was just Remembering how you’d be out with a friend and you’d each order a different cocktail and you’d ask “what’d you get?” and they’d read the description off the menu and you’d be like “ooh that sounds good” and then they’d say “try it!” and then you’d have a lil sip of their drink and they’d have a lil sip of your drink and you’d decide which one was best and you wouldn’t give each other a life-threatening respiratory infection
dude seeing these Mega high quality images of the surface of mars that we now have has me fucked up. Like. Mars is a place. mars is a real actual place where one could hypothetically stand. It is a physical place in the universe. ITS JUST OUT THERE LOOKING LIKE UH IDK A REGULAR OLD DESERT WITH LOTS OF ROCKS BUT ITS A WHOLE OTHER PLANET?
LIKE THIS JUST LOOKS LIKE IT COULD BE A PERSON’S BACKYARD. LIKE YEA A LITTLE DUSTY MAYBE THERE WAS A SANDSTORM BUT THAT’S COOL I’M JUST GONNA WALK DOWN TO THE STORE P S Y C H YOU’RE ON MARS BICH!
i hate to be rude and intrude on this post but we have decent pictures of the surface Venus too!
So it’s not quite snowing on Churyumov–Gerasimenko, unfortunately; the white specks are artifacts of cosmic rays impinging on the CCDs in the camera, as well as a rotating starfield in the background (since the comet is spinning). A few specks could be dust. But, holy shit, that’s the surface of a comet. That’s a spot you could in theory cling to for dear life sit down on. The Cliffs of Comet 76pare a place.
If that isn’t the neatest shit I don’t know what is.
We need to dismantle the systems in place that allow white people to get away with offering black people sub-par services based on the excuse that our bodies are more difficult to work with. Black hair is not more difficult than white hair, it simply requires a different skill set. Tattooing vibrant tattoos on black skin isn’t more difficult than tattooing white skin, it simply requires a different skill set. Photographing black people isn’t more difficult than photographing white people, it simply requires an understanding of photography. Doing makeup on black skin isn’t more difficult than doing makeup on white skin, it simply requires different products. Working with black people is not more difficult than working with white people you’ve all just been taught that it’s not valuable and therefore not worth learning how.
This is extremely similar to the dilemma faced by disabled people. It is no more expensive to design a building with ramps instead of stairs, it’s only when you create the building first and have to tear down the stairs and replace them that you incur costs. If we teach the skills of inclusion from the beginning, there should be no additional costs for services and accessiblity for anybody.
Initially I wasn’t sure I wanted to diverge from the axis of race over to disability, but I actually think that the analogy of that building and how it’s only after we’ve institutionalized inequality that costs are incurred trying to fix it, is a valuable one so thanks for the contribution.
Today, January 27, 2017, marks 72 years since the Soviet army liberated the Auschwitz concentration camp in Nazi occupied Poland. Today we remember the worst of humanity: genocide. Today we remember all the victims and survivors of the Holocaust. We remember the roughly 11 million people (1.1 at the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp) who were slaughtered simply for who they were and those who were imprisoned, and sometimes killed, for what they believed.
The Nazi regime murdered an estimated 6 million Jewish people, 2 million Romani people, 250,000 mentally and physically disabled non-Jewish/non-Romani people, and 9,000 non-Jewish/non-Romani gay men all in the furtherance of white supremacy and “racial purity.”
Today we remember them all and continue to fight against fascism, totalitarianism, and white supremacy so that this never again happens.
Today, January 27, 2018, marks 73 years. Never again.
Today, January 27, 2020, marks 75 years. Never again.
Today, January 27, 2021, marks 76 years. Never again.
It’s been you and me now, for weeks, for months. You and me in the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedrooms we can’t seem to want out of. I put my hands in your back pockets and you quote my poetry back at me. I’m not sure what I’m wanting you to say. I’m not sure if I’m always looking for more or if I’m just looking for the adrenaline that you might. The good kind of shiver. But the world is in disarray, people are bedbound, the death toll ticks over like the clock that counts down our days apart. The statistics tell us one in three. And my anger simmers, it bubbles up with my morning anxiety and the way my heart picks up speed. I push and pull you away and then back closer because beside you the world doesn’t feel so bad, with you holding my hand it doesn’t seem to hurt so much that those in charge think us, the children, are dispensable. You make winter feel like the fall of snow, the glow of a December sun. My body without your touch is always in bird-flight flinch. I say goodbye to you the way we all say goodbye at the moment, with something ardent in it, so you can go and do some healing, so that I can stop trying so hard to do all of the fixing. My eyes saying, “I’ll see you soon, don’t be long.”
