Just A Short Video Of My Card Weaving In Progress

If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.

I have been ripped from the life I was building for myself once again. The dreams, the places I was getting to know, the people I was meeting, the future I was walking towards are gone.

My own body is fighting me. And my brain often times does not work. Without my brain, and ideas and dreams, who am I?

For my mother always described me as a Tsunami. Try to stop a Tsunami, is how she'd describe me when I'd had an idea. These days I feel like little more than a puddle.

These days are also the days that I unexpectedly get to spend months with my family. I get to go to my brother's graduation. I'm not halfway across the continent.

These days I get to enjoy my mother's cooking. I get to tell her more about out who I've become. And I find out about her.

These days my father, who has never been good with words, and who never actually wanted children, offers to pay for my motorcycle license once I feel better. If it helps, he says, I'll gladly pay for it.

These days, when my legs shake and I can suddenly barely walk, my dad will grab me. Hold me up. And pretend to dance with me through the living room.

These days I will be laughing so hard I cry. Instead of bawling my eyes out.

I do that too, sometimes. Because it's. Not. Fair.

But these days, and these moments would've never happened were I not sick.

It'll get better. And even if it doesn't, I can still make a happy life for myself

I found a guide for a no tape, easy to unwrap wrapping tutorial to make Christmas a little more accessible, wish I just found it sooner

PRACTICAL FORESTRY for Beginners in Forestry, Agricultural Students, Woodland Owners, and Others Desiring a General Knowledge of the Nature of the Art by John C. Gifford (New York: Appleton, 1902) Illustrated.

The people who say shit like "I don't dream about labour" when asked about their dream job make me sad. It's not their fault and it's an obvious conclusion to come to in the environment that we live in, but they really do seem to make no difference between work, and being exploited. You do want to work, it is inherent human nature to want to do things, you just don't want to slave for shit wages while making profit for someone else.

If art wasn't an option and I didn't have to worry about being profitable, I know what I would be doing: Keep a little shop selling secondhand-thirdhand buttons and buckles.

Thrift shops and secondhand stores could dump (or sell, whatever) their unsold and unwanted goods to me, and I could spend all day going through the heaps and picking them apart, plucking the still-perfectly-good buttons, zippers and buckles out of discarded things with threadbare fabrics and sell them.

Probably also making those little trinket storage boxes out of hollowed-out books. By hollowing out books that nobody wanted or read.

Mossy mushroomy A-frame cabin commission, with its little pals

I got no photos of my favorite design decision: ceramic "rafters" supporting the needlefelted moss. They'll get their time to shine whenever the felt biodegrades, which will be a while.

From Stardust to Stardust

Smilodon

Was thinking of that Homotherium latidens cub they found recently...;-;

Prints:

— v, from “excerpt from a book i will never write” (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

Dovekie aka Little Auk (Alle alle), family Alcidae, order Charadriiformes, Iceland

Photograph by Christophe Moning