twitter user foxylalonde telling it like it is
We need this because reasons. This one’s for the coffee drinkers amongst you - British designer Joshua Renouf has come up with a coffee making alarm clock which can wake you up with a fresh cup of joe.
SO I ACTUALLY DID THIS A FEW MONTHS AGO AND I DIDNT EVEN THINK THEY LOOKED AT THIS SORT OF THING SO BY THE TIME THE DELIVERY MAN CAME I HAD FORGOTTEN THAT I WROTE THAT AND THE GUY WAS REALLY CUTE. WHEN I OPENED THE DOOR HE WAS SUPER FLUSTERED AND DROPPED HIS PEN, THE BAG HOLDING THE PIZZA AND THE RECEIPTS. THEN after i signed the receipt and he was getting ready to leAVEEEE HE GOES “So… umm… did you actually put that?” and i was like “put what?” and he goes “… to.. um… tell you.. um that you’re pretty” omg it hit me that this was why he was all nervous and i started cracking up omfg then he told me that i was pretty.
i did this once but when the guy came to the door I sent my friend Martin to get the pizza and I heard muffled laughter and then Martin came back into the room with the pizza and whispered “he told me I was pretty”
"A Lesson In Drawing"
My son places his paint box in front of me
and asks me to draw a bird for him.
Into the color gray I dip the brush
and draw a square with locks and bars.
Astonishment fills his eyes:
"… But this is a prison, Father,
Don’t you know, how to draw a bird?”
And I tell him: “Son, forgive me.
I’ve forgotten the shapes of birds.”
My son puts the drawing book in front of me
and asks me to draw a wheat stalk.
I hold the pen
and draw a gun.
My son mocks my ignorance,
"Don’t you know, Father, the difference between a
wheat stalk and a gun?”
I tell him, “Son,
once I used to know the shapes of wheat stalks
the shape of the loaf
the shape of the rose
But in this hardened time
the trees of the forest have joined
the militia men
and the rose wears dull fatigues
In this time of armed wheat stalks
and armed religion
you can’t buy a loaf
without finding a gun inside
you can’t pluck a rose in the field
without its raising its thorns in your face
you can’t buy a book
that doesn’t explode between your fingers.”
My son sits at the edge of my bed
and asks me to recite a poem,
A tear falls from my eyes onto the pillow.
My son licks it up, astonished, saying:
"But this is a tear, father, not a poem!"
And I tell him:
"When you grow up, my son,
and read the diwan of Arabic poetry
you’ll discover that the word and the tear are twins
and the Arabic poem
is no more than a tear wept by writing fingers.”
My son lays down his pens, his crayon box in
front of me
and asks me to draw a homeland for him.
The brush trembles in my hands
and I sink, weeping.
CTA Rail Car Converted into Mobile Garden
"I first covered the Mobile Garden project here on Colossal back in October of last year. UIC Art and Design graduate Joe Baldwin continues to pursue funding for his open-air public transit garden, but meanwhile was given the opportunity to participate in this year’s Art on Track festival last weekend by turning the interior of an el car into a fantastic sod-covered, ivy-laden garden. This car circled Chicago’s elevated downtown loop for five hours with several additional cars decorated with numerous other art installations” - Christopher Jobson
Photos via noisvelvet
"BARNES! ROGERS!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD"!
A big Steve/Bucky artwork that required a looot of work (I stopped counting after 40 hours to be honest). I know, I know, canon wise it doesn’t make any sense. Let’s just say that it’s the big second Chitauri attack of 2014 (it totally happened…*cough*)
Bonus: Bucky’s Instagram.
(Photoshop CS6 - Painter 12)WHAT THE HELL THIS IS AMAZING IS THERE A DESKTOP VERSION,petite-madame?? I LOVE THIS. YOU ARE SO TALENTED I WANT TO WEEP. WHAT A FUCKING GIFT. WHAT A BOON. HOLY COW.
We get along phenomenally well. It’s a real blessing working on these movies - Chris Evans
Inception (2010) + Paprika (2006)
First of all, introduce yourself. Write your name on a piece of paper, light a candle, and burn said. Greet your home whenever you enter, you never know who will be listening.
The loudest ghost stories involve objects moving and sensations and sounds and all manner of things. Lovely, but most certainly not the complete story.
The quietest ghost stories are never told.
Stories of found keys, or suddenly remembered appointments, or food tasting better than it ought. Of cool breezes, feeling especially pleasant, on too hot days. Of warm drinks, especially comforting, on too cold days.
Smile in the mirror when you pass it.
The quietest ghost stories involve milk remaining proper a day or two longer the “best by” date, of fruit being a bit sweeter, of rain drops making a particularly pleasant cadence against the windows.
Knock gently upon the walls as you walk from one room to another. Not always, but sometimes, when you need a hug and an affectionate touch.
The quietest ghost stories are suddenly remembering a line from your favorite book, or a quote from your favorite movie. Sneezes going unsneezed, phones charging a bit faster, a bed feeling particularly comfortable as if unseen hands tightened up the sheets and fluffed the pillows.
Calm your fears of living in an unhaunted home and quietly appreciate the range of flavors the eldritch world presents. Your surprises will be pleasant.