justine-sebastian

[justine-sebastian]

These now quite famous photos are known as the Myakka Skunk Ape Photographs. The photos were taken by an anonymous woman who thought she was taking pictures of an escaped orangutan. They were mailed to the  Sheriff’s Department of Sarasota County, Florida, in 2000. In the note that went with the photos, the woman claimed that the creature appeared for three nights and took apples off of her porch. She reported that “it had an awful smell and was making deep “woomp” noises.” The woman was very worried that someone could be harmed by the animal because of how big it was. You can read the complete letter that she sent to the police department here.

[justine-sebastian]

These are photographs of what Mardi Gras used to look like. @sixpenceee

[justine-sebastian]

Is it a homewarewolf? Softwarewolf? Maybe a silverwarewolf? Though hopefully not that as it could prove fatal.

Regardless, it's precious and I want one.

A Cat that Looks Like a Warewolf

A new breed of cat called Lykoi has a mutation that leaves it partially hairless, looking somewhat like the werewolf for which it is named. (Source)

#kitten #werewolf kitten #because why the hell not?

[justine-sebastian]

I think he actually did kill one or two guys, but it didn't have anything to do with the Tate-LaBianca murders. He was, however, convicted of those because he orchestrated them, which I've always thought was bullshit. He wasn't even there for that. He was a murderer, but not a serial killer or mass murderer. Just a master manipulator like a motherfucker. Point being, yes, people need to get their shit straight because damn.

Re: Charles Manson

You know, I’m not in mourning or anything. Not celebrating. It was all well before my time. Thing is, what bothers me the most about it is everyone referring to him as a mass murderer/serial killer. He never killed anyone. Check your facts, get your shit straight and for the love of god shut up.

#Charles Manson celebrity death #charles manson #helter skelter #cult

[justine-sebastian]

okay, i don’t hate kids. i think they’re sort of funny. i like that you can talk to them like an adult and they’ll make sounds like they understand. i taught one kid “phosphorescence” and he looked at me and said, “they could just call it glowing if it means something that glows.” the kid undid the entire science community in one sentence.

but i hate kids.

or really, i hate how they’ve always been expected from me.

when i was five i was given “babies.” i hated the hardness of dolls, disposed of them for dramatic stories between stuffed animals. i knew how to wrap, feed, and care for a baby before i could spell my last name. when i was nine i was already “watching the kids”. i was only four years older than my cousins were. i wanted to go out and play. instead i was expected to have responsibility. by the time i was thirteen all of my friends had told me about how many children they were going to have in their twenties. 

my hips were “child-bearing” hips. my brother was a scientist, or a fireman, or a steamroller. i was going to make a good housewife, or mom, or nanny, or mom, or mom, or mom.

and when my body hurt, i was told it wasn’t really my body, not really, it belonged to my future children. i couldn’t cut or snip or tie anything; i was trapped by the potential energy that hung above me. a boulder, threatening. i couldn’t get tattoos, because what would i tell my children? i couldn’t kiss a girl, because what would i tell the children? i couldn’t be risky or wild or anything but a lady, because what about the children?

and when i said “i don’t want children” - not biologically, at least, not when cancer and depression and a whole other host of terrible things lives inside me - do you know what they said? “it’ll change, wait and see” “it’s not bad” “you’ll get used to it” “when you meet the right man” “you don’t want to be lonely”.

i don’t hate kids. i’m great with them. 

but then i’m told again that my life will be forfeit to them - something in me snaps angry. “wait until you have kids” “you should travel before you have children” “you’ll be more happy.” 

i hate kids! i’ve snarled. i don’t mean it at all. but god. please, leave me alone. i don’t want to be a biological mom. 

it’s like we’re born with a uterus and told “this is your whole life. your singular purpose. your job.” 

i want to be my own purpose. not here for the sake of passing genes on.

#so true #except I really do hate kids

[justine-sebastian]

This is the only man in my bed these days. He’s moody, spoiled, lazy, considerably younger than me, overweight and he has an awful lot of back hair. It’s strange, but I really don’t mind.

#jack! #jack #The kittencat

[justine-sebastian]

Assassin?… That sounds so exotic… I was just a murderer.

Richard Kuklinski The Iceman

#richard kuklinski #the iceman #quotes #serial killers #i love this guy #he was quite funny

[justine-sebastian]

“Barefoot in the Dark” - Deadboy and the Elephantmen from the original demo. It’s actually better than the album version.

#Deadboy and the Elephantmen #Dax Riggs #Barefoot in the Dark #Demo

[justine-sebastian]

“The Impalpable Brush Fire Singer“ - Will Alexander

The Impalpable Brush Fire Singer

No he is not an urn singer nor does he carry on rapport with negative forces within extinction

he is the brush fire singer who projects from his heart the sound of insidious subduction of blank anomaly as posture of opaque density as ash

he distanced from prone ventriloqual stammer from flesh & habit & drought

the performer part poltergeist & Orisha part broken in-cellular dove part glance from floating Mongol bastions

where the spires are butane where their photographic fractals are implanted with hypnosis

because he allegedly embodies a green necrotic umber more like a vertical flash or a farad posing like a tempest in a human chromium palace

therefore his sound a dazed simoom in a gauntlet a blizzard of birds burned at the touch of old maelstroms

because he gives off the odor of storms this universal Orisha like a sun that falls from a compost of dimness out of de-productive hydrogen sums out of lightless fissures which boil outside the planet

