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This is literally the most heart warming story I have read on Twitter so far. I think this is exactly what friends should do, and I feel everyone deserves people like this.

#this is actually part of my religion

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My dad grew up in a rural Greek farming village and their farm had sheep but they were taken care of by this guy they hired that was kinda the “village weirdo” in that he seemed to be a misanthrope that disliked other people and lived in a shack by himself interacting with others as least as possible (so sheep herder was actually a really good job for him) and he seemed to spend a lot of his time taking care of this cloak he hand-made out of porcupine quills and he’d wear that when tending the sheep to protect from wolf attacks bc any wolf that lunged at him would get a face covered in barbs and you know that guy sounds like he was kinda cool

#this is actually part of my religion

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"magic mushrooms"? uhm, actually, all mushrooms are magic, so jot that down

#this is actually part of my religion

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boyz will be boyz

#this is actually part of my religion

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my leitmotif is about to fucking reprise

#this is a part of my religion actually

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The Four Discoursemen

#this is a part of my religion actually

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I keep thinking about that one post that was going around talking about the potential origins of cheese and everyone immediately jumps to it must've been rotten milk that they ate out of desperation. But I'd like to posit that the first cheese was probably someone adding an acid to warmed milk and realising it splits it. Like it's not that big a stretch of the imagination for someone to think "oh I like warm milk but I also like this acidic fruit, I wonder if I can mix them". From there a little experimentation on separating the new curd from the whey and you've got a simple fresh cheese.

I dunno I think the reason I wanted to make this post is just that we tend to desscribe a lot of discoveries around food as desperate acts of starvation and not genuinely thought out experimentations based on observations like every other form of human knowledge. Ancient people weren't stupid starving unwashed masses and it's important to remember that. They were people who could think and deduce and logic their way through things as good as you or I.

#this is actually part of my religion #anthropology

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this stuck w me i jokingly was like i have nothing to offer i am aimless and broke but then my coworker said something like "but ur happy right? accepting the pace of life and finding happiness in it is something a lot of people can't offer and i think u can make people comfortable in any situation cos u have a steady vibe. thats offering a lot" nevermind im ballin

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Please read this man’s description of his dachshund and its most annoying habit

“I have a ridiculous dog named Walnut. He is as domesticated as a beast can be: a purebred longhaired miniature dachshund with fur so thick it feels rich and creamy, like pudding. His tail is a huge spreading golden fan, a clutch of sunbeams. He looks less like a dog than like a tropical fish. People see him and gasp. Sometimes I tell Walnut right out loud that he is my precious little teddy bear pudding cup sweet boy snuggle-stinker.

In my daily life, Walnut is omnipresent. He shadows me all over the house. When I sit, he gallops up into my lap. When I go to bed, he stretches out his long warm body against my body or he tucks himself under my chin like a soft violin. Walnut is so relentlessly present that sometimes, paradoxically, he disappears. If I am stressed or tired, I can go a whole day without noticing him. I will pet him idly; I will yell at him absent-mindedly for barking at the mailman; I will nuzzle him with my foot. But I will not really see him. He will ask for my attention, but I will have no attention to give. Humans are notorious for this: for our ability to become blind to our surroundings — even a fluffy little jewel of a mammal like Walnut.

…

When I come home from a trip, Walnut gets very excited. He prances and hops and barks and sniffs me at the door. And the consciousnesses of all the wild creatures I’ve seen — the puffins, rhinos, manatees, ferrets, the weird hairy wet horses — come to life for me inside of my domestic dog. He is, suddenly, one of these unfamiliar animals. I can pet him with my full attention, with a full union of our two attentions. He is new to me and I am new to him. We are new again together.

Even when he is horrible. The most annoying thing Walnut does, even worse than barking at the mailman, is the ritual of his “evening drink.” Every night, when I am settled in bed, when I am on the brink of sleep, Walnut will suddenly get very thirsty. If I go to bed at 10:30, Walnut will get thirsty at 11. If I go to bed at midnight, he’ll wake me up at 1. I’ve found that the only way I cannot be mad about this is to treat this ritual as its own special kind of voyage — to try to experience it as if for the first time. If I am open to it, my upstairs hallway contains an astonishing amount of life.

The evening drink goes something like this: First, Walnut will stand on the edge of the bed, in a muscular, stout little stance, and he will wave his big ridiculous fan tail in my face, creating enough of a breeze that I can’t ignore it. I will roll over and try to go back to sleep, but he won’t let me: He’ll stamp his hairy front paws and wag harder, then add expressive noises from his snout — half-whine, half-breath, hardly audible except to me. And so I give up. I sit up and pivot and plant my feet on the floor — I am hardly even awake yet — and I make a little basket of my arms, like a running back preparing to take a handoff, and Walnut pops his body right into that pocket, entrusting the long length of his vulnerable spine (a hazard of the dachshund breed) to the stretch of my right arm, and then he hangs his furry front legs over my left. From this point on we function as a unit, a fusion of man and dog. As I lift my weight from the bed Walnut does a little hop, just to help me with gravity, and we set off down the narrow hall. We are Odysseus on the wine-dark sea. (Walnut is Odysseus; I am the ship.)

All of evolution, all of the births and deaths since caveman times, since wolf times, that produced my ancestors and his — all the firelight and sneak attacks and tenderly offered scraps of meat, the cages and houses, the secret stretchy coils of German DNA — it has all come, finally, to this: a fully grown exhausted human man, a tiny panting goofy harmless dog, walking down the hall together. Even in the dark, Walnut will tilt his snout up at me, throw me a deep happy look from his big black eyes — I can feel this happening even when I can’t see it — and he will snuffle the air until I say nice words to him (OK you fuzzy stinker, let’s go get your evening drink), and then, always, I will lower my face and he will lick my nose, and his breath is so bad, his fetid snout-wind, it smells like a scoop of the primordial soup. It is not good in any way. And yet I love it.

