I won’t curse you, but I won’t wish you well either. I wish you nothing, and may our planets never touch again. Please be happy, please be sad, be in peace, or afflicted by your reality, please feel anything and everything, whatever it may be, do it far away from me. —Shi Collantes
Art: Jeff Bourgeau
"It wasn't until I started reading and found books they wouldn't let us read in school that I discovered you could be insane and happy and have a good life without being like everybody else.” John Waters
Karl Alexander Wilke - Woman Reading, 1912.
"You take everything away from someone, expecting them to crumble like sand in your palm. You forget though, when someone has nothing to lose, they have nothing to fear. You forget, that in the right heat, sand becomes glass and the broken glass you hold has edges sharp enough to cut through you." Abi Ashra
Arkady Rylov - Seagulls at Sunset, 1922.
“The plain fact is that the planet does not need more successful people. But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every kind. It needs people who live well in their places. It needs people of moral courage willing to join the fight to make the world habitable and humane. And these qualities have little to do with success as we have defined it.”
David W. Orr - Ecological Literacy: Educating Our Children for a Sustainable World
Gustav Klimt - Italian Landscape, 1862-1918.
Magic exists, my dear. It's just that humans have forgotten, magic is not a lack of action but the presence of aligned actions.
Once upon a time and long ago, Odin was walking under the branches of Yggdrasil when two ravens swooped down and settled upon his shoulders.
The raven on his left was white as the mists of Niflheim (for back then, all ravens were white), and his eyes mirrored the clouds. The raven on his right glistened in the sun like the snows of Jotunheim, and looked at him with bright clear eyes.
And Odin called the raven to his right Hugin, which is Thought, and the other one he named Munin, which means Memory. As the days passed, Hugin and Munin matched the Allfather’s curiosity for everything in the Nine Worlds, flying around and watching and listening to whatever they could, and in the evenings, they returned to him to tell him all they had seen and heard in the long hours of the day.
They told him about the slow thoughts of the mountains, the colorful and ever-changing memories of men, and the sound of the song in the heart of everything that lives. And though Odin delighted in the knowledge they brought, he always felt they had missed something, and he said, “That was much, but not yet enough. Tomorrow you must fly again. Try to rest now.”
And the ravens slept uneasily, not knowing what they had missed, and every morning, they flew out again. There came one of many evenings after another long day when they had once again seen all that Sunna’s shine could show, had listened to all men’s bright thoughts in Midgard, and read their waking memories, when Hugin said to Munin, “We cannot return yet. It is not enough. We must go farther.” And they flew on into the night.
And Hugin flew through the dark dreams of mankind and heard their thoughts which they dared not think during the daytime, not even before themselves. He winged through the black void between the stars where there was nothing at all, and on to the twilight world of the future, where there is equally nothing and everything at once. And when he returned, his feathers, from tip to tip, were black as the night.
And Munin flew through the minds of men into the shady corners and cellars where they had hidden all the things they did not like, and locked them away, saying “I do not remember.” He soared through the sightless void of Ginnungagap, and on and on until he arrived at the ashes of Ragnarok which obscured this age from the next.
And when he returned, his feathers, from beak to tail, were as black as soot. The ravens returned to Odin just before the break of morning, when the night is at its darkest, and when they settled back on his shoulders, he knew all that they had seen, and they did not need to tell.
And he understood what had been missing, and nodded, and said, “It is much, and it is enough. For tonight. You may rest.” And the ravens blinked drowsily into the first rays of the rising sun which glinted on their now black feathers, tucked their beaks under their wings, and slept very well. Since that time, all ravens have been seen to be as black as a shadow on a starless night.
Very rarely it happens that somebody catches a glimpse of a white raven, and should you ever be lucky enough to see one, you’ll know that you have wandered far off and back into the land of memory, before ravens came to be black.
@RedFox16
Unfortunately, the Block button is used too often immediately after respective baselines are established.... thus preventing any progress towards mutual understanding.
The only trick of friendship is to find people who are better than you are—not smarter, not cooler, but kinder, and more generous, and more forgiving—and then to appreciate them for what they can teach you, and to try to listen to them when they tell you something about yourself, no matter how bad—or good—it might be, and to trust them, which is the hardest thing of all. But the best, as well. ~Hanya Yanagihara
Did you know the world’s most popular snack, the potato chip, was born out of frustration? The tale begins in 1853 in Saratoga Springs, New York, at the Moon's Lake House, where George Crum, a brilliant chef of African American and Native American descent, was making a name for himself with his culinary skills.
One fateful day, a particularly picky customer complained that Crum's fried potatoes were too thick and soggy. Determined to teach this guest a lesson, Crum sliced the potatoes paper-thin, fried them to a crisp, and heavily salted them. To his surprise, the customer loved them, and soon, everyone wanted a taste of Crum's "Saratoga Chips."
What many don't know is that George Crum never patented his creation, nor did he make a fortune from it. Instead, the potato chip became a local sensation, spreading beyond New York, and evolving into the snack we know today. Despite this, Crum continued to work at Moon's Lake House, eventually opening his own restaurant, where the rich and famous would come to enjoy his chips.
Crum's contribution to culinary history is a reminder that even our small acts can have a lasting impact. The next time you crunch into a potato chip, remember the ingenious chef who turned a complaint into an iconic creation that’s still loved worldwide, over 170 years later. George Crum’s legacy lives on in every bite.
𝗣𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗲𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲 𝗖𝗿𝘂𝗺 (𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲),𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗼𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗼 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗶𝗻 1853
“Comparison is the thief of joy”
-no clue who I try to live by this when I’m faulting myself for not being where someone else is in life.