yes he sings at a certain pitch which has evolved beyond the potter’s field beyond a tragic hummingbird’s cirrhosis surmounting primeval flaw surmounting fire which forms in irreplaceable disjunction

under certain formations of the zodiac he is listless he intones without impact his synodic revelations no longer of the law of measured palpable destinations because he sings in such a silence that even the Rishis can’t ignore

as though the hollow power which re-arises from nothingness perpetually convinces like a vacuum which splits within the spinning arc of an intangible solar candle

such power can never be confusedly re-traced because it adumbrates & blazes like a glossary of suns so that each viral drill each forge casts a feeling which in-saturates a pressure bringing to distance a hidden & elided polarity

like a subjective skill corroded & advanced he sings beyond the grip of a paralytic nexus where blood shifts beyond the magnet of volume where the nerves no longer resonate inside an octagonal maze stung at its source by piranhas

— Will Alexander

#poem #poetry #will alexander #The Impalpable Brush Fire Singer

[justine-sebastian]

Rain  Without Thunder

WATCH THIS

http://putlocker.io/watch/EvJKkrxW-rain-without-thunder.html

#wake the fuck up #abortion #pro-choice #prochoice #women's rights #feminism #feminist #stand up #goddamnit #you are being eaten

[justine-sebastian]

This footage of a one-day-old baby otters sleeping on his mother’s belly was captured by photographer Connie Levenhagen. The two were spotted in a pool outside the Monterey Bay Aquarium, in California. (Source)

#awww! #otter #baby animal #baby otter #sea otter #fucking precious omgyayponies

[justine-sebastian]

“For the Dead” - Adrienne Rich

For the Dead

I dreamed I called you on the telephone to say: Be kinder to yourself but you were sick and would not answer The waste of my love goes on this way trying to save you from yourself I have always wondered about the left-over energy, the way water goes rushing down a hill long after the rains have stopped or the fire you want to go to bed from but cannot leave, burning-down, but not burnt-down the red coals more extreme, more curious in their flashing and dying than you wish they were sitting long after midnight

— Adrienne Rich

#poem #poetry #Adrienne Rich #For the Dead

[justine-sebastian]

“Detail of the Hayfield” - Richard Siken

Detail of the Hayfield

I followed myself for a long while, deep into the field. Two heads full of garbage.

Our scope was larger than I realized, which only made me that much more responsible.

Yellow, yellow, gold, and ocher. We stopped. We held the field. We stood very still.

Everyone needs a place.

You need it for the moment you need it, then you bless it— thank you soup, thank you flashlight—

and move on. Who does this? No one.

— Richard Siken

#poem #poetry #richard siken #detail of the hayfield #book: War of the Foxes

[justine-sebastian]

“Heroin” - Bob Hicok

Heroin

Imagine spring’s thaw, your brother said, each house a small rain, the eaves muttering like rivers and you the white skin the world sheds, your flesh unfolded

and absorbed. You walked Newark together, tie loosened, a silk rainbow undone, his fatigues the flat green of summer’s end, all blood drained from the horizon.

It would have been easier had you music to discuss, a common love for one of the brutal sports, if you shared his faith that breath and sumac are more

alike than distinct, mutations of the same tenacity. You almost tried it for him, cinched a belt around your arm, aimed a needle at the bloated vein, your window

open to July’s gaunt wind and the radio dispersing its chatty somnolence. When he grabbed your wrist, his rightful face came back for a moment: he was fifteen

and standing above Albert Ramos, fists clenched, telling the boy in a voice from the Old Testament what he’d do if certain cruelties happened again. Loosening the belt,

you walked out, each straight and shaking, into the hammering sun, talked of the past as if it were a painting of a harvested field, two men leaning against dusk and pitchforks.

That night he curled up and began to die, his body a pile of ants and you on the floor, ripping magazines into a mound of words and faces, touching his forehead with the back

of your hand in a ritual of distress, fading into the crickets’ metered hallucination. When in two days he was human again, when his eyes registered the scriptures of light,

when he tried to stand but fell and tried again, you were proud but immediately began counting days, began thinking his name were written in a book

locked in a safe on a sunken ship, a sound belonging to water, to history, and let him go, relinquished him to the strenuous work of vanishing.

— Bob Hicok

#bob hicok #poem #poetry #heroin

[justine-sebastian]

Although not one of our usual posts, this s’more dip is perfect for the autumn/halloween season! You can watch the video here

#s'mores #dip #fuck yeah

[justine-sebastian]

Frankenstein is very popular with the Madagascan natives.

(Source)

Here are some halloween compilations on Sixpenceee that you may enjoy:

Sixpenceee Halloween Masterpost

Compilation of Short Creepy Stories

Creepy Lost Episodes Compilation

Compilation of Horror Pranks

Everything on Astral Projection

Everything on Terrifying Dolls

#lemurs #madagascar #Frankenstein #mask #Halloween #Friend?

[justine-sebastian]

Hashima Island is an abandoned island which lies approximately 9 miles from Nagasaki, Japan. It was once a bustling mining community, with undersea coal mines. From 1930 to the end of the Second World War, prisoners of war were sent to the island and forced to mine coal under harsh conditions. It’s estimated that approximately 1,300 prisoners perished on the island. When the coal reserves dissipated in 1974, the mine was closed and the island left abandoned.

#Hashima Island #Nagasaki Japan #Japan #Abandoned Places #Ghost Town