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#Blue Birds Sing
ecoharbor · 5 days
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📍Emerald Blue Pool, Krabi, Thailand 🇹🇭
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dailyweezer · 1 year
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Day 30: Midnight Crew!!!!
(Anonymous request)
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uwmspeccoll · 1 year
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A Well-Chapeaued Feathursday
Birds in Hats!
Our graduate intern Olivia is currently preparing a major exhibition on the work  of wood engraver, illustrator, designer, letterpress printer, and fine press publisher Barry Moser. He is well known, at least in fine press and book enthusiast circles, for his distinctive engravings and exquisitely-designed limited editions from his Pennyroyal Press. The rest of the world, however, mainly knows him for his illustrations for children’s books, which are usually executed in watercolors. We hold many of Moser’s fine press publications, but only a few examples of his children’s books. The Curriculum Collection in our general library, however, holds quite a number of his children’s books, and we are borrowing a few to include in the exhibition.
We are especially tickled by Moser’s humorous paintings of anthropomorphized birds in hats for Virginia Hamilton’s collection of African American folktales, When Birds Could Talk & Bats Could Sing, published in 1996 by The Blue Sky Press, an imprint of Scholastic, Inc. The illustrations are a perfect accompaniment to this set of lively and entertaining jewels of American folklore.
Since the book was mostly designed by Moser, it bears an extensive colophon, usually reserved for fine press publications. This is why we know that the paintings were executed in transparent watercolor on handmade Barcham Green paper, the types are Sumner Stone’s Stone Serif Medium (1987) and Gudrun Zapf von Hesse’s Diotima Italic (1953), the color separations were made by Bright Lights, Ltd in Singapore, and the edition was printed and bound by Tien Wah Press in Singapore. Probably more information than any child would need to know, but we sure appreciate it.
View more posts on work by Barry Moser.
View more Feathursday posts.
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I think i wish I could be Blue, her protectiveness, the way she sets it all in motion, that first letter, initiating it all on that battlefield.
But I know for sure I'm Red, in the best way of course. Logical, mathematic, technological. Learning how to write just to write her response. The way she talks about how she experiences everything. The way she describes how she feels to other people. Wanting to be a part of the Whole while also chasing that feeling standing there Alone and seeing the 6 legged wolf and the tears and how she talks about her hunger or lack thereof, her eating for the sensation rather than the satisfaction of the hunger. The want to be poetic and metaphorical but the lack of knowledge of how. The fear of putting too much in that letter and feeling as though she has bared her heart and it has been stabbed. Yet that tiny piece of being okay with it in the moment of writing it. Pouring herself into succeeding, increasing her efficiency to stave off suspicion, though I think if it's more to stave off the fear of finding Blue's response, as again, I am very Red.
I'm falling in love with this book and I do hope it doesn't break my heart. Not yet halfway through, starting page 88. But wow I love this book. I'm gonna have to read it again. And make my friends read it too.
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sysig · 1 year
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Feedback (Patreon)
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#Doodles#Deltarune#Pink Addison#Spamton#Blue Addison#Orange Addison#Yellow Addison#The gang's all back together but some things have changed irreversibly#Addispam could sing with the group no problem! But now#How did they convince him to come to karaoke with them? Don't worry about it lol there's not a very strong timeline at the moment#Even if there was there's still the Loud Drunks to contend with lol#I see Orange as being the loudest happy drunk - Pink could get equally loud but is more combative so he's chilling for now lol#Blue is a bit more mellow and giggly - and Yellow goes with the flow of whichever one he's closest to#So everyone is currently being subjected to two Loud Happies rather than just one lol#They don't even have (visible) ears what are they covering lol#Bird ears? They do have the long beaks#Casual touches and meaningful touches - all sorts of friendly touches that are a lot! Feels weird now!#What used to be normal closeness is now just a reminder ♪#Doesn't feel good but doesn't feel bad - just feels complex and confusing#Everyone wants back what they had even for the length of a song ah#Drawing Spam with his eyes closed is fun haha - little moon-slivers of glasses colour#I had a lot of fun with the more extreme ear-covering poses too :D Oh wait that's still a thing I enjoy huh?? Lol#Pink actually protecting his ears and Blue doing the noise-panic pose where his ears are still exposed but it's Too Much to resituate#[Spamton is unaffected] lol#I imagined it a bit like the glass-shattering effect but for LEDs instead?? I can only picture it temporarily powering down#Like when a computer starts to overheat so it turns itself off lol - Sound too discordant must protect#It's not really his fault! Kind of! It's not a side effect he was expecting or knew about - nobody did#Orange completely oblivious the whole time tho lol - at least one of them is having fun haha
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prisonpodcast · 3 months
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I’m so excited for the new Minecraft stuff Dream has planned too 2024 is gonna be good I can feel it !!!
