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go to sirinsquared.tumblr.com to see the language posts I’m starting!!!

Telugu lessons

Thinking about making posts about the basics of Telugu since there aren’t really any Tumblr resources…..

Would anyone be interested?

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Obvious next step: Turn the world more like like GTA

When people are bored in ‘The Sims’ they start to burn everyone and everything to the ground. When people are bored in 'Grand Theft Auto’ they drive slowly and carefully, sticking to the correct side of the road and obeying traffic lights.

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New art blog!

Hi! I want to meet people, specially artists and people interested in art, we could do art trades, draw together, etc. 

I’m new and I don’t have a lot of followers, and I don’t knw anybody on tumblr, so signal boosts are very appreciated <3

I will be posting a lot of art from a variety of artists every day

Feel free to send your art

Following back art blogs :)

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“I am now 73 years old. I was at Indian residential school from age 11-15. I had to work in the infirmary, where there were many sick and hungry children. I’d steal food like peanut butter and bread to feed them. A lot of kids died there. I had to handle the dead children — wrapping them to be buried. Once I got caught speaking my native language. I wasn’t aware my language was different. My punishment was having four fingernails pulled out. At residential school we all received numbers. I was known as #702. But my name is Sphenia. It’s an Ojibwa name that means ‘on my way’. For many years now I’ve worked as an advocate for abused children. I started a school for indigenous kids in Vancouver called Spirit Rising Cultural Survival School.”

Source

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good job everyone

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A Japanese family returning home from an internment camp find their home and garage vandalized in Seattle, Washington 1945.

via reddit

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Don’t throw your ECLIPSE GLASSES in the trash.

You can donate them for other kids and humans to watch the 2019 eclipse!!! ISN’T THAT RAD!? Wait for info by The Astronomers Without Borders (AWB) : https://twitter.com/awb_org (I will edit this post as well)

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“C’mon, Ladybug! Smile! It’s for charity!~”

-Part 1 of The First Charity Photoshoot

(miraculous!AU where Adrien Agreste is Adrienne/Chatte Noire, black, and in college, and her blond hair turns black when she transforms bc she’s a black cat; I have many many headcanons for this AU)

#miraculous #adrien agreste #adrien #ladychat #chat noir #racebend #genderbend #ml #mlb #ladybug

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Grantaire for @gina-writes! He’s eating a Freedom Parfait with too much whipped cream made by this guy with a red apron who gets way too riled up if Grantaire says dumb shit so he keeps coming back just to mess with him

#les mis #grantaire #enjoltaire #farouche #les miserables #les mis fanart #les mis fandom #les mis au #exr #exr headcanon #les mis headcanons

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“”Excuse me,” she asked. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

       It was a nice surprise. Most people don’t buy me cups of coffee, and I was just sitting at the Starbucks trying to plot my novel. So it was kind of charming, to have a cute girl offer to buy me a free drink. I told her sure. She brought me a nice iced chai, and sat down next to me, and then asked, “So have you heard about Jesus?”

       Now, as it turns out, I’m a Christian, so I’m not opposed to Jesus -– but it was a little disappointing to realize this drink wasn’t done out of niceness, but as a sort of recruiting tool. Maybe I’d have been into a religious discussion if she’d said, “Hey, let’s have a philosophical talk,” but as it was, I felt a little betrayed. So I said that I wasn’t interested, as politely as I could (for I was sipping a delicious drink), and returned to my plotting. The next day, another girl: “Hey, can I buy you a coffee?”

       This time, I was trying to work out a difficult programming solution in my mind, and she asked me at exactly the right moment to have all of my thoughts collapse like a house of cards. “Are you just going to ask me about Jesus?”

       ”Oh, no,” she said, reassuring me. “It’s just that I think you’re cute.” And she was kind of pretty. “…all right,” I said, guardedly. She bought the coffee. Sat down at my table.

       ”But if you were wondering about Jesus…” she said earnestly, and I ejected her from my table. I kept the drink, though. It seemed cruel, but she had been stupid enough to buy it for me even though I didn’t want it.

       Over the next week, it just got worse. Two or three times a day I’d be deep in thought, trying to focus on this tangled plotting that I needed to resolve, and some woman would tap me on the shoulder to offer me a cup of coffee. I couldn’t concentrate, because sometimes they were very insistent: “You sure you don’t want a coffee, sweetie?” they’d ask, sometimes lurking over me after I’d refused them, just in case I changed my mind. Sometimes they just bought the coffee for me anyway, without even asking me if I wanted it, plopping themselves across the table from me and yammering on about being saved.

       It was affecting my concentration. I started to tense up at the Starbucks, waiting for the next Jesus freak’s interruption. If it was a regular thing, like an hourly interruption, then maybe I could have worked around it, but it was erratic. Some days, I’d have four or five at once, other days I’d be blissedly free of interruption. But I had to be continually braced for the next hand on my shoulder, knowing that no matter what I was doing they’d be bursting into my personal space. I wrote less, my programs were buggier.

