(via jacobwren)
Leo and Diane Dillon
You bring the drinks, I’ll bring my guitar…
#pascalcampion #goodneighbors
this is one of the most magnificent stinkers I’ve read all year
why the fuck does english have a word for
but not for “the day after tomorrow”
???
Because you’re not looking hard enough! ;)
Overmorrow = the day after tomorrow
Ereyesterday = the day before yesterday
Example: I defenestrated my brother ereyesterday. I shall defenestrate my sister overmorrow! Because I hate my family and also windows.
english has some of the best examples of stupidly specific words, tbh
Rhotacism (n): excessive use of the letter “R”
Lingible (adj): meant to be licked
Whipjack (n): a beggar, specifically one who is pretending to have been shipwrecked
Yerd (v): to beat with an object with a stick
Roddikin (n): the fourth stomach of a cow or a deer
Balbriggan (n): a type of fine cotton, most often used in underwear
and my personal favorite
Cornobble (v): to slap or beat another person with a fish
This makes the English nerd in me extremely happy.
Who even made these words I’m going to cornobble them
fun latin word of the day
apicula, -ae, fem. (ah-pee-coo-lah) – little bee
i really just adore latin diminutives. for all of u who want to embrace ur inner vergil, here’s the cutest term of endearment ever because bees are the most adorable
apparently this is a picture of a bee sleeping which is the best thing so enjoy
I am trying to love poetry again.
My love is not like a muscle, that withers
if you let it lie unused, or a vegetable,
rotting unseen in the refrigerator.
It is more like one of those rivers
that is renewed only by snowmelt,
or a bear, that, waking after hibernation,
struggles to recall why it left its cave,
blinking its eyes against the pallor of the sun.I am not content with this winter.
I’ve skimmed my books too long, untouched
by lines that would have touched me
with that thin fire beneath the skin
that a lover feels on seeing their beloved.
The fire lies dormant in me. I stoop
to rekindle it, blowing out a stream of words,
fine and clear and delicate as air.
endless fires in my stomach but still trying to remain open and tender
The Fog Warning (1885), Winslow Homer / Ontario, The Mountain Goats
Inlaid flowers across Sheikh Zayed mosque’s 183,000-square-foot marble courtyard.
Photograph by Dave Yoder, National Geographic
I try to write the ghost into my poem
by writing like the ghost,
but that’s not it either.
Unable to write the poem I dream,
I follow the ghost home.
I whisper to the ghost.
I whisper to the ghost.
I whisper to the ghost.