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123pixieaod · 7 months
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'This Church is a Quiet Place'
A thousand thanks to Lily, for cheerleading and proofreading this💖 TW at the bottom 🩷🩵🤍
-
The church is quiet. In Max's memory, there were always sounds. Footsteps and bells and whispers, a cacophony of worship compounded in one place.
Maybe the church her mother brought her to is different from this church. Maybe her memories as a child were simply elaborated on, made big and bright and alive by the passing of time.
This church is not softened by the sounds of the living. This church is silent, still. A breath held, a heartbeat not yet formed.
Light shines through the stained glass windows, and Max walks through the tinted air. Green, blue, red, orange.
The colours are as vibrant of God's love for you, her mother used to whisper, an arm wrapped tight around her slim shoulders.
God the Father, she'd say. In the name of the Father and the Son.
Promise me you'll keep your faith Max, she also said, voice a soft murmur as they sat side by side in the pews. Max nodded. It's important to pray. God listens to our prayers Max, he's our Father.
And Max had tried, to begin with. The first weekend, she asked Jos if they could visit a local church to light a candle. Jos' nose wrinkled. 
What for?
Max felt her mother's promise whisper away. She shook her head.
I don't know.
Her dad gave her a look, lips thin. Your mother's after making you too soft. You're an adult now, not some child in need of fairytales.
Max nodded. She never asked again.
Her mother knew. She must've figured it out, that she stopped asking her opinion on the weekly sermon, stopped answering her questions on her faith.
It seems strange, to think she once believed in it all. She walks softly up the aisle, her footsteps a gentle cadence reverberating through the church. There's an elderly woman at the front, head bowed as her fingers worry a Rosary. A man behind,  reading the Bible. And Max. The imposter.
She doesn't have the faith anymore. It disappeared somewhere on the never- ending motorways, the Sundays spent racing instead of praying, nights spent reciting strategies in the darkness instead of the blessings her mother used to whisper. Her fingertips grew blackened, dipped in oil rather than blessed water. 
Max thinks faith is like youth. Once it's gone, it's impossible to get it back.
Daniel still believes. He pretends not to, but Max knows he does. She found a rosary once in the back of his bedside drawers. The beads worn smooth, colour long flaked away. She had sat and ran her fingers over the string of knots and wooden pills, imagining the countless times he must've done the same. In secret, hidden away. Counting each prayer off, voice nothing more than a whisper.
Daniel crosses himself before each race. Daniel bows his head whenever a funeral parade passes on the streets. Daniel has a tiny, inked cross on his ribs. Max found it, nestled amongst the other loud and brilliant decorations he's designed into his skin. She traced it, and Daniel had started as if Max had slapped him.
This is new, Max had said. He'd laughed, roughly tugging his shirt on.
No Max, it's always been there. You just haven't been paying attention. He tossed a smile at Max, easy and in love.
She finds the candles nestled in the corner, just beneath the altar. Three rows of darkened tealights, only one offering a feeble, dying flame.
'Donations only!!!' is scribbled over a money box, and Max digs in her pockets, fishing out all her loose change.
She feels wrong being here. A fake. Like a woman who's been caught having an affair, and is now returning, head bowed and feet dragging. Kneeling, fingers clasped, repenting.
Has she no shame? Her mother would ask. The summer before the divorce, her mother's side warm against Max's as they watched TV together. These women, they always take men like that back, she tutted, reaching for the popcorn Max was holding. You won't be like that, will you Max? You'll be better than us all. You'll stand your ground if someone wrongs you.
She shook her head. I won't ever get married, she replied. It's lame.
Her mother huffed a laugh, even though Max hadn't been joking. Just wait till you fall in love Maxy, then -
I won't ever fall in love either, Max declared, watching the woman on screen embrace the man. She wrinkled her nose. She had seen what love did; she wanted no part of it. Max's mother simply laughed again, running her fingers lightly through her tawny locks.
She should phone her, it's been nearly a month since they last spoke. Sophie is always happy to hear from her, but she's preoccupied now with other things. Managing her new boyfriend's fledgling company, helping Victoria with the kids. Her life is full and Max is not really a part of it anymore. Hasn't been for decades, since she turned twelve and barely lived in the same time zone as her, let alone the same house.
