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  2. electrichoney:

    nervousxrex:

    I love the angle of this photo. Usually you only see photos of what’s on stage or of an empty proscenium. Here is where you come in contact with both worlds. The brink between stage and life. It’s magical. 

    :’)

    (via thankyoufive)

     
  3.  
  4. imgfave:

    Posted by aburx

     
  5. (Source: poochcrew, via neontigre)

     
  6. generalelectric:

    “We have a hunger of the mind which asks for knowledge of all around us, and the more we gain, the more is our desire; the more we see, the more we are capable of seeing.” 

    Maria Mitchell is known as the first professional female astronomer in the United States. On October 1, 1847, she peered through her family’s telescope and “swept around for comets,” as she did every night it was clear. But that night she became the first woman in the U.S. to discover one. She later became the first Astronomy professor at Vassar College, where she would often ask her students, “Did you learn that in a book or observe it yourself?” 

    (Source: aps.org)

     
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  8. "

    After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
    I heard the announcement:
    If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
    Please come to the gate immediately.

    Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
    An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
    Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
    Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
    Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
    Did this.

    I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
    Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
    Sho bit se-wee?

    The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
    She stopped crying.

    She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
    She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
    Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

    Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
    We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
    I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
    Would ride next to her—Southwest.

    She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

    Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
    Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

    Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
    Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

    She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
    Questions.

    She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
    Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
    And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

    To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
    Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
    The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
    Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

    And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
    Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
    American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
    And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

    And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
    Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

    With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
    Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

    And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
    This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

    Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
    —has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

    They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
    This can still happen anywhere.

    Not everything is lost.

    "
    — Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be.   (via coffeeisneverstrongenough)

    (Source: oliviacirce, via elephant-houses)

     

  9. "This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important."
    — 

    Gary Provost (via tuongexists)

    Holy crap, what just happened there… (via cyrusgabriel)

    Words, man. Words.

    (via bookoisseur)

    (Source: qmsd, via elephant-houses)

     
  10. (Source: marsereno, via cosmicclusters)

     
  11. Can I please do this with someone soon? 

    (via lovequotesrus)

     
  12. (Source: imgfave)

     
  13. (Source: imgfave)

     
  14. lovequotesrus:

    Everything you love is here

    (Source: blurred-mary)

     
  15.