all of your colonies and continental divides

sarantium: twenty-something physics student with a book habit. queer, white, disabled. fond of kittens, neutrinos and karen gillan.
cosmictuesdays:

nadiacreek:

coelasquid:

deformutilated:

Fudge recipe on a headstone

I feel like I should make this just to be able to say a dead person taught me how to make it. Maybe I’ll do it for Halloween.

I desperately hope that she spent her entire life telling people that they could have her fudge recipe “over my dead body.”

That last comment is absolutely worth reblogging.

cosmictuesdays:

nadiacreek:

coelasquid:

deformutilated:

Fudge recipe on a headstone

I feel like I should make this just to be able to say a dead person taught me how to make it. Maybe I’ll do it for Halloween.

I desperately hope that she spent her entire life telling people that they could have her fudge recipe “over my dead body.”

That last comment is absolutely worth reblogging.

(via star-anise)

thecoggs:

tsukishimake1:

my favorite tidbit about rome is that in the mid-1800s one of the popes didn’t like the statues in rome having dicks so he ordered them knocked off. fast forward to the last decade or so and art historians in conjunction with the vatican are trying to erm. restore. the statues. but the dicks were just. kept in a box. so art historians are going around rome, with a box of dicks, trying to match them up to their owner.

[T]he thing I love best about this is not thinking about the frazzled art historian, buried deep in their dick research, trying to match various shades of stone and doing sketches about how weather may have affected statues groins, but the idea that they might do this in broad daylight.

Can you imagine saving your whole life to go on a family vacation to Rome? Or maybe it’s your honeymoon? Maybe you just got divorced and this is your present to yourself? And you are in Rome and you are sitting in an outdoor cafe, taking in the sights, feeling alive—and then there’s someone going up to a statue, pulling dicks out of a bag, a look of deep concentration on their face while they put a bunch next to it. 

Like. What story would you tell yourself about that? How would you even react?

(via aeide-thea)

Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation.
Depression is humiliating.
If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life.
It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too.
Depression is humiliating.
No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.

Pearl (via psych-facts)

This is seriously the most accurate description of depression. Wow.

(via fake-that-smile-babe)

(via star-anise)

last-snowfall:

18mr:

“When thinking of iconic romance, ask yourself if any imagery (paintings, photographs, film-stills) comes to mind that is not showing heterosexual couples? Probably not,” says photographer Braden Summers of his photo series of everyday gay and lesbian couples from around the globe.

[x]

The bottom one is so gorgeous.