the-unpopular-opinions:

I truly believe that she is an angel, and a higher power sent her to heal the wounds of the outcasts. 

I’m really into who/what people think are angels, and what they think those angels’ jobs are.  For example see above and also Joey Comeau’s mom.

Let me know if you have any theories of your own.

myparentswereawesome:

Paola & Giorgio

Yes.  People.  Look like this, okay?

fishingboatproceeds:

I was kind of hoping that my fascination with cartography would end when I finished writing Paper Towns, but instead it has become worse. Part of what interests me about maps is how many choices are involved in choosing how you portray the world: You have to decide which direction (if any) will be up, how you’ll distort the world to render it in two dimensions, and you have to decide where the middle is. (Most of our maps with Alaska on one side and Russia on the other, but why?)

Here’s a map that places Mecca at the center of the world. (Mecca is the birthplace of the Prophet Muhammad and the site of many important events in early Islamic history; Muslims turn toward Mecca when they pray, and this map was created to show you which way to turn.)

You could make a similar map radiating out from Jerusalem, or New York City, or your hometown, or whatever feels like the center of the world to you. And that map would become for you the only truly accurate one. This makes me ask myself where that would be for me—what’s the starting point from which the world spins out in all directions?

(I can’t answer this question for myself, at least not at the moment; I just think it’s interesting.) 

This is really beautiful and stuff like that.  I would like to see lots of different middles of the world on maps.  Really insanely personal ones.  Like my cousin’s house or the field where you finally saw a shooting star.

I think it’s a good idea.

(Source: bull-shittery)

Who are these people?  What are those garments?  I am in love.

myparentswereawesome:

Cate

Submitted by Emily Stella

Half and a one reasons to be like this:
at some point somebody is bound to take a picture,
and later you will be somebody’s mother. 

Somebody’s proto-mother looks upwards.

(Source: myparentswereawesome)

myparentswereawesome:

Jim and Elaine

Submitted by Derek

One thing I am always worried I will never learn is when it is time to take everybody’s picture.

I err on the side of hardly taking any pictures at all, since I was always worried about turning into my grandmother, who was until recently famous for breaking up parties just when they were getting comfortable and making everybody grumpy with the sheer power of her camera lens.

But I don’t know.  I sort of like that much of the documentation of my childhood is my repertoire of forced smiles, outright scowls & plaid Grandma-visiting dresses.  I always appear to be outgrowing or too small for both the clothes and the faces.

Then I had a friend who became a photo-fiend in high school.  Digital cameras were a norm by then, but she was a stubborn film enthusiast, amassing boxes upon boxes of photos of those of us who happened to be around.  Strictly candid at first, but later on she became enchanted with crumbling portraits of strangers’ families she found at junk shops — people for whom being photographed was an event in and of itself.  So she began to request a sense of inherent eventfulness of us, & it was rather nice, actually.

So I’ve essentially learned to trust the people around me to make the decisions about when it is time for photo taking and no photo taking.  It’s interesting, having given up control in this area, what causes me the most significant vanity-pangs after the fact.  I don’t care how many unflattering pictures of me get tagged on Facebook, but I do secretly harbour a mysterious ball of sadness over the scarcity of photos documenting time spent with particularly cool people who just don’t happen to be around me and cameras at the same time much.

Anyway.  I finished a box of tea today.  So now I have a box.

Here you see the 13 unlabelled parts of your heart on a playing card.

As a human, these things interest you.