I fully understand everything that is going on here and could probably do it but it would take me like three hours and as such I'm calling Witchcraft.
The house is emptier now. Not totally, but enough. It’s amazing how much space you took up with just your 15 pounds, even when they became just 12, just 10, and finally just 8.
We let the internet help name you: Shepherd Book, The Marquis of Brickhouse. We mainly called you Book for short, but you had many nicknames: Mr. Shoutypants, Bubba, El Gordito. I liked to call you Buddy. I think you liked it too.
You were such a good boy. You wanted so little of us, despite appearing (and sounding) so demanding. Cuddles, food, and laps to sleep upon. To carry you like a baby and rub your tummy. Chin scritches. Brushings. To lay on us at night and slowly fall asleep in the crook of our arm or next to our sides. You decided upon a routine, and you expected us all to stick to it, no matter what - grumbling when it was changed in even the slightest. But you would also purr so often that even the vet needed to actively annoy you to hear your heartbeat over the sound of your constant rumbling. Even she loved you.
But everyone loved you as soon as they met you. And how could they not? You saw every new person as a new lap to sit upon, and a new person to charm. You’d trot right up to them, and shout until they picked you up to say hello, whereupon you’d promptly begin purring and luxuriating in their arms. Everyone commented on how soft your fur was, and how you let them pet your tummy, and you’d look over at us from their lap like you were finally receiving the treatment you deserved - as if we hadn’t been doing the same thing for hours.
You were broken when we got you; your heart was wonky and your thyroid was off and your teeth were all rotted and needed to be pulled. If you let the abundance of medical procedures bother you, you never let us know. Not even when your lungs developed tumors and you needed surgery, or when your kidneys started failing you. You would still climb into our laps and curl up as best you could, close your eyes, and start purring gently - content that you had all you needed.
You were struggling; we could see it. You didn’t want to let us know, but we did. Still, you pretended everything was fine. You stuck to your routines - until you couldn’t anymore. But you still let us pick you up, pet your tummy, and put you on our laps and lay you down on our chests - and you still purred away as we scratched your chin and cheeks and behind your ears. Until your very final moments.
I will miss you buddy. I will miss the way you greeted us at the door when we were out too late, the way you jumped into bed every evening to spend the night with us, and the way you would curl up on my lap every night after dinner. I’ll miss the way you would meow sometimes with a purr in the middle and a question mark at the end of it. I’ll miss your abundant weirdness. I’ll miss idly stroking your fur, and how if I stopped doing so you would gently reach up and pet my beard as if I needed to be taught what to do again.
You were so special. The house is colder without you. And too quiet. There’s something missing here now.
Sleep well, sweet prince. You have earned your respite. We will all miss you.
I miss Jason
Honestly, that scale actually makes perfect sense, especially for a sixty person dance crew. You want people who are really good at what they do, but not who will attempt to stand out and affect the cohesion of the group. Too fresh and not fresh enough are both negative qualities. And Jason is just saying that an 8 represents the ideal amount. That’s actually pretty deep, and suggests a collectivist instinct in him.
And yes, that means that Jason is effectively saying that Michael is too smart for his own good, to his detriment.
I saw this and went “oh, so it works like the pH scale”… then realized that means that he’s calling Michael basic.
He’s also inadvertently practicing Virtue Ethics. The theory of virtue ethics states that every virtue, like generosity, exists on a spectrum somewhere between two vices, like stinginess and being so generous you harm yourself.
THE RETURN OF THE KING (2003) dir. Peter Jackson
After Eowyn and Faramir get married they’re like “no these are our emotional support Hobbits”
With Winnie-the-Pooh and The Battle of Hastings sharing an anniversary today, did you know that E. H. Shepard once drew this amazing scene for an exclusive book bag?
I love that none of them have weapons. Except Kanga, who has a fucking morningstar.
that is roo
you may walk out of the underworld but you have to trust that she is behind you. do not look back to check.
i trust that she is there
i trust that she is there (i think)
i trust that she is there (please?)
i trust that she is there (can you hear me?)
i trust that she is there (say something so i can hear you)
i trust that she is there (what if it’s a lie?)
i trust that she is there (i can’t even see her shadow on the wall)
i trust that she is there (SAY SOMETHING)
SAY SOMETHING.
look behind.
See Results#jesus.#orpheus and eurydice#as a poem#using a poll#this is probably the greatest exploitation of mediums i have ever seen op#every reader has the chance to become part of the text by voting#not the subtext#the TEXT#and i love me some ephemeral works in concept#you had to be here for this one week#and then the text is locked#(barring any edits to the original post of course)#and i just think that's so beautiful#beauty springs from the simplest things viewed askew#and all you need is a poll that accepts long enough strings (via couchcrusader)
and then THE FINAL RESULT. where “look behind” came so so so close to winning, but “i trust that she is there” came out ahead by 0.1%. so maybe, maybe, we did it right this time. maybe this time we were able to save her.
I had to
this is one of those posts that you have on yearly reblog