#febril

[acostumbradoalfindelmundo]

Diccionario mundifinista parte 49:

Ejercicio: Gimnasia que hacen quienes van al gimnasio pero que no se sienten muy importantes si al ejercicio le llaman gimnasia, por eso también al gimnasio le llaman gym.

Fácil: Nada.

Farsa: La vida de cualquiera cuando no se entra en detalles.

Fastidiar: Por escrito en mi caso.

Fatiga: Mi estado natural.

Febril: Fiebre contraída en el mes de abril.

Felicidad: Alegría sin contexto.

Ficción: El pasado de cualquiera. Primero lo vivimos, luego lo idealizamos o satanizamos según el caso, luego lo nostalgizamos o lo repudiamos, pero la mejor parte es cuando lo mezclamos o le agregamos o le quitamos partes y ni siquiera lo notamos cuando lo hacemos. El pasado personal es cuántico: se altera cada vez que se toca. Así como se dice que la teoría de la relatividad cada vez es menos la teoría de la relatividad a medida que se simplifica para que la entendamos todxs, nuestro pasado cada vez es menos nuestro pasado cada vez que lo recordamos. No lo digo yo, lo dice la neurociencia que se especializa, entre otras cosas, en amargarnos la existencia con cuidadosa pulcritud.

Firma: Escribir tu nombre manualmente de forma analógica e ilegible, con la misma tipografía que usan lxs doctorxs en sus recetas. Algunas personas le dedican mucho tiempo y esfuerzo a perfeccionar esta técnica llamada “firma” convencidas de que eso, por alguna exótica razón, forma parte de su identidad. En mi caso sigo escribiendo mi nombre como lo hacía cuando tenía 6 años de edad, esa es mi firma.

Flecha: Objeto donde Cupido coloca su veneno para el cual hasta ahora no se ha encontrado antídoto.

Fondo: Lugar donde las personas malas son buenas: “En el fondo es bueno”.

Frontera: Línea imaginaria importantísima porque a nadie le importa el hecho de que sea imaginaria.

Globo: En italiano “globo aerostático” se dice “mongolfiero”.

Hierograma: El nombre de la persona que amas.

Hojaldre: Lo que contamina con muchas migas.

Holgazán: Persona vaga con H.

Imprescindible: Yo.

Jabón: Paso. Siguiente pregunta.

Acostumbradoalfindelmundolandia: linktr.ee/acostumbradoalfindelmundo

[arrebato-de-caliope]

Sol de abril

Te desafío, una vez más,

como esos juegos que solemos hacer.

Tal vez el juego que, además

nos puede llevar al lugar donde florecer.

-

Poder crecer, mirarnos seguros.

Tocar la arena y caminar hacia el futuro.

Escapar de las sombras y lo oscuro.

Ser lo perverso y ser lo más puro.

-

Con el tibio sol de abril,

Acostado tocando tu lienzo blanco.

Tocando tu tinta febril.

El libro más lindo si te soy franco.

-

[ineedhjalp]

friendly reminder that seizure jokes aren’t actually all that funny. pretending to have seizures isn’t funny. making fun of people with epilepsy or other conditions isn’t funny.

[wolfgirl-valentine]

¿QUE HACES BESANDO AL DEPRIMIDO?????!!!!

Hace mucho estábamos platicando en el Discord sobre estos dos en un plan novela latinoamericana muy cliché, y está escena se quedó en mi cabeza, no es mi mejor trabajo pero ando enferma y me cuesta enfocarme en las cosas(a parte de que aún estoy aprendiendo a hacer expresiones)

Es la primera vez que dibujo a Deseo, espero sea de su aprobación 🙏🏼, y como no, le dibuje como Soraya Montenegro en esa icónica escena jsjsjjsjs

[marinetti-dinner-party]

I think mocking fascists' appearance is hack and cruel because it implicitly cedes ground to their idea that 'beauty' confers 'truth.' But also, they have very specific definitions of beauty and, in the case of the Perfume Nationalist and Christina Murgo, I think it's obvious their fixations come from insecurity re: their own failures to live up to their standards. So sometimes it's okay to point and laugh, maybe

[washdayradionetwork]

Canada’s most prominent Indigenous icon might not be Indigenous

Horse. Shit.

Anyone who looks at Buffy Sainte-Marie and thinks, "Italian", as this hit piece suggests, is as White as they come, and an ignorant bigot, besides.

