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is what we Bokononists whisper whenever we think of how complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is.
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beginner’s guide to vampire weekend:

heybaio:

  • balding, sweaty baby plays bass and dances
  • babar enthusiast w/ a weird accent sings
  • angelic batman plays keyboard
  • bearded basketball player got lost on the way 2 a game and ended up playing drums

(via drownerrs)


susemoji:

Scientists have found a portal to a better world
pastel-cheap:

Cat Knitted Green Cardigan
$22.99

santaspice:

*angles laptop away from whoever sits next to me*

(Source: annemarina, via victoriachardonnay)



a-cidlife:

10 Things I Hate About You

bullied:

i like online shopping and putting everything i want in a cart then checking my subtotal and laughing and closing the tab

(via 0kibelieveyou)



When my husband [Carl Sagan] died, because he was so famous and known for not being a believer, many people would come up to me — it still sometimes happens — and ask me if Carl changed at the end and converted to a belief in an afterlife. They also frequently ask me if I think I will see him again.

Carl faced his death with unflagging courage and never sought refuge in illusions. The tragedy was that we knew we would never see each other again. I don’t ever expect to be reunited with Carl. But, the great thing is that when we were together, for nearly twenty years, we lived with a vivid appreciation of how brief and precious life is. We never trivialized the meaning of death by pretending it was anything other than a final parting. Every single moment that we were alive and we were together was miraculous — not miraculous in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural. We knew we were beneficiaries of chance… That pure chance could be so generous and so kind… That we could find each other, as Carl wrote so beautifully in Cosmos, you know, in the vastness of space and the immensity of time… That we could be together for twenty years. That is something which sustains me and it’s much more meaningful.

The way he treated me and the way I treated him, the way we took care of each other and our family, while he lived. That is so much more important than the idea I will see him someday. I don’t think I’ll ever see Carl again. But I saw him. We saw each other. We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful.

- Ann Druyan (via whats-out-there)

(via master-red-eye-jedi)


lesprisenpati:

aidenmorse:

Bottles of Gatorade Blue Bolt floating in a bath of Powerade Mountain Blast, 2013


I can’t tell if this is seriously art or if it’s just tongue in cheek sarcastic art or if it’s post-ironic ironic art, or ironic art, or literally just a joke and that is so not okay.