- dwelling in central maine -she/her Fuck the system - Thank the plant
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
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on feeling
anne carson red doc (via @metamorphesque) \\ kazuo ishiguro never let me go (via @liriostigre) \\ franz kafka the diaries of franz kafka, 1910-1913: "january 3, 1912" (via @dailykafka) \\ jeanette winterson why be happy when you could be normal (via @strykerlancer) \\ søren kierkegaard (1839) (via @tamsoj) \\ cameron awkward-rich the child formally known as _________ \\ jean-paul sartre nausea (via @metamorphesque) \\ adam wolfond the ripples are ongoing acts \\ catherine gildiner good morning, monster: five heroic journeys to emotional recovery (via @weltenwellen)
buy me a coffee
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– The Patience of Ordinary Things by "Pat Schneider"
[TEXT ID: It is a kind of love, is it not? / How the cup holds the tea, / How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare, / How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes / Or toes. How soles of feet know / Where they're supposed to be. / I've been thinking about the patience / Of ordinary things, how clothes / Wait respectfully in closets / And soap dries quietly in the dish, / And towels drink the wet / From the skin of the back. / And the lovely repetition of stairs. / And what is more generous than a window? END ID]
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Two Gay Little Animals Share Their Secrets
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his pills, his hands, his jeans… <3
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turns out the way you choose to live out each day dictates what your life will look like overall. no i know it's terrible
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a doggy induced bliss. Quality time withe the self. Seriously enjoying the act of relaxing and regrouping myself this holiday. If you can take a few minutes for yourself today. Its worth it.
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Pandolf always prances a bit when we hear a pack of hunting dogs in the vicinity and he manages to drive them away by running in furious circles around his home and barking back at them. He often runs to me afterwards like “did you see me doing my job?? I guard you <3” But now that it’s getting colder there’s not as much hunting going on so I found a youtube video featuring a lot of dogs frantically barking and played it from upstairs while Pan was in the kitchen. I heard him jump off his cushion and start howling his best don’t-mess-with-me howl and I gradually lowered the sound of the video to mimic dogs going away. Then I went downstairs and he was standing by the door staring outside all bristly of fur and pointy of ear, checking that the barking had really ended and then he ran across the kitchen to me, proudly and insistently nosing my hand like “did you HEAR that? there were at least FORTY dogs out there and they SCRAMMED let me tell you”
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This is Lucky, with his lady Clotho. Lucky is a bantam Birchen Cochin, and Clotho was having a molt but we don’t mention that because chickens are sensitive about it. As you can see, they are small spherical borbs.
Now, Lucky is a perfect gentleman. His ladies love him, he never offers violence to chicks, he is resigned to Kevin picking him up and woogie-ing his wattles, and he was gracious to the ancient Rhode Island Red rooster that lived out his golden years in the same enclosure. (We have two, but they share a fence.)
Also his crow sounds like a kazoo solo.
But Lucky is also a bantam, which means that all the rage that lies in the heart of a rooster has been compressed into diamond-like ferocity. Case in point: we once had a fox going over the fence to grab hens. One day, the fox grabbed Lucky. We learned this when we found Lucky outside of his enclosure, covered in blood—only some of it his—and so hyped up on adrenaline that he immediately tried to fight Ninja, the top rooster, who immediately realized that he had pressing business under a rosebush.
We have not seen the fox or lost a hen since.
I tell you that story to tell you this one. Kevin has a very large Black Cochin named Pot Pie. He’s about three times Lucky’s size, and he doesn’t so much crow as roar like a T-Rex. He is huge. And every night, for months, he would go to the fence and flare his neck feathers out at Lucky—through the fence—going “If you were over here, I’d sit on you, little man,” to which Lucky would reply “Oh yeah? Come over HERE and say that.”* But they never leave their respective enclosures, because neither of them can fly for crap. Lucky because he’s too short to get over the fence and Pot Pie because he’s too heavy to get off the ground.
(Occasionally this standoff would end in someone trying to jump-kick the other one and getting tangled in the fence. I once had to sit for five minutes with a flashlight clenched in my teeth, untangling Lucky’s foot. But he is, as in said, a perfect gentleman and sat patiently while I did.)
Today, Kevin was on a work call and looked out the window just in time to see Pot Pie tearing across the yard at extraordinary velocity, pursued by a tiny wrathful rooster. Lucky must have found a gap in the fence at last, because he came over and immediately set about putting the fear of God into his giant nemesis.
When Kevin came outside to give everyone treats, Lucky was strutting around, calling the hens—there’s a little chuckle roosters do that means “Look, ladies, I found a treat!”—and surrounded by an admiring crowd of both bantam and full-size ladies.
Kevin escorts Lucky back to his own enclosure, where his own hens greet him as a conquering hero. He then searches for Pot Pie, and finally hears a THUD as the T-Rex jumps down from hiding inside the coop, pokes his head out, and is like “Is it safe? Is Satan gone?”
He did not go to the fence to threaten Lucky tonight. Pot Pie, as Kevin said, Found Out.
Meanwhile Ninja, far and away the most intelligent chicken on the property, decided it was another good day to spend some quality time under the rosebush.
*loosely translated from Rooster, a complex and idiomatic language consisting mostly of insults.
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a little creature who is also a mug
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