guys. i love luthien. every so often i remember that she speaks to sauron using thee/thou and i lose my shit all over again. shes fuckin impolitely overfamiliar with sauron. in his own house. luthien tinuviel: breaks into satans castle to steal his shit; calls him dude
best tag on this post
fuck yeah love me a nice refreshing mug of stumpwater
this is called stumpwater! used in folk remedies in ozark and appalachian lore, supposedly helps to heal skin conditions like warts, acne, rashes
yknow what i absolutely love… those trees with cavities full of water and dead leaves
Concept: a Game of Thrones style war drama, but set during the really shitty party of the Medieval period where nobody had any manpower or resources and your average “army” was like five dudes and a horse. Everybody’s doing all this grand political manoeuvring and alliance-making, but nobody’s capable of backing up their threats because all the lords are flat broke.
All that political maneuvering and stuff but when it finally comes time for a battle its like, “So Jim, Jim’s brothers, 2 of Jim’s friends, my aunt and my boyfriend are gonna storm that fuck Albert’s shitty little hill fort while he’s out checking on the cows.”
You get it.
had a dream last night that my alarm was connected to twitter and everytime i hit snooze it publicly tweeted it with a disparaging little message along the lines of “filthy horrible boy has slapped the screen again, and slumbers on” so that your followers could shame you and i was deeply, DEEPLY humiliated but that did not stop me from hitting snooze upwards of 14 times
hey op! i couldnt sleep until i built this! you motherfucker!
just gotta “borrow” my sister’s alarm clock
get that twitter api, write the bot in some python bc god is dead n slap together some fuckin UI with legos
your idiot self wants to sleep in???? hit that snooze button a couple times???? (maybe 4 times in a row)?? disgusting.
twitter knows! bc it posts how many times youve hit it. fuck you
the next step is NOT profit. noone profits. everybody loses. go home.
“Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.”
— Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh (first published 1914)
I could write a thesis on this, anon. I’ve taken entire courses on the history of hunting. I’ve written papers on it and read books on it. What I’m saying is, I’m not going to answer this question to my satisfaction here tonight on tumblr dot com.
The truth is yes, human hunters are vital to many ecosystems now, because we unfortunately eliminated so many of the apex predators who used to do the job.
The deer populations in some places, as one example, are outrageous. Would I like to see wolves and mountain lions back in West Virginia, taking care of that? God yes. More than most I know.
But more than an ecosystem service, hunting is, and always has been, important to humans as well, and it can be done sustainably and ethically.
I’m a hunter. I wasn’t before I started college. Then I began to learn about the role of hunting in conservation, in the economy, in food security, in spirituality, in cultural identities, and it became something I’m enthusiastic about.
Hunting isn’t just about taking an animal. In fact, you’ll easily find hunters who talk often about having the perfect shot and deciding not to take it, because they didn’t feel the need to in the end.
You’ll also find that, if there’s a hunter who genuinely enjoys the killing aspect, enjoys that they’re causing harm…….nobody really wants to go out with them. Because uh, that’s Not Right.
Anyway, hunting is extremely important to many communities for many reasons. That’s why it’s important that hunting rights for Indigenous people are protected.
In my region, hunters donate deer to food-insecure families. A deer could feed someone for an entire winter. It’s a big deal.
Humans have always hunted, and it’s always been about more than thinking it’s fun to shoot animals. People can disagree with me on this, but I challenge them to actually read, to think critically about the topic.
I’ll be honest, I do believe that in hunting for my own meat, I am more aware of and informed about the ecosystem and nature than anyone who judges me for being a hunter and then buys their meat or veggies from stores stocked by industrialized farms.
Anyway, I’ll leave ya with this piece I really liked from one of my hunting textbooks last year. Thanks for the ask!
Timothée Chalamet and Robert Pattinson in The King (2019) dir. David Michôd
What food group is honey what the fuck is this stuff
Apparently its categorized as raw meat by the FDA, which is cursed information if I’ve ever seen it.
I wonder if this is due to tax reasons (why tomatoes are taxonomically fruit, but legally vegetable) or religious reasons (why beavers are considered fish, for purposes of Lent).