DNA tells the tale -- not true crime TV "detective" work.

This article claims that indigenous people will be shocked, but guess again. We know who we are, where we come from, what our traditions are, who our family is, and what we look like. White bigots will need more luck than there is in the world to topple that.

We will keep playing Buffy's music on the Febrile Ohms radio show. Our parent company, Civil Society, will keep consulting with her, and her vast network of contacts, as CS continues the fight for green energy; good jobs; and Native land, water, and mineral rights.

BTW, you can hear the Febrile Ohms radio show every weekday at 6 a.m. on Clear Channel Radio stations ALL across the country.

Enjoy the rest of your day.

Oh, one more thing! The writer of this hit piece is one Amanda Coletta. Contact her on Twitter and the Washington Post, where she shares this:

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

music we like ranges from the beatles to vessel

do with that information what you will

[hansnadia]

(Feb 2020)

[fellator]

que sei eu do que serei, eu que não sei o que sou? ser o que penso? mas penso ser tanta coisa! e há tantos que pensam a mesma coisa que não é possível haver tantos

[bookofjudith]

what’s better than realizing you can’t focus the microscope not because something’s broken but because you’re shaking from fever like a Victorian child about to die from consumption? Nothing, thanks for asking!

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

@whumptober #7: Seizures

Fandom: Marvel (Spider-Man: No Way Home)

Characters: Peter One (Tom Holland), Peter Two (Tobey Maguire), Peter Three (Andrew Garfield)

~

Peter Two and Three had seen enough horrifying things to last their combined lifetimes. Clambering into the apartment to see their younger brother on the ground, limbs flailing and eyes rolling back—it may not have made top ten but they both heard the other’s heart drop and then surge into each throat.

“Peter One!”

Peter Three’s feet hardly touched the apartment floor as he lunged to reach his side. His hands were already outstretched to intervene but Peter Two was just as quick, snatching him by the elbow to wrench him back.

“No, no, no! Don’t crowd him, don’t try to stop it or hold him down! We need to clear the floor,” he ordered with a near ferocious urgency that allowed no room for argument, dragging one of the dining room chairs away before Peter One could smack his head against its legs.

Chanting a slew of anxious curses under his breath, Three followed suit, snatching the scattered shards of a soup bowl that must have shattered when he collapsed. It turned his stomach to see Peter’s arms slide and smear tomato basil across the floorboards like some perverse snow angel—or not unlike blood.

When his spasms finally devolved into weaker twitches, Peter Three received a nod of approval from Two, risked a hand on his neck and flinched. “Geez, he’s burning up! Do you think the fever caused a seizure? I thought that only happened in kids!”

“He is still a kid.”

[sheathandshear]

Lord, some of these residents. "They have a XYZ score of 6 and they only meet 8 out of 10 criteria for ABC so I ordered these XYZ meds and won't do testing for ABC" yes but have you actually like, looked at your patient?

[fainist]

I've become sadder and colder, graceless and older.

I am caught in the tatters of my old skin, a newborn shrieking in the harshness of the light.

I am ignorant of my form, enough no more my function to fulfill.

I've been febrile and sickening, shallow and self-absorbed.

I am lost in the maddening hue, fearful of the fertile dark.

I am dissolute and insoluble, a mosaic shattered without repair.

I've been so much more.

...

I could be more than that again.

[gloryseized]

maid2n asked:

❛ just relax and let me take care of you. ❜ ( for link )

Meme Tag -- @maid2n

Link scowls down at the blankets over his knees, even if his fever is making the world swim oddly around him. He's not sure how long he's been confined to his bed, but it feels like it's been too long, the restless energy dancing around his feet, encouraging him to get up and move. Some of that could be the fever talking, and certainly the last time he tried to leave his bed, the room swung frantically around him, so that he almost fell back into bed a moment later.

But suddenly something cool is pressed against his forehead, bringing him back to the present day and Zelda's worried eyes overhead. And the cool washcloth does feel nice. Tapping his fingertips to his chin, he swings his hand forward. << Thank you. >>

[mcatmemoranda]

[ayliffe]

occasionally i wonder if i should look into doing actual political journalism (i don't know if pasting links to tweets on tumblr really counts) but realistically i'd get bored of it once everything stopped being so fucking febrile