Ask me anything

A place for Ideas to grow
bluhbluhhugedork:

wristsareforbracelets:

fight-the-world:

diagondaley:



SUMMERHILL SCHOOL!!! ENGLAND!!!! 

My teacher told me about this in high school. As humans we have a natural thirst for knowledge. While naturally kids did their own thing for the first few weeks they eventually started going to class. It teaches them to want to go to class. You’re not forced to learn and because of that you want to learn.

THAT’S BRILLIANT 

bluhbluhhugedork:

wristsareforbracelets:

fight-the-world:

diagondaley:

image

SUMMERHILL SCHOOL!!! ENGLAND!!!! 

My teacher told me about this in high school. As humans we have a natural thirst for knowledge. While naturally kids did their own thing for the first few weeks they eventually started going to class. It teaches them to want to go to class. You’re not forced to learn and because of that you want to learn.

THAT’S BRILLIANT 

(Source: did-you-kno, via consulting-drama-queens)

1 month ago
284,967 notes
Join US! Librarians & Libraries Lovers Descend on SXSW Interactive

ala-con:

atxlibs:

image

Every year, thousands of people from the tech, non-profit, marketing, and business sectors descend upon Austin, Texas for South By Southwest Interactive. It’s a diverse crowd of enthusiastic, forward thinking individuals that are there to learn and connect with one another.

This year, as…

Woot! It’s going to be awesome!

(via yahighway)

1 month ago
42 notes

Let’s make Dean in gym shorts the most reblogged picture on Tumblr.

nuhuh:

ohcastielmycastiel:

supernaturalsoul:

two-winchesters-and-castiel:

highly-functioning-otter:

crazy-jensenackles-fangirl:

everydayiamcumberbatchin:

thewinchesterswagger:

itsjustjensen:

thewinchesterswagger:

image

“Challenge accepted!” —SPN fandom.

omg this is still going

IT’S A RULE TO REBLOG EVERY TIME IT SHOWS UP ON YOUR DASH.

image

Third time reblogging it today, and I regret nothing

image

Broke 5 Million!

image

WE HAVE TO KEEP GOING image

it still ain’t broken what the hell tumblr

(Source: inthemidstofmonsters, via consulting-drama-queens)

1 month ago
10,292,734 notes
feedmysoulwithmusic:

damngary:

I am going to just keep reblogging this thing forever.

This is my favorite image on the entire internet.

feedmysoulwithmusic:

damngary:

I am going to just keep reblogging this thing forever.

This is my favorite image on the entire internet.

(Source: pancakesandwichdotbiz, via consulting-drama-queens)

1 month ago
563,114 notes

foxtrotsky:

What men don’t understand is that women are FIERCELY PROTECTIVE of underage girls because we remember when we were young and some adult man made us uncomfortable or manipulated us or was inappropriate with us and we were powerless.

(via dustythewind)

1 month ago
140,805 notes

Some wise words from Dame Julie.

(Source: lejazzhot, via yahighway)

1 month ago
140,216 notes
amandapalmer:

tattoos come into my life a lot, but this one broke my heart open.
neil and i both see a lot of tattoos of our words and works on people’s skin, and we have lots of weird tattoo anecdotes. last night I signed the inside of a girls thigh at the littlefield show and recommended that she walk home bowlegged because seriously that shit will sweat right the fuck off on a hot New York night. neil proudly tells the tale of the time someone got his signature on their arm in a signing line and then returned to the same signing line three hours later with saran wrap covering the freshly inked proof.
some people get my face tattooed on them. that always feels surreally challenging, to look at my own visage staring back at me from somebody else’s arm or back, like knowing I have sister-spy-selves all over the world, hiding under hoodies in the deep winter.
if you hadn’t noticed, i’ve been battling a kind of depression for the last few months. circumstances make it pretty understandable, i’m facing some crushing personal and business problems and feeling lonely and at loose ends in pretty much every department. the last time i was this low i was in college - unable to get out of bed and skipping classes. it wasn’t until i escaped the setting that things turned around. maybe tour will help. it never does.
anyway, i’m not so fucking depressed that i couldn’t write a song, which was the saving grace of last week, and having the house party in nashville actually directly kicked my ass to finish what i’d started, which was a massive blessing because i have a bad habit of finishing songs 59% and then leaving them for years unless i have an active instant-gratification motivator (usually a show, and even better if its a show for 50 people in a house, where i feel safe to fuck it up).
so as i was writing and wandering from the verse into the first chorus, the words “i am bigger on the inside” spilled out and i thought…i can’t fucking use this. can i?
it had ricocheted from doctor who into my incredibly dark mood, and i felt conflicted…on the one side my little sobbing song and on the other side, hoards of people in tardis t-shirts. fuck it. yes.
and i used the lyric.
i played it, two hours after finishing it, for a teeny room of 15 people at the nashville house party and cried through most of the second and third verse.
a few days later i flew to milwaukee to play for pride festival. i was having a rough night. the darkness was getting the better of me. against all better judgment (it was an outdoor festival celebration of YAY) i stuck the song towards the end of my set - a quiet, 8-minute introspective and repetitive ukulele song that I couldn’t play through without my throat getting stuck because it was just too fucking sad.
the crowd had never heard the song, because it didn’t exist anywhere. i cried through verse two and three again and it was fine except that I went straight into the ukulele anthem afterwards and had a giant shiny glean of weeping-snot on my upper lip for the whole song. whatever. yes.
after the show i signed for a few hundred people. a boy asked me to write the chorus lyrics on his chest. the next day, he sent me this picture. he’d had them tattooed.
beat that, neil gaiman, i said, as i showed him the tweet, collapsing into a pile of useless blubbering on the floor of my mind.
but actually…there is no competition.
and this is what i see and understand about him, about me, about you, about doctor who, about coincidence, about the millions of ingredients and chances that lead us to this moment right here where we are facing each other (maybe through a screen, maybe not).
we are all connected - there is no way out, nor should there be.
say yes.
love amanda
p.s. the body & the tattoo belong to gavin michael batker, @shizaminnelli on twitter.
p.p.s. i hope to record the song soon. stay with me.

