the reason why people are so hard to read is because they are composed of the letters a, t, c, and g in random sequences and as im sure you know, that doesn’t spell anything
whats the difference in a chickpea and a garbanzo bean. I’ve never wanted a ga
sorry I sneezed and hit post. I’ve never wanted a garbanzo to bean on my face
My piece for @dghdabigbang’s Mini Halloween Bang, a companion to @triffidsandcuckoos’s Farina fic ! The cupcakes are hardly starring characters, but I thought it would be really fun, and it was!
Base of watercolour pencil, supplemented with watercolour, acrylic, metallic silver pen, and a sprinkle of beads for, well, sprinkles.
My very sweet and VERY Catholic coworker: this new abortion law… they’re saying God doesn’t believe in killing the innocent babe to save the wicked mother…. Well I have some news for them about what he did to his own son.
Me: oh my god.
Her: honey. Exactly.
One time this man approached me in a bar talking in Spanish. So I assumed he was Spanish and we started speaking, we had a whole ass conversation and at some point he was like. So what part of Spain are you from? And I said well I’m Italian actually. What part of Spain are you from? And he was like. I’m Greek.
One time I was in Argentina and I was so tired of trying to speak Spanish because I’m not very good at it lmao so I broke into exasperated English and the retail seller girl quickly understood me and engaged me in conversation. We talked for a while, she introduced me to a makeup brand, and then I decided to buy it. While she was packaging the purchase, she asked me if I were from the US or perhaps the UK and I just said “oh no I’m Brazilian hahah” and she looked me straight in the eyes and said, in clear Portuguese, “I’m Brazilian too”
When my dad went to China on a work trip, his Mandarin speaking wasn’t great but his listening was fine (his first language is Cantonese) and he encountered a German guy who had moved to China to work. My dad knew how to speak German because he studied it in university (but wasn’t great when it came to listening to new vocab he hadn’t studied before), and the German guy knew Mandarin because he lived and worked in China, so they had a conversation where my dad spoke to the German guy in German and the guy responded in Mandarin. I’m sure it confused a lot of their coworkers who just saw the Asian guy speaking German and the white guy speaking Mandarin.
Some years ago, I worked for a manufacturing company that had a service depot in China. One of the engineers from the main office here in the US spent most of his time at the depot. The problem was that he didn’t speak *any* of the various Chinese languages, and no one at the depot spoke any English.
They all, however, spoke Spanish.
I love the world
The only post allowed on Tumblr following both the NSFW and OSHA ban
no note no content post
Exactly what tumblr staff ordered
I respect poetry so much because it does what I cannot do - say so much with so little.
When I have something Much to say, it takes me just as many words to say it. I say it with words that are each of them bland and common, unimaginative by their lonesome, with the hopes that if I stack so many together and squeeze a single drop of Much from each that it might flow into something meaningful.
When I have something to say, I say it twice. I say it three times. Because the first or second may not have captured the point. Because I do not trust myself to express the full essence saying it just once. Like just now, those last two sentences. I’ll repeat myself a third time for good measure - because I do not say it right just once or twice.
Poems say things in only a half, only a quarter. They choose single words worth more than ten of mine. I want to know how their minds shop for words. I want to distill myself like poets do. I want to trade in all my too many common words for the way they use an extraordinary few.
If I keep writing this, I’ll write it forever. I’ll explain myself again, as I have already, as I’m doing now. With more and different other words, with the hope of saying myself fully, like how all the hatched and messy wanton scribbles from a pen might finally color in a page. I want to change that. I want to not rip the page I’ve oversaturated by the tip of my pen.
I’ll start tomorrow, maybe, to explain myself less.
O h...
horses literally dont even say neigh they are like blelrrfhfhsiejeh someone is fucking lying...
every antique store looks like this
[ID: a doodle of a cartoonishly convoluted building layout with lots of strangely shaped rooms, weird hallways, crevices, and dead ends. an X in the middle is labelled “the heart (several old people sitting around the checkout talking shit),” and a little appendage at the bottom is labelled “door.”]