       My friends couldn’t understand my upset. “Dude,” they told me. “You never have to pay for coffee again in your life! You’ve got it made! Do you know how much money you’re saving?”

       ”But I don’t want to talk to these people,” I said.

       ”You’ve talked about God with us before,” they replied. “Sometimes, we’ll stay up until two, three in the morning discussing the nature of heaven and hell. You dig philosophy, Ferrett. If you like talking about that shit with us, then why not with them?”

       ”Because they’re just one-note and don’t really care what I have to say,” I said.

       ”Just try ‘em, man. Some of them are cute. Maybe some of them actually want to date you!”

       ”I guess,” I said. “But how do I know which ones are genuine without having to talk to a bunch of phonies?”

       Eventually, it got to the point where I started bringing friends with me for cover, so I wouldn’t get interrupted. That didn’t work, either –- while it helped, the more aggressive proselytizers would interrupt me in mid-sentence to ask me if I wanted a drink. Suddenly, the Starbucks wasn’t fun anymore -– it wasn’t a place to hang out, but a place where I’d just constantly be bugged by attention I didn’t want. And the guys who weren’t getting free drinks were calling me stuck-up, jealous that I was getting all these free drinks and not even wanting them.

       So I stopped going.

       Okay. Clearly, that didn’t happen. But I’m trying to prove a point here.

       One of the things that guys don’t get is why women don’t like to be hit on. As a guy, when you get hit on, even if it’s a clumsy attempt, it’s generally a very rare and remarkable event –- it puts a spring in your step, even if you’re not particularly attracted to the woman, because as an average-looking guy, scarcity of compliments is the norm. So if a girl catcalls you and goes, “Nice butt!” and appears to be serious, there’s often this sort of strange pride. Hey, that doesn’t happen often, she must really be into me.

       So a lot of guys have this unspoken attitude of, “I wish I’d be harassed.” And they don’t get why women are so angry when hey, I was just trying to be nice, why you gotta be so mean?

       Thing is, when it’s not scarce, then even the nicest act starts to get annoying. Because you don’t get to control when people are quote-unquote “nice” to you, and it happens all the time, and you know there’s always a hidden cost behind it. You start to question people’s niceness, because they’re not doing it to be kind, they’re doing it because they want something from you. And maybe, yes, that’s something you like to give to certain people, but definitely not to everyone, and almost certainly not to the kind of guy who’s certain you’re going to give it to him if he just bugs you enough.

       Harassment isn’t once. Harassment comes from a lifetime of dealing with people constantly doing things to you, whether you wanted them or not, at random intervals. You learn not to trust people. And what might have been pleasant, once, as an isolated incident, starts to feel pretty oppressive when it’s something you deal with on a weekly basis. It changes you, and then guys call you bitchy when you don’t feel like playing along and pretending this is just about the coffee.

       But I think most of ‘em would feel the same were the tables turned. So please. Think about what you’re spouting.”

Article by Ferret Steinmetz, posted on Jezebel.

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The Dark and Middle Ages! The Nineteenth Century had an impudent way with its labels. For there, under the window in Arthur’s Gramarye, the sun’s rays flamed from a hundred jewels of stained glass in monasteries and convents or danced from the pinnacles of cathedrals and castles, which their builders had actually loved. […] Did you know that in these dark ages which were visible from Guenever’s window, there was so much decency in the world that the Catholic Church could impose a peace to all their fighting - which it called The Truce of God - and which lasted from Wednesday to Monday, as well as during the whole of Advent and Lent? Do you think that they, with their Battles, Famine, Black Death and Serfdom, were less enlightened than we are, with our Wars, Blockade, Influenza and Conscription? Even if they were foolish enough to believe that the earth was the centre of the universe, do we not ourselves believe that man is the fine flower of creation? If it takes a million years for a fish to become a reptile, has man, in our few hundred, altered out of recognition?

The Once and Future King, T.H. White. (via atreides)

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The only thing my negro ears hear when a white person says “Umm actually, my family was too poor to own slaves” is “The only thing preventing us from owning slaves was a lack of wealth. You best believe if we were rich, we’d have owned them" 

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Most people treat depression as if the depressed person sat down in a room, weighed out the pros and cons, and decided being depressed was a great option.

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someone being a jerk: i have depression okay????

me, who also has depression:

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Angola Herald, Indiana, September 26, 1930

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“You might think that your hair looks pretty fly, but chances are it’s nothing compared to the Amasunzu. It’s a traditionally Rwandan hairstyle that was once worn by men, as well as by unmarried women in order to indicate to potential suitors that they were single and of marriageable age.”