Cooking Up Some Lynthers

what if they just adopted a new cat for their birthday (read: they picked up a stray abandoned in a cardboard box)

drop pop candy ☆

scaraether brainrot only

hello, commissions are open again! [reblogs appreciated]

hello! i'm opening commissions so i can fund grad school. payment is via ko-fi donation or paypal.

gaza has just been completely cut off from the world.

after increased intensity of israeli aistrikes tonight, the last cable providing communications was destroyed. telecommunications have been completely cut off. they cannot reach one another. they cannot reach paramedics. the red crescent society has completely lost contact with their branch in gaza. nobody inside can reach anyone inside, and especially not outside of gaza to tell us what is going on. this is a complete atrocity.

To the Curiosity Rover

We named you after that which is best and brightest within us, that turns stars to constellations, planets into neighbors, and noise into song, but they tell me you can't sing this year. Creating vibrations using your sample-analysis unit costs power, and your nuclear battery can't run forever. For entropy, for the finitude of the universe, and the death of all things, I am sorry. But I wanted to tell you the party's still on, the next planet over, and for making that distance seem just a little shorter, we have you to thank. We haven't forgotten you. We still write poems and make memes in your name. If the aliens find you, and they wonder how or why we sent you on this journey, they need only read your name.

---

I wrote this four years ago, after reading somewhere that the Curiosity Rover once sang Happy Birthday to itself to celebrate the anniversary of its Mars landing, but to conserve battery, it never did it again.

I felt such immense grief for a robot I've never met and for once my tears transmuted perfectly into nice words. I'm still happy with this, even if I'm not really a poet.

Happy Birthday, Curiosity.

God is something passed on by word of mouth, like fire from wick to wood. If I wasn’t given Him, would I find Him in a lightning strike? A stray spark, struck by steel? Would I overhear the word for Him in a conversation between the wind and the woods? Or the sparrow and the sun? A word is shared and a spark grows - what lies at the root of it? Silence, heavy loam, the thing shared by everything before we share it.

you're my sweet russian roulette ˏˋ°•*⁀➷♡•°`.

eruri late night drives based on a fic i wrote: Here and Now

schoolmates