminds her how she doesn’t have a dad so she’s really upset and can it have Sam and Dean fluff?”

PAIRING: Family

WORD COUNT: 604

I loved writing this! You were my first request which means this will always be super special to a sentimental sap like me. Thank you so much for requesting it! I love writing family fluff.

You were sitting at a park on the swings. It was getting later, the sun starting to set, so most of the kids were leaving or gone. You just wanted a few moments to yourself after a long hunt and the park wasn’t too far from the hotel. The back and forth motion of the swing was mildly mind numbing. 

Your eyes grazed over the field and playground in front of you. A small girl ran across the woodchipped covered playground. She was no older than 3. Then with no obvious reason, the tiny girl was on the ground. You held your breath, ready to jump down if something seemed seriously wrong. Within moments a tall man with matching hair color ran over.

He squatted down to her level, embracing the small girl in a large hug before looking at the injury on the tiny girl’s knee. The tiny girl was obviously distressed by the injury. The father clearly wasn’t. He placed a quick kiss on the knee and then his hands flashed out tickling the tiny girl. The peals of laughter echoed across the play yard. 

You watched as she got lead away, holding hands with her dad as they walked off, all the bad little moments forgotten. He was so patient with her, and you replayed that initial hug over and over again. He cared so much. 

Were you—jealous? You deserved a lot of things. You deserved to not have to fight demons and other things every day. You deserved to get paid for what you did. You deserved a shower that wasn’t in a shifty motel. You deserved a shopping spree. You deserved a hot, home cooked meal. But most of all you deserved a dad. And it wasn’t fair that you couldn’t have one.

You walked home and threw yourself on the motel bed, face first into the pillows. Sam looked over from where he was reading on the other bed. “Something wrong Y/N?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” You mumbled into the pillows on the bed.  


Sam made a noise like he was about to argue with your decision to not speak and then thought better of it.  You could hear the clicking sound of him texting before he went back to reading.


Fifteen minutes later Dean barged in, his arms filled with food that quickly permeated the room with the salty, greasy smell. “Dinner is served. I got some burgers, and a salad for the rabbit. And then I got some ice cream, Chunky Monkey, Y/N’s favorite, and a movie. Its not that chick flick you are always going on about, but its Batman. Everyone likes Batman.” 

A smile crept up onto your face as he passed you your food and a pint of your favorite ice cream. He threw the movie into the TV and sat down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He didn’t say anything as you guys ate, once you had finished eating and relaxed into the pillows he spoke up. 

“Do you want to talk about what was bothering you?” He said without taking his eyes off of the screen.

You sighed. “I know its stupid now.” 

Dean gave a scoff and turned to look at you. “If it was upsetting you, its not stupid. Try us.”  

You paused for a moment before mumbling out. “I was upset that we really didn’t get a dad.” You spoke up before Dean could interject into the defense of your father “I mean I know we had one, and he did the best he could. It just wasn’t the normal apple pie life, and sometimes that sucks. But that doesn’t matter. I got you guys, and you are way better than anything ever.” 

“Love you, Y/N” Sam piped up

“We really do love you, kiddo.” Dean ruffled your hair. 

You scrunched up your nose and smoothed back down your hair. “I love you guys too.”

You fell asleep before the movie ended, but you fell asleep knowing you were the luckiest sister in the world.

4

Lattice Stinkhorn fungus (Clathrus crispus)

AKA Basket stinkhorn or Red cage fungus, alluding to the striking fruit bodies that are shaped somewhat like a round or oval hollow sphere with interlaced or latticed branches.

The fungus is saprobic, feeding off decaying woody plant material, and is usually found alone or in groups in leaf litter on garden soil, grassy places, or on woodchip garden mulches. Although considered primarily a European species, C. ruber has been introduced to other areas, and now has a wide distribution that includes northern Africa, Asia, Australia, and North and South America.

The fruit body initially appears like a whitish “egg” attached to the ground at the base by cords called rhizomorphs. The egg has a delicate, leathery outer membrane enclosing the compressed lattice that surrounds a layer of olive-green spore-bearing slime called the gleba, which contains high levels of calcium that help protect the fruit body during development. As the egg ruptures and the fruit body expands, the gleba is carried upward on the inner surfaces of the spongy lattice, and the egg membrane remains as a volva around the base of the structure…

(read more: Wikipedia)

photographs: David Gough, Angelos Papadimitriou, Allen Rockefeller, and Amadej Trnkoczy