“Beavers are considered fish, for purposes of Lent”
If I’m being honest here, I don’t know what to do with this information.
IIRC hippos are also catholically fish.
You know what, if you can take down a hippo you deserve to eat it during lent
Another thing that’s cool about fanfiction: it’s as long as it needs to be.
Well, sometimes it’s longer than anything on God’s green earth needs to be, but my point is that there’s really no rules about fic length. In traditional publishing there’s this awkward middle where nobody wants to print a novella that’s too long for a short story collection but doesn’t really fill out a book. Ebooks have changed that somewhat but it’s still a convention that a book is about 75,000 words.
Fanfic is not bound by this standard. If your story takes 25,000 words to tell, then you can do that, and there are readers for whom that’s a sweet spot. If you just want to keep going and going for 350,000 words and beyond, nobody’s going to say “only famous authors with grand ideas get to do that”–text is low bandwidth and there are readers who will love the feeling that your story is a home where they’re invited to stay as long as they like.
Sometimes restrictions breed creativity, and some writers need to be forced to edit themselves. But some writers know exactly what they’re doing when they make a story a certain length, and it’s awesome that the Internet has created spaces that put no limits on that.
On the eve of war, Tolkien encounters ‘Earendel’
Exeter College, Oxford, 1914.
Note: By the end of 1914, most of Tolkien’s Oxford friends and fellow TCBS members had enlisted. But as an orphan who had always struggled to stay out of poverty, and being by then engaged to his beloved Edith, Tolkien could not afford to abandon his studies, which were crucial to his future chances of an academic career. And so, despite immense pressure from his extended relations and intense societal scorn, he deferred his enlistment until after finishing his final exams the following summer.
“ Back before war broke out, at the end of the university term, Tolkien had borrowed from the college library Grein and Wülcker’s Bibliotek der angelsächsischen Poesie. This massive work was one of those monuments of German scholarship that had shaped the study of Old English, and it meant Tolkien had the core poetic corpus at hand throughout the long summer vacation. He waded through Crist, by the eighth-century Anglo-Saxon poet Cynewulf, but found it ‘a lamentable bore’, as he wrote later: ‘lamentable, because it is a matter for tears that a man (or men) with talent in word-spinning, who must have heard (or read) so much that is now lost, should spend their time composing such uninspired stuff.’ Boredom could have a paradoxical effect on Tolkien: it set his imagination roaming. Furthermore, the thought of stories lost beyond recall always tantalized him. In the midst of Cynewulf’s pious homily, he encountered the words ‘Eala Earendel! engla beorhtast / ofer middangeard monnum sended, ‘Hail Earendel, brightest of angels, above the middle-earth, sent unto men!’ The name Earendel (or Éarendel) struck him in an extraordinary way. Tolkien later expressed his own reaction […]: ‘ I felt a curious thrill, as if something had stirred in me, half wakened from sleep. There was something very remote and strange and beautiful behind those words, if I could grasp it, far beyond ancient English….I don’t think it any irreverence to say that it might derive its curiously moving quality from some older world.’ But whose name was Éarendel? The question sparked a lifelong answer.
Cynewulf’s lines were about an angelic messenger or herald of Christ. The dictionary suggested it meant ray of light, or the illumination of dawn. Tolkien felt that it must be a survival from before Anglo-Saxon, even from before Christianity. (Cognate names such as Aurvandil and Orendil in other ancient records bear this out. According to the rules of comparative philology, they probably descended from a single name before Germanic split into its offspring languages. But the literal and metaphorical meanings of this name are obscure.) Drawing on the dictionary definitions and Cynwulf’s reference to Éarendel as being above our world, Tolkien was inspired with the idea that Éarendel could be none other than the steersman of Venus, the planet that presages the dawn. At Phoenix Farm [his widowed aunt’s residence in Nottinghamshire], on 24 September 1914, he began, with startling éclat:
Éarendel sprang up from the Ocean’s cup
In the gloom of the mid-world’s rim;
From the door of Night as a ray of light
Leapt over the twilight brim,
And launching his bark like a silver spark
From the golden-fading sand;
Down the sunlit breath of Day’s fiery Death
He sped from Westerland.
