December 1st, 2013
November 14th, 2013
carladoll6:

thegodmolecule:

here is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not. When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well. You may feel a little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find your way home.
 

This is so sweet.

carladoll6:

thegodmolecule:

here is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.

And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.



In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.



The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.

And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.

You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not. When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well. You may feel a little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find your way home.

 

This is so sweet.

(via nerd-in-the-tardis)

October 31st, 2013

familiaralien:

maxofs2d:

going to the store finally got a sequel

my day has been made much brighter.

(via i-was-so-alone-i-owe-you-so-much)

October 24th, 2013

Do you ever just feel like crying?

September 23rd, 2013

yennywayyennyway:

alltimeaverage:

azzandra:

pampoovey:

starborn-vagabond:

trojanphoenix:

The kakapo is one of the rarest parrots in the world:

It’s flightless
It’s the world’s heaviest parrot
It’s possibly the oldest living bird and
It has a subsonic mating boom that can travel several kilometres

*shuffles along a branch*

*bounces along the floor*

*humps the shit out of a man’s head*

…subsonic mating boom.

I’ve seen one at the zoo in New Zealand

Kakapos are one of my favourite animals in the world. They really are.

(Source: svartvitkatt, via kaidanthecanadian)

September 21st, 2013

popelizbet:

kyburg:

karkat-in-the-tardis:

wendymabelaraneaprenderghast:

he’s nick fury’s cousin and nobody can convince me otherwise

HEAD CANNON ACCEPTED.

can you imagine the Fury/Bubbles family reunion kid’s table

what do you have to do in that family to graduate from the kid’s table

(Source: butnotquite, via invisiblemoose)

jacnoc:

candymandie:

‘get back in the kitchen’

sure

be sexist and send me back to a room full of sharp things, poisons, cleaning agents and food I can hide all that shit in

I’ll go back in the kitchen

but you’re leaving the house in a bodybag

And the award for best response to “get back in the kitchen” goes to this post. 

(Source: mewtwo870, via invisiblemoose)

September 18th, 2013
We gotta start teaching our daughters to be somebodies instead of somebody’s.
Kifah Shah  (via anderlynn)

(Source: ivicus, via threeteabags)

oknatural:

Mary had two little lambs

whose souls were damned to hell

They rose and fought and saved the world

until the angels fell.

no

(via theqwibqwib)

awkwerdwhale:

charlixcxvevo:

new zealanders

I’m a New Zealander and yes, this is correct

awkwerdwhale:

charlixcxvevo:

new zealanders

I’m a New Zealander and yes, this is correct

(Source: createthefuckingchaos, via painttwat)

September 17th, 2013

reblog if your name isn’t Ashley.

vvildwolf:

imfinejusttiredok:

hellfirehotchkiss:

iam-livingdeadgirl:

thegirlwhojustfoundoutwhoshewas:

comeinwiththarain:

immortal-goldfish:

skadiyoko:

pastassassins:

2,121,566 people are not Ashley and counting!

We’ll find you Ashley.

This post is scandalous.

reblogging because ashley cant. 

If you scroll past this I am going to assume your name is Ashley.

Ashley is in charge of snacks

Ashley ate all the snacks

she was suPPOSED TO BE WATCHING the DOOR

GOD DAMNIT ASHLEY!

who even let you in here

(Source: devnirenberg, via threeteabags)

donlevi511:

wastingtimewishing:

this is what i think being a boy is like

This is exactly what it is

donlevi511:

wastingtimewishing:

this is what i think being a boy is like

This is exactly what it is

(Source: mystupidfinds, via bl4ck-w1d0w)

childofravenclaw:

thenthehumans:

thetwinthatlived:

First and Last words.

I’m not crying, there’s something in both my eyes.

….. 

THE FIRST AND LAST WORDS ARE SAID BY ALBUS 

I TAKE BACK ANY CRITICISM OF HIS NAME 

(Source: superherogengar, via threeteabags)

really-saraleee:

inebriatedpony:

rainmartlet:

I don’t know who you are and where you are

but

you should see the purring leopard at least once in your life

thanks for your attention 

KITTY!

So cute and terrifying all at once.

(via threeteabags)