Daniel's close with his parents. He calls them every second day, time zones carefully navigated around. Up early, doing yoga on the terrace as he chats to his dad about the latest news. Evening, Max already in bed, listening to him laugh softly through the walls as his mother tells him the local gossip.
What can you even have to talk about? Surely you've spoken about every possible conversation point at this stage, Max said, only half in jest. Daniel laughed, wrinkles creasing around his eyes in a way she knows he hates but she loves.
They're my parents Maxy, he replied with ease, as if that's the only answer she needs.
He's over there now. With Grace and Joe and Michelle. Max feels distant from him, from the life he must be living. On the ranch, dust gathered in the creases of his skin as he worked under the sun. Going out with childhood friends to pubs where everyone speaks how he does. His nephew and niece, adoring their overseas uncle, returned.
She lights the first candle. The flame is strong, and she feels stupid for taking such stock in the image, as if the strength of the flame is akin to the sureness of her future.
She doesn't know how to do this. Whisper? In her head? Address it all to God, like a formal letter?
She suddenly feels very young. Her mother beside her, handing her the childhood book of Bible verses she received for Christmas. Pray, Maxy, she murmured, bowing her head.
Max looks up. The light is tinted blue and white, shining in through a maritime scene created in the windows. There's a framed painting hung on the wall. The Virgin Mary with Baby Jesus. A pale woman with dark hair. Arms wrapped around a bundle of dark blankets. A baby, pale and young and smiling, looking out at the viewer. Looking at Max.
She closes her eyes and prays.
-
Maybe some people aren't meant to be parents Maxy, Daniel had said after the twelfth negative test. 12. A year of trying and failing. Max isn't used to failing at anything; she doesn't know how to do it.
What? She twisted on the bed, staring at him. He just continued staring at the ceiling.
Maybe some people aren't meant to be parents, he finally repeated, tone soft.
She scoffed, turning back around. It hurt. It hurt a lot, and the stinging somehow grew, like when she was a kid and she had accidentally gotten some chemicals on her hands. Corrosive. Her dad had grabbed her, dragging her to the garage's sink and scrubbed at her red hands until the burning finally abated.
She sat up and then stood quickly. Sports bra, an old Nike shirt and her leggings. Burning, burning, burning.
Max, Daniel sat up too. Wait.
I'm going for a run, she told him without looking at him.
Maxy, he tried again. I just mean maybe we should -
She slammed the bedroom door on her way out. She thought he might follow her, but he didn't, and she tugged her shoes on roughly. The burn in her chest was spreading. It's corrosive, her father had told her. She had never learned that word before, and he had had to explain the meaning as he wrapped her palms with gauze.
-
Outside the church, the sun is beginning to weaken. Shadows length in the carpark, and Max stands against the church's wall, taking out her phone.
She asked him to leave. She needed a break, time to figure herself out. She thought he would fight her on it, and was irrationally hurt when he had just nodded, lips thin and brow pinched.
Alright, he said. If that's what you want.
She didn't want any of it. She didn't want a body seemingly incapable of life, didn't want the 12 pregnancy tests lined neatly in her memory, didn't want the empty study room next to their own bedroom that they both refused to ever address.
"Maxy," he picks up the first ring. He sounds happy. She doesn't know if it's because it's her he's speaking to, or if he's always happy, now he's home again.
"Hey," she says. "How are you?"
"I'm good," he says, and she can tell he's meaning it. "How are - are you outside?"
She looks at the birds above in the trees, singing sweetly. Their songs are getting picked up, listened to halfway across the world. "Yes," she says softly.
"Going for a walk?" He asks, sounding like he's walking somewhere too. She can hear his slightly laboured breathing, the vague crunch of his footsteps on the dried grass.
"I went to a church, " she tells him.
"A church, " he repeats, as if she's named some alien planet. "You went to mass?" Disbelief clear.
They're not broken up. She doesn't really know what they are now. Other than in love,  of course, but that was never in question. She had asked him to leave and he had left. They still text every day, call a few times each week. She doesn't know what he told his family, and she's too scared to ask him.
"No, not mass. Church. As in, I went inside a church."
"Why, a horde of vampires were chasing you?" He asks. She can hear the smile in his voice. Longing fills her chest, the ache almost visceral.
