We Don’t Talk Enough About How Martin Was Likely Mostly Running The Institute By Himself (cuz Peter

everything has to be explained everything has to have a reason. can nobody fuck with a real vibe anymore? can nobody respect some big baller behaviour?

I giggle with joy any time I hear his stupid laugh when I’m listening to tma

hello, Archivist

people are really fucking clueless about generative ai huh? you should absolutely not be using it for any sort of fact checking no matter how convenient. it does not operate in a way that guarantees factual information. its goal is not to deliver you the truth but deliver something coherent based on a given data set which may or may not include factual information. both the idolization of ai and fearmongering of it seem lost on what it is actually capable of doing

Do all mankind characters as quotes #2

Margo: “God forbid, not a parallelogram”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA !!!!!

on my hands and knees for Jane art. Doodles or otherwise (i have ur Jane sticker on my phone as we speak how u draw her makes me Insane)

jane is my princess & did nothing wrong 🥰🥰

My friend listened to Time to Kill for the first time earlier and I was snickering so hard waiting for him to realize what I meant

Here's to the femmes whose expression lies in grandmas florals and a vintage cut. Smelling like thrift stores and books and dried flowers.

Here's to the femmes whose expression lies in the macarbe. Art filled red with blood, and wardrobe filled black and silver. Jars of bones and hair and herbs.

Here's to the femmes whose expression lies in nature's song. The howl of the wind. The bold heat of the sun on their skin, and the smell of eucalyptus and petrichor.

Here's to the femmes whose expression lies in the sweat on their brow and the strength of their lift. The rush of adrenaline and endorphins. The beauty in their form and focus.

Here's to the femmes whose expression lies in the tap of their heels on tiles. The way their voice commands a room. Warm printer ink, signature signed.

Here's to the femmes whose expression lies in the paint on your apron and the beadwork your mother taught you. The songs you made up with your cousins over your childhood summers will be the lullabies your children fall asleep to.

Here's to the femmes whose expression lies in the layer of fat on top of your soup, the bubbling of yeast and the smell of onion, garlic, and rosemary.

Here's who the femmes who's expression lies in the strum of the bass and the bang of the drum. Grimey venues with sticky floors, full of screaming, sweat, and fiery passion.

Here's to the femmes whose expression lies in decedant fabrics galore. Velvets and satins and ruffles and lace. Rhinestones and ribbons. Leather and linens.

Here's to femmes whose expression lies in enjoying the simplicities of life. The smell of the jasmine tree on the walk home from book club. The changing of the leaves. The way their barista knows them by name.

Here's to the femmes whose expression lies in comfort and care. The softness they've carved for themselves. Matching pajamas and mismatched socks. Home is where the heart is, and where goldilocks finds her "just right."

Something that I get chills about is the fact that the oldest story told made by the oldest civilization opens with "In those days, in those distant days, in those ancient nights."

This confirms that there is a civilization older than the Sumerians that we have yet to find

Some people get existential dread from this

Me? I think it's fucking awesome it shows just how much of this world we have yet to discover and that is just fascinating

THIS IS NOT MY BEAUTIFUL HOUSE. THIS IS NOT MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE.

what is your eye color. what is your favorite color. what is the color that appears most frequently in your wardrobe. what color is your favorite blanket. what color is your water bottle.