Tolkien embellished ‘The Voyage of Éarendel the Evening Star’ with a favourite phrase from Beowulf, Ofer ýpa ful, ‘over the cup of the ocean’, ‘over the ocean’s goblet’. A further characteristic of Éarendel may have been suggested to Tolkien by the similarity of his name to the Old English ēar ‘sea’: though his element is the sky, he is a mariner. But these were mere beginnings. He sketched out a character and a cosmology in forty-eight lines of verse that are by turn sublime, vivacious, and sombre. All the heavenly bodies are ships that sail daily through the gates at the East and the West. The action is simple: Éarendel launches his vessel from the sunset Westerland at the world’s rim, skitters past the stars sailing their fixed courses, and escapes the hunting Moon, but dies in the light of the rising Sun.
And Éarendel fled from that Shipman dread
Beyond the dark earth’s pale.
Back under the rim of the Ocean dim,
And behind the world set sail;
And he heard the mirth of the folk of earth
And hearkened to their tears,
As the world dropped back in a cloudy wrack
On its journey down the years.
Then he glimmering passed to the starless vast
As an isléd lamp at sea,
And beyond the ken of mortal men
Set his lonely errantry,
Tracking the Sun in his galleon
And voyaging the skies
Till his splendor was shorn by the birth of Morn
And he died with the Dawn in his eyes.
It is the kind of myth an ancient people might make to explain celestial phenomena. Tolkien gave the title in Old English too (Scipfæreld Earendeles Æfensteorran), as if the whole poem were a translation. He was imagining the story Cynewulf might have heard, as if a rival Anglo-Saxon poet had troubled to record it.
As he wrote, French and German armies clashed fiercely in the town of Albert, in the region named for the River Somme, which flows through it. But Éarendel’s is a solitary species of daring, driven by an unexplained desire. He is not (as in Cynewulf) monnum sended, ‘sent unto men’ as a messenger or herald; nor is he a warrior. If [this early version of] Éarendel embodies heroism at all, it is the maverick, elemental heroism of individuals such as Sir Ernest Shackleton, who that summer had sailed off on his voyage to traverse the Antarctic continent.
If the shadow of war touches Tolkien’s poem at all, it is in a very oblique way. Though he flies from the mundane world, he listens to its weeping, and while his ship speeds off on its own wayward course, the fixed stars take their appointed places on ‘the gathering tide of darkness’. It is impossible to say whether Tolkien meant this to equate in any way with his own situation at the time of writing; but it is interesting that, while he was under intense pressure to fight for King and Country, and while others were burnishing their martial couplets, he eulogized a ‘wandering spirit’ at odds with the majority course, a fugitive in a lonely pursuit of some elusive ideal.
What is this ideal? Disregarding the later development of his story, we know little more about the Éarendel of this poem than we do the stick figure stepping into space in Tolkien’s drawing The End of the World. Still less do we know what Éarendel is thinking, despite his evident daring, eccentricity, and uncontainable curiosity. We might almost conclude that this is truly ‘an endless quest’ not just without conclusion, but without purpose. If Tolkien had wanted to analyze the heart and mind of his mariner, he might have instead turned to the great Old English meditations on exile, The Wanderer and The Seafarer. Instead he turned to Romance, the quest’s native mode, in which motivation is either self-evident (love, ambition, greed) or supernatural. Éarendel’s motivation is both: after all, he is both a man and a celestial object. Supernaturally, this is an astronomy myth explaining planetary motions, but on a human scale it is also a paean to imagination. ‘His heart afire with bright desire’, Éarendel is like Francis Thompson (in Tolkien’s Stapeldon Society paper), filled with ‘a burning enthusiasm for the ethereally fair’. It is tempting to see analogies with Tolkien the writer bursting into creativity. The mariner’s quest is that of the Romantic individual who has ‘too much imagination’, who is not content with the Enlightenment project of examining the known world in ever greater detail. Éarendel overleaps all conventional barriers in a search for self-realization in the face of the natural sublime. In an unspoken religious sense, he seeks to see the face of God. ”
— John Garth, Tolkien and the Great War: The Threshold of Middle-earth