Walnut and I move down the hall together, step by bipedal step, one two three four, tired man and thirsty friend, and together we pass the wildlife of the hallway — a moth, a spider on the ceiling, both of which my children will yell at me later to move outside, and of course each of these creatures could be its own voyage, its own portal to millions of years of history, but we can’t stop to study them now; we are passing my son’s room. We can hear him murmuring words to his friends in a voice that sounds disturbingly like my own voice, deep sound waves rumbling over deep mammalian cords — and now we are passing my daughter’s room, my sweet nearly grown-up girl, who was so tiny when we brought Walnut home, as a golden puppy, but now she is moving off to college. In her room she has a hamster she calls Acorn, another consciousness, another portal to millions of years, to ancient ancestors in China, nighttime scampering over deserts.

But we move on. Behind us, in the hallway, comes a sudden galumphing. It is yet another animal: our other dog, Pistachio, he is getting up to see what’s happening; he was sleeping, too, but now he is following us. Pistachio is the opposite of Walnut, a huge mutt we adopted from a shelter, a gangly scraggly garbage muppet, his body welded together out of old mops and sandpaper, with legs like stilts and an enormous block head and a tail so long that when he whips it in joy, constantly, he beats himself in the face. Pistachio unfolds himself from his sleepy curl, stands, trots, huffs and stares after us with big human eyes. Walnut ignores him, because with every step he is sniffing the dark air ahead of us, like a car probing a night road with headlights, and he knows we are approaching his water dish now, he knows I am about to bend my body in half to set his four paws simultaneously down on the floor, he knows that he will slap the cool water with his tongue for 15 seconds before I pick him up again and we journey back down the hall. And I find myself wondering, although of course it doesn’t matter, if Walnut was even thirsty, or if we are just playing out a mutual script. Or maybe, and who could blame him, he just felt like taking a trip.”

#this is actually part of my religion

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#this is actually part of my religion

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prt f my rlgon

ah yes

that's a perfectly human amount of teeth to have

a perfectly human hand indeed

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this is part of my religion now

one can instantly free oneself from the chains of identity discourse by simply conceiving of sexuality as something that is dialectical and not metaphysical

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this is part of my religion actually . also look up your local 'free your stuff' groups

#this is actually part of my religion

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you have to pretend to be a wizard sometimes, for your health. the obvious method is d&d, but you can also open the dishwasher on cold mornings and raise your arms dramatically as you're enveloped in the steam, or you can find a really good stick to walk around in the woods with, or you can run a bizarrely dedicated rp blog on tumblr. but it's an important component of human well being to occasionally pretend to be a wizard.

#this is actually part of my religion

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this is a part of my religion actually

this video does more in 10 seconds than your fave’s entire filmography

#people are genuine magic #this is actually a part of my religion

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been thinking about diet and gym culture and what nutrition is natural and veganism and jordan peterson and ed and generational foodtrauma and where were at right now as a society. i will keep thinking.

It’s so incredible how there is simultaneously diet culture that says only eating the way of our ancestors is healthy while there are also areas of diet culture that says you can’t eat an apple because an apple = sugar and sugar bad. Meanwhile the people who think it’s only healthy to eat the food of cavemen are drinking their protein shakes they found in the wild.

One week there will be a news headline about a study showing that eating chicken eggs is bad for cholesterol. The next week there’s a news headline about a study that shows eating chicken eggs helps you fight cancer. Both of these news articles made for clicks conveniently don’t mention that the collective sample size of these two studies was fifteen people over a course of five months.

This yoga instructor says you can’t eat between noon and 3 pm. This doctor who had less than ten hours of training on nutrition says you shouldn’t eat after 6 pm. This Instagram dietician says intermittent starving fasting is good for you. This celebrity fake doctor with a TV show says you should only eat on Wednesdays and if the weather is overcast. 

Your mom who grew up hating her body because people would judge her for her appearance is on her 20th juice cleanse, but it’s for health, not because a lifetime of discrimination made her feel worthless. And hey, you should do this juice cleanse with her! And then the included three hour workout videos! And this new keto diet meant to help children with epilepsy looks good, let’s try that together! Oh, you don’t want to eat at all anymore? Well, at least not eating is good for you!

You should only eat meat. No, you should only eat vegetables and fruits. Scratch that, fruits have carbs. You should only eat cold-blooded mammals and seaweed. Wait, it’s actually okay to eat fruit again! Does this protein bar have omega-3 fatty acids? Wow, you don’t eat fat-free, dairy-free, carb-free, sugar-free milk? Do you even care about your health? Things without gluten taste worse, so that must mean they’re healthy! I can’t believe you actually ate a whole bag of chips. Yes, it was a single-serving bag meant for one person, but you still ate a whole bag of chips. I could never. Oh, my weekly supply of diet food arrived, and only double the cost of regular food from the grocery store! What a steal!! You actually feel pangs of hunger when you don’t eat and then listen to those hunger cues? What a fat ass. You know if you eat a single piece of cake you’ll get diabetes, an illness that is very complex and is actually extremely based on genetics, right?

You can never win with diet culture.

#this is a part of my religion actually

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i remember obsessing over the forecast in during winter because 1 2 3 °c might mean snow stays overnight. now i dont even bother anymore. now snow is a welcome surprise but a shortlived one.

also this is a part of my religion actually.

Something deeply painful is the fact that seasons, especially fall, dont feel the same. Not because of individual maturity but because climate change has impacted the weather patterns so so so much that we cant even experience the same annual shifts that our ancestors have for centuries

I feel displaced, i yearn for the spring, summer, fall, and winter that i can barely remember experiencing