You asked me if you’re a good man and the answer is…I don’t know.
But you try to be and I think that’s probably the point.
I found this copy of Thoreau’s Walden buried in the park. I opened it and saw these roots growing between the pages. I don’t know whether to frame it or put it back in the ground.
A delightful fuck-ton of mermaid anatomy references.
A bit of a talk-through; Consider how natural swimming is to mermaids/men. When swimming, they often won’t be utilizing their hands and arms to help them move forward, ‘cause they’re adept to using their tails and want to keep their arms free for multitasking. Of course there are situations where it’s required, like when fighting currents and twisting around. Because they’re swimming on a horizontal, their heads will be turned upward, just like if we humans were standing vertically looking up to the sky. Mer-peoples’ chests are often puffed outward, because the arms are typically pulled back behind them (just like when humans are told to “sit up straight and show good posture” by rolling the shoulders back). Do keep in mind that the GIFs above don’t show full tail movement, as human legs don’t bend outward; mer-tails will be like the side-to-side fish swimming motion, but flipped to the side (if that made any goddamn sense). Don’t forget they’ll be breathing underwater (and maybe on land, depending if you want to grant them that ability)! Are you giving ’em gills, or are the human lungs somehow acclimatized to breathing water? Think about whether you’re designing a mermaid for practicality or aesthetics; if it’s gonna be practical, their hair will more than likely be cut short or tied up, ‘cause, though swimming with long hair isn’t too difficult, it tangles wicked easily and can impede sight (in the ocean, a mere second can cost you). Of course we all like the long flowing hair (I do too), but that’s just something to think about. (Be aware that good haircuts on land might not be good underwater, and vice versa. Consider how the water will affect the hair movement.) And designing the fins, too. Think about whether you’re splicing them with another sea creature or if they’re a new design entirely. Think about how you want them to swim and how the fins will help that work. Also, depending on how “cultured” you want ‘em to be, they probably won’t be wearing clothing, because no other creature under the sea does. But, then again, they’ve been in contact with humans (otherwise there would be no myths and rumours), so maybe they took after us. Who knows. Just food for thought. (Merpeople can be creepy as fuck, too; they don’t have to be these gentle maidens.) And of course, there’s the reproductive/excretive system. If we assume mermaids take after whales, the genitalia will be just about ”mid-shin” level in front. Some people put it at the end of the tail (between the two fins), and some make the fish half disappear slightly at the waist to expose “human” genitalia. You can get creative with it, since they’re mythical creatures. Maybe their belly-buttons are also anuses. Who really knows. “What about merman genitalia?” Look up “male whale genitalia” on Google, or “male fish genitalia.” That might help.
[From various sources]
Imagine Harry and Ginny a few months into their marriage and they’re so happy and in love and then one day they go shopping for food and household items and Harry just casually grabs certain items before Ginny hisses at him to "Check the prices, Harry, God! That bed set is far…
I am ashamed that I contributed to this madness
A batch of wonderful book dedications.
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.❞
Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via martinmourning)
- me: *owns 264 unread books*
- me: *buys 17 new books*
- me: *rereads harry potter*
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