get quizzical. or a box of 64 crayons. whatever makes your Cheshire cat smile. I go by Sparkle*. I post fun stuff. And occasionally important stuff. Gettin' on the 20-something bandwagon. Tell me a story!
whiskeydrinking-operating:

This is Chester. When I was in Afghanistan I got a care package from one of those “Adopt a Soldier” programs that lets families send care packages to service men and women who are deployed overseas. Anyway, I got this care package, and it came with the usual stuff: Baby wipes, crackers, peanut butter, the Dad threw in a pack of cigarettes, and there was some jerky. But there was also a little beanie baby gold fish and a hand written note from a 7 year old girl that said  “Dear Soldier, (I wasn’t even mad) I hope you are doing well. I’m sorry you have to miss thanksgiving with your family. This is my friend Chester. He keeps me safe from monsters, but I think you need him more than I do. I hope he keeps you safe from the monsters you’re fighting. Take good care of him for me”.
You bet your ass that little fish was in my pocket every time I went on patrol.

whiskeydrinking-operating:

This is Chester. When I was in Afghanistan I got a care package from one of those “Adopt a Soldier” programs that lets families send care packages to service men and women who are deployed overseas. Anyway, I got this care package, and it came with the usual stuff: Baby wipes, crackers, peanut butter, the Dad threw in a pack of cigarettes, and there was some jerky. But there was also a little beanie baby gold fish and a hand written note from a 7 year old girl that said
“Dear Soldier, (I wasn’t even mad)
I hope you are doing well. I’m sorry you have to miss thanksgiving with your family. This is my friend Chester. He keeps me safe from monsters, but I think you need him more than I do. I hope he keeps you safe from the monsters you’re fighting. Take good care of him for me”.

You bet your ass that little fish was in my pocket every time I went on patrol.

asylum-art:

Oleg Oprisco photography

on Behance, Artist on Tumblr,  facebook

Oleg Oprisco, an inspirational 26-year-old photographer from Lviv, Ukraine, has developed a beautiful unique style of surreal photographs with astonishing girls in dramatic landscapes. What is perhaps most surprising about his work is that the artist doesn’t use any fancy cameras and lenses – just good the old Kiev 6C and Kiev 88 film cameras.

The photographer likes film photography because it makes one appreciate the importance of every single frame and it makes seeing the final result all the more magical.
© All images courtesy of the artist

myheadisbleeding:

nagachelsi:

acassiecreed:

everybodyilovedies:

misterdomon:

A comic about Tony liking to put his name on everything and Bucky still working on his anger management issues

STAR-K.

I GET IT.

OH MY GOSH THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING.

THE EXPRESSIONS AND THE IDEA AND THE CUTENESS AND SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS GENIUS

GUYS LOOK AT THE BOOK TITLE! “SELF-HELP BOOK FOR EX-RUSSIAN ASSASSINS” BY NATASHA PROBABLY

It hurts me in such a good way

When death reached out its hand,
you should have cowered. When you felt the
flames of hell licking at your insides, you were not
supposed to draw closer to the fire.
I watched you disembowel the Earth, saw you pluck
flowers from your mother’s garden and gouge
your fingers into its open wounds,
trying to pry secrets out from the soil.
Everything green started to shrivel
and die when I entered the meadow, but you didn’t
flinch away; instead you kissed me voracious,
like I was something dark you’d tugged
out of reluctant soil.
I wanted your hands, still caked in dirt,
pressing into my naked back.
I thought you’d understand me. Both of us
wanting what we shouldn’t. I know your mother
must have warned you about gods like me.
Tell her I am not a selfish lover. Tell her how
I kneel at your altar and crush the berries
of your hips into wine. That I worship you.
That we spread each other open like flowers
blooming in the night. You wanted to see
what paradise looked like drenched in moonlight,
so I brought you home with me.
When you stood before the gates of hell,
all the beasts lowered their heads
and bowed at your feet.
Everything I have belongs to
you — my wife, my queen.
You are so much flesh and blood,
so much heaving, pulsing, breathing life.
You make the death in me tremble.
I am forever yours. By 'Hades' | Anita O. (via urulokid)

Reblogged from spaghettiwizard  136,481 notes
theotherjax:

hideakiohno:

Casual reminder that in one of Leonardo da Vinci’s many notebooks containing innumerable artistic and scientific sketches and notes of incomprehensible important, there is a sketch of two penises with legs and tails walking towards a crudely drawn anus.
The sketch was most likely done by Leonardo’s apprentice Salai, who was not only very likely one of Leonardo’s lovers, but who was also infamously mischievous. Better yet, the anus is literally labeled “Salai.”
So either Salai drew these while Leonardo wasn’t looking just to annoy his boyfriend, or Leonardo himself put actual time and energy into drawing these. Either way, the human race is truly blessed to have made such a discovery.
There are dick drawings like the ones you see on desks in school in Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks. Please cherish this information.