amandapalmer:

tattoos come into my life a lot, but this one broke my heart open.

neil and i both see a lot of tattoos of our words and works on people’s skin, and we have lots of weird tattoo anecdotes. last night I signed the inside of a girls thigh at the littlefield show and recommended that she walk home bowlegged because seriously that shit will sweat right the fuck off on a hot New York night. neil proudly tells the tale of the time someone got his signature on their arm in a signing line and then returned to the same signing line three hours later with saran wrap covering the freshly inked proof.

some people get my face tattooed on them. that always feels surreally challenging, to look at my own visage staring back at me from somebody else’s arm or back, like knowing I have sister-spy-selves all over the world, hiding under hoodies in the deep winter.

if you hadn’t noticed, i’ve been battling a kind of depression for the last few months. circumstances make it pretty understandable, i’m facing some crushing personal and business problems and feeling lonely and at loose ends in pretty much every department. the last time i was this low i was in college - unable to get out of bed and skipping classes. it wasn’t until i escaped the setting that things turned around. maybe tour will help. it never does.

anyway, i’m not so fucking depressed that i couldn’t write a song, which was the saving grace of last week, and having the house party in nashville actually directly kicked my ass to finish what i’d started, which was a massive blessing because i have a bad habit of finishing songs 59% and then leaving them for years unless i have an active instant-gratification motivator (usually a show, and even better if its a show for 50 people in a house, where i feel safe to fuck it up).

so as i was writing and wandering from the verse into the first chorus, the words “i am bigger on the inside” spilled out and i thought…i can’t fucking use this. can i?

it had ricocheted from doctor who into my incredibly dark mood, and i felt conflicted…on the one side my little sobbing song and on the other side, hoards of people in tardis t-shirts. fuck it. yes.

and i used the lyric.

i played it, two hours after finishing it, for a teeny room of 15 people at the nashville house party and cried through most of the second and third verse.

a few days later i flew to milwaukee to play for pride festival. i was having a rough night. the darkness was getting the better of me. against all better judgment (it was an outdoor festival celebration of YAY) i stuck the song towards the end of my set - a quiet, 8-minute introspective and repetitive ukulele song that I couldn’t play through without my throat getting stuck because it was just too fucking sad.

the crowd had never heard the song, because it didn’t exist anywhere. i cried through verse two and three again and it was fine except that I went straight into the ukulele anthem afterwards and had a giant shiny glean of weeping-snot on my upper lip for the whole song. whatever. yes.

after the show i signed for a few hundred people. a boy asked me to write the chorus lyrics on his chest. the next day, he sent me this picture. he’d had them tattooed.

beat that, neil gaiman, i said, as i showed him the tweet, collapsing into a pile of useless blubbering on the floor of my mind.

but actually…there is no competition.

and this is what i see and understand about him, about me, about you, about doctor who, about coincidence, about the millions of ingredients and chances that lead us to this moment right here where we are facing each other (maybe through a screen, maybe not).

we are all connected - there is no way out, nor should there be.

say yes.

love
amanda

p.s. the body & the tattoo belong to gavin michael batker,
@shizaminnelli on twitter.

p.p.s. i hope to record the song soon. stay with me.

(via bowtie-wearing-alien)

1 month ago
1,523 notes

bad-wholf-girl:

riversnogs:

Please state your name, rank, and intention.

This matches my ask title :D

(via consulting-drama-queens)

1 month ago
9,006 notes

nudiemuse:

cultureisnotacostume:

thenewwomensmovement:

sydneyflapper:

nudiemuse:

ersassmus:

African American flappers and Jazz Age women

HOLY SHIT I HAVE NEVER SEEN BLACK FLAPPERS BEFORE!

There were many fabulous African American flappers. No wonder - it was African American musicians who put the Jazz in “The Jazz Age”! The Charleston dance iteself, which so epitomizes the era, made its debut in the all-Black musical “Runnin’ Wild”, and no one danced that flapper number better than Josephine Baker…save possibly for fellow Black artist Florence Mills, who claimed credit for inventing it (she said she debuted it in her “Plantation Revue” in the early 20s, developing it from a dance popular among slaves). The Charleston song was written by Black composer James P Johnson. Without women and girls like those above, the 1920s would never have roared.

I think it’s so easy to forget that we, WOC, were there in history too.

The flapper movement was originally started by WOC, and that was part of the reason why it was so scandalous for white women to be flappers at first—because they were dressing and acting line WOC. But of course you’ll never see that in a high school textbook.

-Allyssa

I will reblog again for commentary.

Also think about it like this. I am 36 years old. THIRTY SIX and beyond Josephine Baker prior to these images I had never seen Jazz Age WOC.

Let that sink in.

36 years old and it wasn’t necessarily for lack of effort. 

(Source: ciptochat, via yahighway)

1 month ago
51,569 notes
Stories mimic life like certain insects mimic leaves and twigs. Stories are about all the things that might’ve, could’ve, or would’ve happened, encrowded around and giving density and shape to undeniable physical events and phenomena. They are the rich, unseen underlayer of the most ordinary moments.