ghosts-are-people-too - Tumblr blog

[ghosts-are-people-too]

so this is greenblings, right?

[ghosts-are-people-too]

bringing this back

[ghosts-are-people-too]

[ghosts-are-people-too]

People recreationally lying on tumblr is like a misinformation vaccine.

You're exposed to false information that's presented as if it's true, but which has been rendered harmless by being something absurd and utterly ridiculous, and even if you do catch something from it, the response is getting ridiculed on the internet instead of getting sucked into a cult. So the next time you encounter something that sounds absolutely mindblowing, some part of your mind remembers to check the sources, because you're not going to repeat the purple-eyes-no-periods mistake again.

[ghosts-are-people-too]

Your tongue was made soft and your teeth were made hard for a reason. Speak softly and gently, word your thoughts with grace. All things that are true and worth saying can be said kindly. And if people don't listen, bite them in the face.

[ghosts-are-people-too]

They didn't make it onto the fashion plates; they were the fashion plates

Lovely Victorian women of color dressed in elegant style.

[ghosts-are-people-too]

if you follow me, you probably know about Neighbour Cat, aka Glorious Floof, the cat who lives next door and makes daily visits to request cuddles:

but what you probably don't know is that my neighbourhood has a whole cat-alogue of friends I encounter regularly, so here they are in no particular order:

Post Office Scrungle

Orange Cream Soda

A Panther

Goblin

Mister Bigshoulders

[ghosts-are-people-too]

[ghosts-are-people-too]

Trying to fall asleep in summer is much like the dilemma described in Katy Perry’s hit song Hot N Cold (2008).

[ghosts-are-people-too]

you and your dreadful little polycule haven't seen the last of me

[ghosts-are-people-too]

[ghosts-are-people-too]

Is This The Life "Eileen" Deserves ?!

The color of her eyes is not blue or green, it is yellow, and her face is the same. I'm Mahmoud and she is Eileen, my niece and my spoiled child. She is 8 years old, Malnutrition and unhealthy eating due to the war is what did this to her. We took her to the hospital several times. A doctor says It is a "liver epidemic", and another doctor says it is a "breakdown in the blood", and another doctor says it is a "disease common among children", but everyone agreed that it is due to malnutrition. My niece, Eileen, is a beautiful girl and does not deserve what is happening to her.

Click Here For Help

She desperately need your support to provide her with life-saving medical care, Every donation, no matter how small, Helps.

Please consider donating today to help survive this unimaginable ordeal. By sharing this post, you can help Eileen and our family survived , we have lost a lot and we do not want to lose any more.. 💔🍉

Please help Eileen and our family get the life they deserve 🙏🍉

[ghosts-are-people-too]

got my hands on a field guide of californian bugs and i found that there's this one bee species in southern california that looks like this

(Actual bugs under the cut, CW for insects)

[ghosts-are-people-too]

Secret Recipes To Try At Home

[ghosts-are-people-too]

Secret Recipes To Try At Home

[ghosts-are-people-too]

When I was in third grade I got Weird with writing. It makes sense in hindsight. Oppressed people find their own ways of carving out space for themselves.

The first bit I did landed me in trouble more immediately. I was given, god knows by who, one of those enormous giant pencils. I loved it. My tiny nine year old body was consumed with love of this pencil that was roughly 1/3 of my height. I insisted that I would only use this pencil in school.

It was an unlucky year to be stricken with whimsy. My third grade teacher was a tyrannical Japanese woman fueled by her dislike of children. I suspect the cultural divide between how she expected children to behave and the reality of American children broke her.

She was three foot nothing and getting berated by her was the first time I’d ever looked down at an adult. I also saw her once standing next to her white 6’ behemoth of a husband and tried to conceptualize how two such disparate people had sex. I never could.

If you think I’m exaggerating her wrath it’s worth noting that my best friend at the time developed a stress disorder from this woman and I fell into a bizarre stutter that cleared up the moment I was out of class. In her classroom breaking down crying was a weekly occurrence.

But despite the frigid conditions, I persevered. I stayed silly. I brought my enormous novelty pencil to class every day. It was an act of rebellion that I sank my teeth into and refused to let go. I could barely sharpen it because its girth defied standard sharpeners the way I defied my teacher. This was my pencil.

When she attempted to confiscate my giant pencil I rose an unholy ruckus. This would not turn into the confiscated holographic Charizard, my tamagotchi, or my little pop frogs that she never returned to me. No. This was my goddamn pencil. There was no rules against enormous novelty pencils and after a heated week of debate she finally conceded I could use the hated thing.

It was stolen by my kleptomaniac friend a week or so after that a fact I’d only discover at the end of the year. But my tiny mind was convinced the evil teacher had stolen it.

In retaliation, instead of resuming normal behavior I decided that I would do all my writing upside down and backwards. No one, least of all myself, could explain why I felt this was necessary. Maybe I felt I’d be cool like a spy, maybe I just needed to buck the teachers hateful authority, or maybe I was just a little autistic kid.

When taking notes or writing essays I’d arrange the paper to be upside down. It may surprise you to know that my penmanship was actually quite decent, albeit I wrote a little more slowly than my classmates. That’s why it took the teacher a while to realize what was going on. There wasn’t a drop in the quality of my writing.

Unsurprisingly she hated it when she found out. She lambasted me both privately and in front of the class to write normally. I asked if my writing was illegible. She had to admit that no, it was not. I shrugged. I did not see a problem.

Like the pencil my new writing fixation was cited as being a distraction to the other children. But similarly she didn’t have an easy way to make me stop. She marked me down, gave me several talking tos, and generally bullied me into writing like everyone else.

All attempts at correcting me simply ran off my back. I had found a way to cope with how miserable she made all of us, by inflicting misery back upon her. I was unswayed for the rest of the year.

When I graduated up into fourth grade and had a teacher I adored it suddenly stopped. I looked at the paper and thought, Well that’s silly, and flipped it the right way round.

I can still write upside down, though, a testament to my worst year in public school.

[ghosts-are-people-too]

This is how many bullets they shot on a fucking kid.