"No, this is Monaco, not Transylvania. You are the one out of the two of us who needs to be worried about that," she tells him.
"It's too hot Maxy, all potentially murderous vampires would be burnt to dust before they'd get close to tasting this sweet, sweet blood. You know, today it was almost 40 degrees? Climate change is fucking us all up, but at least it means i can take a few hours off from the ranch because it's too dangerous to work outside in this heat."
Max hums softly. There's a nest in one of the branches - that's why the two birds were singing so loudly.
"You are having a good time then?" She asks.
"Yeah. It's always good to be back here." he pauses then, as if to weigh up his words. "I'm looking forward to being home, though."
She frowns. One of the birds slips into the brown mess of twigs, and sheep's wool balanced on the branch while the other is left outside; a guardian. "Why, are you not at the ranch right now? Where are you then?"
"What? I mean," he interrupts himself with a quiet laugh. "Maxy. I meant home. Home home."
"Home home," she repeats dubiously.
"With you," he adds, voice suddenly soft and vulnerable.
She looks away from the birds. She swallows. He's quiet, waiting for her to speak. The air is cooling down, dusk creeping closer.
"I miss talking with you," she finally says.
"We still talk. We talk nearly everyday. We're talking right now " he says softly, and she supposes she deserves this, him making her say it aloud.
"I miss you," she amends. "I miss... I miss you a lot Daniel."
He laughs. Not because it's funny, but because his happiness needs an outlet, needs to be vocalised and released in some form. Laugh or cry, Maxy, he used to tell her. Gotta be one of them.
"I miss you too," he says.
"You should come home," she tells him.
"I should."
"Home home."
"Yeah, home home."
They're quiet for a bit. She looks up, her gaze caught by a flutter of movement. One of the birds darts away, the other staying by the nest. She wonders if she concentrated very hard, would she be able to hear the chirping.
"I'm sorry," Daniel blurts out. Max frowns.
"For what?"
"I..." He pauses. He's definitely walking somewhere, she can hear his footfall over the terrain.
"I was wrong," he finally says. "About us... About... About what I said. About how some people aren't meant to be parents. I was thinking and... I mean, sure I wasn't wrong about that because some people definitely shouldn't have kids, but us, me and you, we should, I mean if you still want to, because we're, we would... we would be good, or I don't know, maybe we just are good, like good people and good partners and I shouldn't have said what I said, because it's not true, we'd be the best and coolest parents and -"
"Daniel," she interrupts him. He instantly goes quiet.
"I think so too," she says. He laughs, relieved and happy and excited, all melded into one.
"Because I've been doing some research," he begins again, words rushing into each other in their hurry to be spoken. "And there's a clinic we could try, or maybe -"
Max nods, letting Daniel's chatter wash over her like water, pure and clear and blessed. The lone bird sits above, and continues to sing.
(((TW: infertility)))
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crowsyart · 9 months
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Some of these have way more meaning than others some are just vibe based I’m a bird guy I gotta birdify the soul eaters
Maka - Carolina Wren
Soul - Osprey
Black☆Star - Common Kingfisher
Tsubaki - Black Heron
Kid - Black Vulture
Liz - Red Tailed Hawk
Patty - Rough Legged Buzzard
Crona -Kauai o’o’
Ragnarok - Loggerhead Shrike
Medusa - Crested Serpent Eagle
Marie - Buff Orpington Chicken
Spirit - Red Crested Cardinal
Stein - Harpy Eagle
Death - Andean Condor
Justin - Turtle Dove
Giriko - Hoatzin
Eruka - Potoo
Mifune - Snowy Owl
Sid - Ostrich
Hero - Grey Catbird
Asura -Magnificent Frigatebird
Naigus - Groove Billed Aini
Asuza - Western Jackdaw
#soul eater#I’m not tagging everyone there’s too many people here maybe I’ll come back to it later and do it#honorable mentions#kid:collared inca#stein:shoebill stork or bleeding heart dove#asura: adolescent california condor#also important to note I am both a Marie fan and a chicken fan#this is not a diss on Marie I selected the buff Orpington because they’re both a very sweet breed (also orange) and chickens are also tough#obviously#hoatzin for giriko is because the babies chicks have little like dinosaur fingers and also they smell really bad#the kauai o’o for crona is because theyre known for that recording of one singing half of its duet#as the last one of its species and I was like yeah that seems crona-like#crying out for something they’ll never receive#and if you wanna get cute about it maka could learn the other half#speaking of maka wrens are known as the king of birds in some British cultures I believe? so she has a legacy to live up to#black heron for tsubaki besides its color and tallness they make a shadow tk catch fish and i was like yeah rhat seems ninja like and clever#kingfisher for black star is kind of obvious you have king and star type deal plus small and blue#He is a peacock in my beastars au but thats different#hero catbirds are unremarkable and good at mimicry#Justin turtle dove religious symbolism Azusa jackdaws are corvids and therefor clever also they have her piercing eyes#the condor and vulture w kid and his dad are fairly obvious w the death and decay stuff because vultures#ospreys look like awkward teens trying to be cool to me#I almost did a chickadee for soul to match maka being a small bird#harpy eagles eat monkeys so it’s kind of like that dissection of people thing w Stein i guess?#trying to remember all my reasonings is hard I sat on this for a while lol#anywyas hope you guys enjoy#soul eater birds#oh uh frigatebirds being theives and scavengers and attacking other birds I’m sure could be drawn back tk asura somehow like#somehow
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mrmillipede · 3 months
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“this girl wont call
but she’ll never tell you why
that’s just how she says goodbye
goodbye.”
