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#of our land
dearspnik · 1 year
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ > até saber que nós eramos ㅤㅤ tudo, faltou ser verdade 🇧🇷 ⚽
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akanemnon · 2 months
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This deja vu comes with a free concussion!
FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT
MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)
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firstfullmoon · 5 months
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Mahmoud Darwish, “On Hope,” trans. Naseer Aruri and Edmund Ghareeb, in Enemy of the Sun: Poetry of Palestinian Resistance
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inkskinned · 1 year
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for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.
i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.
in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.
the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.
i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.
i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.
i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.
the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.
when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.
we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.
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tuherrus · 6 months
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🌹🎶
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egophiliac · 6 months
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Do yoy like their silly little dance
the inside of my brain at any given moment:
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rimouskis · 6 months
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alright, question for the esteemed jury (though I imagine this will be a uniquely american, if not perhaps also canadian, experience):
are you familiar with the children's game that involves slapping hands around a circle while singing a song that begins "down by the banks of the hanky panky"
and if you are, how did the rest of the song go for you
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chaoticace22 · 10 months
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i know July's not over yet (and shit can happen) but i'm going offline for a while
Edit: Barbie and Oppenheimer deserve their own Stefan recap that i'll do when i'm gonna be back home and watch it (so in August) lol
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sunglassesmish · 7 months
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if you don’t stand with palestinian people literally just leave my blog. you can be israeli and you can be jewish and still recognise that palestinian people, not to mention that millions of those people are kids, are being killed and have been attacked for literally just living in their own country. the israeli defense minister is cutting off food, water, electricity to attack palestinians in gaza and calling them ‘human animals.’ they aren’t even treated as people anymore, yet half of them are innocent kids.
it’s like only a select few people care about palestinians and the rest of the world think of them as all being islamic extremists and terrorists for just living in their own country. it’s fucking disgusting how the world has turned a blind eye to innocent palestinians for decades.
if you want someone to blame, turn your heads to the people who allowed israel to take over palestine. to the israel government and hamas who are allowing innocent people, both israelis and palestinians alike, to be killed.
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lil-lemon-snails · 3 months
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Tentatively sliding this across the table-- more divine circus brainstorming anyone??
Accidentally flipped the pattern on the pants please don't look at this one too closely
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pinterestmom5 · 4 months
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My first takes on a modern au / human phos
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usermeggy · 7 months
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Ed + Mother Nature 1.07 This is Happening - 2.04 Fun and Games
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sanyu-thewitch05 · 6 months
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OOOHHH, MALLEUS, THIS IS EMBARRASSING FOR YOU!
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taohun · 8 months
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isn't that worth holding on?
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balasha7sanbardo · 6 months
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I need people to understand that no one has a right to dictate what should and shouldn't happen in Palestine right now or in the future, except Palestinians. Literally. No one has the right to tell them if a 2-state solution is the best option, if a diplomatic resolution is, or if it's a complete dismantling and deconstruction of the entire israeli govt, and assimilating israelis under a Palestinian govt.
So, if you have an opinion about the solution, take a second and try to remember: the land isn't yours, and the bloodshed isn't yours. Remember that you did not just watch your home get carpet bombed, your loved ones massacred or imprisoned for no reason. You did not watch your land get annexed. You did not witness the trauma in your children’s eyes and that feeling of dread because you know that they might be dead in the next few hours. You did not hear the screams and cries of people under the rubble begging for help. You did not watch your school being bombed to pieces and people’s limbs on the street. You didn’t have to live through the reality that absolutely not a single person in authority did ANYTHING to help except watch you be murdered live on their pretty little screens while they tweeted about it. Remember that, and then proceed to shut the fuck up and listen to Palestinian’s voices.
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broke: eddie munson has handcuffs in his room cause he likes kinky sex 
woke: eddie munson has handcuffs in his room because he was once arrested by officer Callahan for possession of marijuana at a halloween party they busted his junior year, but as soon as Callahan sat him on the pavement and turned around, Eddie jumped up and hauled ass into the forest until he reached the trailer park. His uncle had to pick the lock to get them off his dumbass nephew (making eddie swear to 1. never ask how his uncle knew how to pick locks and 2. never get fucking arrested again) Eddie kept the handcuff’s as a memoir of the night he outran the Hawkins Police Department. 
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