In case you didn’t know, I spend a lot of time reading about HP on the internet. Here are some of the best and weirdest things I’ve found in my travels.
(print for matsuricon, will probably undergo a few more changes before printing, but for now i’ve got other things to work on)
Ghost in the ass
hetalia: ass powers
attack on ass
Beyond the Ass
This was a crazy pigeon that was pestering a cat, but I want to believe there are flying cats in Russia.
(via Barselonna) On a side note, you suck at cat, cat.
The cool thing is that in the first photo, the wings not only match in colour, but look as if they’re be the perfect size for a winged cat.
So does anybody else look at this and think “Catwings!” and get all nostalgic for a book from their childhood, or is that just me? >,>
Definitely not just you.
I harp on trans men a lot, and a lot of it is just that many trans men (both in my life and on this site) behave atrociously towards women and 100% act as agents of patriarchy
But also there’s this lie that’s been going around: that in order to be trans and afab you HAVE to be transmasc - demigirls are actually cis, girl-aligned nbs are actually cis, no afab with a shred of womanhood in them can possibly be trans in any way (This is part of a larger lie that manhood in general is real and natural while womanhood is artificial and fake).
And maybe there are baby transes out there wh believe this lie like I used to, and feel like they have to choose between being cis or being a man. And I want to let those kids know that there are other, less toxic ways to honor your own feelings about yr gender.
did anyone else see the edward snowden interview in the guardian about two days ago where he said that most of the NSA agents doing checks through people’s data are men aged 18-22 and that when they access photographs of attractive women naked they all send them to each other for reasons that are 100% not professional
like, if you have naked selfies on your phone, even if you have never sent them to anyone or moved them anywhere, these fucking mouthbreathers could be downloading them and sending them to all their friends
jesus what the fuck
He is taking a course on Marxist ideology.
He says, “The only real solution is to smash the system and start again.”
His thumb is caressing the most bourgeois copy of the communist manifesto that I have ever seen,
He bought it at Barnes and Noble for twenty-nine U.S. American dollars and ninety-nine cents,
Its hard cover shows a dark man with a scarved face
Waving a gigantic red flag against a fictional smoky background.
The matte finish is fucking gorgeous.
He wants to be congratulated for paying Harvard sixty thousand dollars
To teach him that the system is unfair.
He pulls his iPhone from his imported Marino wool jacket, and leaves.
What people can’t possibly tell from the footage on TV
Is that the water cannon feels like getting whipped with a burning switch.
Where I come from, they fill it with sewer water and hope that they get you in the face with your mouth open
So that the hepatitis will keep you in bed for the next protest.
What you can’t tell from Harvard square,
Is that when the tear gas bursts from nowhere to everywhere all at once,
It scrapes your insides like barbed wire, sawing at your lungs.
Tear gas is such a benign term for it,
If you have never breathed it in you would think it was a nostalgic experience.
What you can’t learn at Barnes and Noble,
Is that when they rush you, survival is to run,
I am never as fast as when the police are chasing me.
I know what happens to women in the holding cells down there and yet…
We still do it.
I inherited my communist manifesto,
It has no cover—
Because my mother ripped it off when she hid it in the dust jacket of “Don Quixote”
The day before the soldiers destroyed her apartment,
Looking for subversive propaganda.
She burned the cover, could not bring herself to burn the pages,
Hoped to God the soldiers couldn’t read,
They never found it.
So she was not killed for it, but her body bore the scars of the torture chamber,
For wanting her children to have a better life than she did,
Don’t talk to me about revolution.
I know what the price of smashing the system really is, my people already tried that.
The price of uprise is paid in blood,
And not Harvard blood.
The blood that ran through the streets of Santiago,
The blood thrown alive from Argentine helicopters into the Atlantic.
It is easy to say “revolution” from the comfort of a New England library.
It is easy to offer flesh to the cause,
When it is not yours to give.
Catalina Ferro, “Manifesto” (via dialecticsof)
I feel like people do need to remember that there is a very real, very painful, very human element to the word “revolution”.
what happened in roughly 1870 though
why was there temporary internet
with a few people searching for pokemon?
It’s a search of Google books, but the question still stands, what the Fuck happened in 1870
I CAN ANSWER THIS!!
In the Cornish dialect of English, Pokemon meant ‘clumsy’ (pure coincidence).
In the mid 1800s there was a surge of writing about the Cornish language and dialect in an attempt to preserve them with glossaries and dictionaries being written. I wrote about it HERE.
I had a dream that I got a yellow lab puppy
I named her Stryker after my old internet pseudonym
She had a weird coloring that looked like either a baby deer or a baby lion
(image is photoshopped, pretty sure dogs don’t actually have that kind of coat)