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not romantic not platonic but a secret third thing [what would happen between earth and the moon if the earth stopped spinning as illustrated by xkcd randall munroe]
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Public transit be like your bus is due .....now! ........now! .....any second now.......okay now! Just kidding uhh..............now! Okay itll be 17 minutes ☺️ hope that helps. Aw shit we sent the invisible bus again
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Texts From Superheroes
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this is so real and never leaves me
#i still think about the sandwich from the little kiosk in the corner of the terry dining hall#i had the same sandwich like 4 times a week and i’ve never had one since that came close#toasted white sourdough#hummus on one side pesto mayo on the other#black pepper turkey and sharp yellow cheddar toasted until the bread is crispy and the cheese melts#cucumber slices for crunch and arugula for flavor#i am. sighing wistfully
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A comic about that one ouija board they have underneath all their Clue boards.
This one.
#death chilling in the corner of the white horse (she’s there to pick up a rat from the cellar):#awwww all my boys are together hi boys!
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“Why is snoop dogg at the Olympics-“
WRONG QUESTION!
WHY ISNT MARTHA STEWART THERE WITH HIM?
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When I was a TA for the freshman art class in senior year my students really adored me. It was so sweet. I’d had classes that were more ambivalent toward me but these guys were all about me.
I loved working with that teacher too. He was the kind of crunchy art nerd whose own kid didn’t know what candy was, who loved bird watching and wearing tweed. We’d chat while they worked and it was just a three hour pleasure rather than work.
When the class switched from charcoal to gouache a devil medium, the evilest watercolor, the students struggled. We’d have in class painting where they’d spend the whole time trying to mix one color instead of just accepting something as good enough and trying to practice other skills.
So one day I showed up to my shift and announced, “I have stickers. If you get color down for the whole composition, you get a sticker.”
They wanted. The stickers. So bad. Students who had agonized before about keeping lines neat and perfect plowed ahead. The first student to call me over I tsked at. “Putting grey on everything doesn’t count,” I chided, “I asked for colors on each object.”
The classroom worked in furious joy, young adults who had seen my bird and cactus stickers and gone feral. The teacher was flabbergasted. “Why do they want stickers? They could just buy stickers…”
I held up my water bottle and showed him a tiny 3D bubble sticker the program director had brought to my game teams space last week. “You never grow out of wanting to earn a sticker.”
By the end of class everyone had a sticker. There was more visible improvement in the work too, which surprised them since they’d been rushing. “Gouache looks terrible before it looks good. It’s okay to start messy and then refine.” The teacher had said the same thing but looking at their frantic sticker paintings they finally saw the truth of it.
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ykno the thing about poetry is that 99% of it is bullshit and the other 1% will cut you like a material knife, and for every person that 1% is a different section of the whole. this is probably true about all art.
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Sweet mother, I can't long for girls--Arachne has crushed me with desire for fiber crafts
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Stacy's mom turned me into a frog
It's all I want, now I'm chilling on this log
Stacy can't you see you're just mad that you're not me
I know it might be wrong but I think this is pretty pog
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