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Don’t know if anyone’s ever said this but the most unrealistic thing about haikyuu is that there is not a single scene where they argue with the referee. That is the pinnacle of high school volleyball (or any hs sport really).

Sugawara would 100% throw hands constantly. That Nekoma vs Nohebi match would’ve had those teenage boys fist-fighting—don’t tell me you can’t imagine Kuroo standing there debating with the ref. Atsumu is right there?? You’re telling me Kageyama had picked fights with every opponent and teammate imaginable but wouldn’t argue with a referee???

Anyways I’m gonna be needing more referee fighting headcannons

#haikyuu #sugawara koushi #kuroo tetsurou #nekoma #nohebi #karasuno #inarizaki #kageyama tobio

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hm. i feel terrified of everything. surely large ice coffee will ease this terror. surely

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Thank god they brought back An Amount Of Daylight That Makes You Want To Live. It was getting a bit scary for a minute there.

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Fascism sells a synthetic nostalgia.

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You Are Not Wasting Time; It Was Given To You As A Gift, Freely and Generously; Is Rain Wasted Because It Falls On Gardens, Grass, Disgruntled Birds, and Umbrellas All The Same?

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i think one of the most important things you learn about making connections with others is that a significant portion of the time people just do not know theyre doing what theyre doing

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Israel has killed more children in Gaza since October than in four years of worldwide conflict

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🍉Data sources under the cut🍉

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on Survival and Hope

Grant Howitt, Franz Kafka, Walt Whitman, Bruce Springsteen, Susan Sontag, Melina Marchetta, @seravph , Mary Oliver, Keaton Henson

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"The likelihood that your acts of resistance cannot stop the injustice does not exempt you from acting in what you sincerely and reflectively hold to be the best interests of your community.”

- Susan Sontag

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Displaced children have been forced to seek makeshift shelter in chicken coops after their tents succumbed to flooding. This tragic reality evokes painful echoes of history, reminiscent of the deplorable conditions endured by Jews during the Holocaust, confined to horse stalls and sleeping on wooden shelves never intended for humans.

The phrase “never again” lost its meaning shortly after World War II, as the world witnesses a disturbing repetition of past atrocities. Despite solemn vows, the world’s involvement in supplying arms only exacerbates the suffering of the oppressed. It serves as a stark reminder that complacency and inaction pave the way for history to repeat itself.

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Walking up the function like 🕺🏾

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Palestine poetry: We teach life, sir.

Today, my body was a TV’d massacre.

Today, my body was a TV’d massacre that had to fit into sound-bites and word limits.

Today, my body was a TV’d massacre that had to fit into sound-bites and word limits filled enough with statistics to counter measured response.

And I perfected my English and I learned my UN resolutions.

But still, he asked me, Ms. Ziadah, don’t you think that everything would be resolved if you would just stop teaching so much hatred to your children?

Pause.

I look inside of me for strength to be patient but patience is not at the tip of my tongue as the bombs drop over Gaza.

Patience has just escaped me.

Pause. Smile.

We teach life, sir.

Rafeef, remember to smile.

Pause.

We teach life, sir.

We Palestinians teach life after they have occupied the last sky.

We teach life after they have built their settlements and apartheid walls, after the last skies.

We teach life, sir.

But today, my body was a TV’d massacre made to fit into sound-bites and word limits.

And just give us a story, a human story.

You see, this is not political.

We just want to tell people about you and your people so give us a human story.

Don’t mention that word “apartheid” and “occupation”.

This is not political.

You have to help me as a journalist to help you tell your story which is not a political story.

Today, my body was a TV’d massacre.

How about you give us a story of a woman in Gaza who needs medication?

How about you?

Do you have enough bone-broken limbs to cover the sun?

Hand me over your dead and give me the list of their names in one thousand two hundred word limits.

Today, my body was a TV’d massacre that had to fit into sound-bites and word limits and move those that are desensitized to terrorist blood.

But they felt sorry.

They felt sorry for the cattle over Gaza.

So, I give them UN resolutions and statistics and we condemn and we deplore and we reject.

And these are not two equal sides: occupier and occupied.

And a hundred dead, two hundred dead, and a thousand dead.

And between that, war crime and massacre, I vent out words and smile “not exotic”, “not terrorist”.

And I recount, I recount a hundred dead, a thousand dead.

Is anyone out there?

Will anyone listen?

I wish I could wail over their bodies.

I wish I could just run barefoot in every refugee camp and hold every child, cover their ears so they wouldn’t have to hear the sound of bombing for the rest of their life the way I do.

Today, my body was a TV’d massacre

And let me just tell you, there’s nothing your UN resolutions have ever done about this.

And no sound-bite, no sound-bite I come up with, no matter how good my English gets, no sound-bite, no sound-bite, no sound-bite, no sound-bite will bring them back to life.

No sound-bite will fix this.

We teach life, sir.

We teach life, sir.

We Palestinians wake up every morning to teach the rest of the world life, sir.

- Rafeef Ziadah, Palestinian poet and human rights activist.

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Twenty years later after many Arab cities had fallen, the thoughts I was sharing in Hebrew with a friend at a restaurant did not please a man sitting there, and he set to defending Israeli oppression with what he considered an irrefutable argument. He said you don't know these Arabs, and if you knew them, you wouldn't speak about justice in this manner. I asked him to tell me more. He knit his brow and said, "Have you heard of a village called al-Birwa?" "No," I answered. "Where is it?" "You won't find it on this earth," he said. "We blew it up, raked the stones out of its earth, then plowed it until it disappeared under the trees." "To cover up the crime?" I asked. He corrected me, protesting, "No, it was to cover up its crime, that damned place." "And what was its crime?" I asked. "It resisted us," he answered. "They fought back, costing us many casualties, and we had to occupy it twice. The first time we were eating dinner, and the tea was hot. The villagers surprised us and took it back. How could we accept such an insult? You don't know the Arabs, and now I'm telling you." I told him I was Arab, and that it was my village. He apologized politely but awkwardly, talked of peace, then invited me to his shop, where he was auctioning off furnishings and household utensils plundered from the city of Quneitra.

— Mahmoud Darwish, Journal of an Ordinary Grief, translated from the Arabic by Ibrahim Muhawi

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im a bit jealous of the social life the birds hanging out on the power lines seem to have.

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they should make a body that isnt constantly in pain or sick or has health problems forever

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whoever invented cozy in bed was a genius. and whoever invented getting up should be burnt at the stake