(Source: saltbridge, via slowly-thawing)

redfishblowfish:

tun-te-maton:

meme-meme:

Spocks.

REBLOGGED FOR S

SPOCKS.  you guys dont even understand.  SPOCKS

(via skinnykate)

wyte-one-thousand:

pleiadian-princess:

radagastlovesyou:

you-are-another-me:

There 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 the most amazing thing I have ever read.

THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL IM ALMOST TEARING UP

Reblog for eternity.

(Source: thegodmolecule, via i-only-wanted-to-be-your-equal)

saccharinesylph:

vintage-aerith:

mary totally came up with all of these, i contributed the spray paint fumes

I’M WEEPING WITH LAUGHTER

(Source: shinjaninja, via martins-brolly)

lordofthejohnlock:

livin-la-vida-loki-d:

squilf:

#an accurate summary of their entire relationship

There may come a time when I don’t reblog this post but that day is not this day. 

If I ever don’t reblog this, its because I’m dead.

(via i-only-wanted-to-be-your-equal)

(Source: sttinkerbelle, via the-absolute-best-posts)

fluffywhitechicken:

sexpigeon:

You have discovered a massless particle: the springle.

You walk into the store. You are hungry. You walk to the bakery section. The cookies are edible. You are far to cheap to buy real food. You take a sugar cookie. Springle stares back at you. You are confused. The line behind you grows but you stand there, shaking. You attempt to ask for the rainbow springle, but you can’t.Your world is not normal. People behind you grumble. You cannot buy the springle. Your mind has become the void. A void of springles and rainbows. You stand there hungry and weak. Hungry for the springle.

does it come with chicken nuggers

(via ankh-the-odd)

mikkelsening:

but is anyone else really concerned for abigail

did she steal hannibal’s paisley and shrooms and run off to join a hippie commune

is she just locked up somewhere

did her scarf collection swallow her

where is she

srsly I’ve been wondering that for a while now

(via ankh-the-odd)

waffles-the-cat:

Waffle upon his throne of waffles :OO