In the midst of exploring Renaissance Italy history for reasons, I have found a wonder.

theotherjax:

hideakiohno:

Casual reminder that in one of Leonardo da Vinci’s many notebooks containing innumerable artistic and scientific sketches and notes of incomprehensible important, there is a sketch of two penises with legs and tails walking towards a crudely drawn anus.

The sketch was most likely done by Leonardo’s apprentice Salai, who was not only very likely one of Leonardo’s lovers, but who was also infamously mischievous. Better yet, the anus is literally labeled “Salai.”

So either Salai drew these while Leonardo wasn’t looking just to annoy his boyfriend, or Leonardo himself put actual time and energy into drawing these. Either way, the human race is truly blessed to have made such a discovery.

There are dick drawings like the ones you see on desks in school in Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks. Please cherish this information.

In the midst of exploring Renaissance Italy history for reasons, I have found a wonder.

Reblogged from garrulus  69,937 notes
ultracheese:

laughterkey:

derelictjet:

mindofgemini:

goldist:

malformalady:

The Black Dragonfish(Idiacanthus atlanticus) of the Stomiidae family.

I love how this is like a creature from hell but it has like little pink cheeks 

deep sea anime blush stickers


fun fact those pink cheeks glow to attract unsuspecting prey
fashionable and functional with a dash of abject terror

My aesthetic.

Perhaps senpai will notice me SO I CAN CONSUME HIS FLESH

ultracheese:

laughterkey:

derelictjet:

mindofgemini:

goldist:

malformalady:

The Black Dragonfish(Idiacanthus atlanticus) of the Stomiidae family.

I love how this is like a creature from hell but it has like little pink cheeks 

deep sea anime blush stickers

fun fact those pink cheeks glow to attract unsuspecting prey

fashionable and functional with a dash of abject terror

My aesthetic.

Perhaps senpai will notice me SO I CAN CONSUME HIS FLESH

Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. I only just heard the sad, sad news of Robin Williams’s death. My wife sent me a message to tell me he had died, and, when I asked her what he died from, she told me something that nobody in the news seems to be talking about.

When people die from cancer, their cause of death can be various horrible things – seizure, stroke, pneumonia – and when someone dies after battling cancer, and people ask “How did they die?”, you never hear anyone say “pulmonary embolism”, the answer is always “cancer”. A Pulmonary Embolism can be the final cause of death with some cancers, but when a friend of mine died from cancer, he died from cancer. That was it. And when I asked my wife what Robin Williams died from, she, very wisely, replied “Depression”.

The word “suicide” gives many people the impression that “it was his own decision,” or “he chose to die, whereas most people with cancer fight to live.” And, because Depression is still such a misunderstood condition, you can hardly blame people for not really understanding. Just a quick search on Twitter will show how many people have little sympathy for those who commit suicide…

But, just as a Pulmonary Embolism is a fatal symptom of cancer, suicide is a fatal symptom of Depression. Depression is an illness, not a choice of lifestyle. You can’t just “cheer up” with depression, just as you can’t choose not to have cancer. When someone commits suicide as a result of Depression, they die from Depression – an illness that kills millions each year. It is hard to know exactly how many people actually die from Depression each year because the figures and statistics only seem to show how many people die from “suicide” each year (and you don’t necessarily have to suffer Depression to commit suicide, it’s usually just implied). But considering that one person commits suicide every 14 minutes in the US alone, we clearly need to do more to battle this illness, and the stigmas that continue to surround it. Perhaps Depression might lose some its “it was his own fault” stigma, if we start focussing on the illness, rather than the symptom. Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. He died from Depression*. It wasn’t his choice to suffer that.

By

Tom Clempsom

FINALLY PEOPLE ARE STARTING TO TALK ABOUT WHAT DEPRESSION REALLY IS.

(via leofarto)

Reblogged from ardinaesque  14,786 notes

When we took Shakespeare’s “Measure for Measure” into a maximum security woman’s prison on the West Side…there’s a scene there where a young woman is told by a very powerful official that “If you sleep with me, I will pardon your brother. And if you don’t sleep with me, I’ll execute him.” And he leaves the stage. And this character, Isabel, turned out to the audience and said: “To whom should I complain?” And a woman in the audience shouted: “The Police!” And then she looked right at that woman and said: “If I did relate this, who would believe me?” And the woman answered back, “No one, girl.” And it was astonishing because not only was it an amazing sense of connection between the audience and the actress, but you also realized that this was a kind of an historical lesson in theater reception. That’s what must have happened at The Globe. These soliloquies were not simply monologues that people spoke, they were call and response to the audience. And you realized that vibrancy, that that sense of connectedness is not only what makes theater great in prisons, it’s what makes theater great, period. By Oskar Eustis on ArtBeat Nation (he told the same story on Charlie Rose)