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lvrsparadise · 4 months
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i <3 TV Girl
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pcktknife · 8 months
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I'm on pretty little liars now my ass is not going to sleep
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demonyuusedits · 1 year
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╰☆☆ enѕтarѕ wallpaperѕ  #13                                                                                                                   𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 ☆☆╮
ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃  
lιĸe & reвlog ιғ ѕaved
╰☆☆ don'т claιм aѕ yoυr own ιғ υѕed,                                                          
                                         credιт apprecιaтed @deмonyυυѕedιтѕ ☆☆╮
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b0red-b1rds · 7 months
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I see Kaeya having the ability to play the guitar and he sometimes plays for Klee and her friends.
Oh that is adorable
One would think wearing an eyepatch would make guitar playing more difficult, but Kaeya makes it look easy. He strums along, humming and singing quietly as he does. Klee delights in hearing him play, and so does a certain tone-deaf bard.
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dist4nt-shores · 7 months
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JUST FINISHED THE NEW CHAPTER OF BOLAS AND OHHHHHHHH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. THIS IS SO!!!!!!!!!!!
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cyeayt · 8 months
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being autistic in the mormon church
being autistic in the mormon church was, for me at least, a weird experience. because i wasn't excluded or mocked very often, just smothered in that strange warm beige obligation. because they could tell, they knew i was different just like i did. so they held my hand, told the other children to be nice to me, to make sure i felt included. and my peers did, cause they didn't have a choice, raised to be polite and kind no matter what just like i was. so i was included and invited places, always as an afterthought or a checked box but invited nonetheless, injected into conversations and games by adults that my peers wouldn't dare contradict. 'well meaning' adults who ask me if im okay or if i want to join the group, talking down in the sweetest tones. every christmas and on every birthday they still track me down to give me a card about how much they miss my 'unique perspective', even though i always tried my hardest to fit in and say the normal things.
"Look at that one. it's different and broken, but you must be kind to it. help it stay in the light of god, because god is the only way to save it. we're good, and righteous, and its so lucky to be in the church because we're the only ones who'll ever tolerate it, because that's what god wants."
and i miss it sometimes. standing on the edge of people who i desperately want to be friends with, flitting around in the back of stores and staring at concert posters indecisively until the date has passed. never finding the right spot in a conversation to talk, never working up the courage to ask if i can come too, i miss the people who had to be nice. who had me on a little list in their mind of what they need to get to heaven.
but im never going back. because even i could feel that it was fake. i felt watched and judged and pitied at all times, by peers who would ask me if i was coming then talk amongst themselves about jokes i didnt get and shared friends i didnt know. and i may be lonely now, but id rather do the work and be awkward and sick with nerves and find people and spaces that i actually want to be in who actually want me to be there, even if it seems impossible now. id rather that than go back to that warm suffocating place, familiar like the worst kind of family.
also telling that all the adults im talking about are either women/afab people or members of the bishopric, people whose 'job' it is to be welcoming and nurturing, though these experiences are mostly from young womens so that would also be it, but even women who arent involved in the yw leadership are raised and taught and obligated to do this and i dont blame any of them but its always made me wildly uncomfortable. never as much as random men who would sit down next to me and just start talking like we knew each other tho so eh
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that roar y’all heard? that’s just all us jikookers waking up from our winter slumber.
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