What I Mean When I Say I'm Tired I don't mean I want to sleep. I mean I want to disappear for a while. To be rain on a stranger's roof. To be smoke rising from someone else's fire. I don't want to die. But I do want to rest in a way the world has never allowed me. I don't want comfort. I want quiet. I want the mercy of being unseen without being unloved.

What I Mean When I Say I'm Tired ~ K.E. Sermonté

"I want quiet.
I want the mercy of being unseen
without being unloved."

Female octopuses throw rocks at males that bother them, documented in Octopus tetricus

@annalarssonstudio.bsky.social an owl for the collection

Always love me a nice piece of watermelon tourmaline 🥰

So pretty 🤩 but I don’t have meta apps anymore 😔

Barcodes in mail in ballots are already a thing, at least in some states

Now comes good sailing: sheets filled, water curling from the bow, heeling to the wind, sun glinting on white foam, and no need to return to land. But maybe I shall miss the land: the shadowed forests and the endless plains, moose, bison, caribou, bear, wolf, and mountain lion, and the ghosts of cultures fading from ancestral grounds, nobility displaced by politics, Abenaki, Passamaquoddy, Wolastoqiyik, Mi’kmaq, and Penobscot — now just Indian. No, no, I’ll take to water, steer a course by sun and stars to where there is no you or I, but just the sea reflecting sky in rolling waves.

"Henry David Thoreau".

from "Last Words" - a sequence of poems each starting with the last words (sometimes apocryphal) of a well-known person. (Note in Comments.)

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#poem #poetry #skypoets #blueskypoets #poetsofbluesky #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #lastwords #henrydavidthoreau #thoreau

#DailySketch: Bird

#illustration #drawing #art

An exquisite poem that finds Pathos and Carpe Diem shaking hands like old friends.

A.E. Housman 🖎

This painting is titled "Clairvoyant" and was created by the French artist Pierre Bonnard. (1867–1947).
Style: Post-Impressionism/Intimism

Coloured pencil drawing of a large brown and white owl perched in the crook of a mossy tree. The owl is looking toward the viewer.

Finished! “Let It Be”. Coloured pencil on hot pressed paper. Based on photos I took of a barred owl in a Toronto ravine. #SciArt #Birds

Don’t forget the Guerrilla Girls!

#ProtestArt #NoKings #Resistance

A dark grey and white poster shows a humanoid cat in fetal position having intrusive thoughts, surrounded by larger text that reads "Inward-focused shame distracts from Systemic Violence"

"Inward-focused shame distracts from systemic violence"
-Planning an overdue update to my website and having a look thru my old portfolio. Here is a favorite from some of the posters I was making in 2020 when I first got my ipad! #poster #inspiration #systemicviolence #politicalcartoon #indiecomic

Be Drunk Charles Baudelaire 1821 - 1867 You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it -it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk. But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk. And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking ... ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: "It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."

I’ve woken up at 3.05, or is it 2.O5? Or perhaps 1.05?
If you are not sure what time it is, always take the advice of Charles Baudelaire and ask the
“wind, wave, star, bird, clock” and they will tell you it is time to get drunk… but I might just have a nice cup of horlicks, instead.

Inside the trees are souls I think Souls that grow and change Inside each leaf, so quiet A memory of moments no one else has seen But no man ever listens Takes the time to think That trees might see what happens That in the way they rustle Is a hint they wish to speak.

Jennifer Lynch, from The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer

Zane the frog

Zane the frog

🤣🤣🤣 I want whatever those genius guinea pigs are having 🤣🤣🤣

Thank you super much! I do the puppy pads too since they’re so much easier! Now I just have to remember to look it up after work 😅

THIS!!!!

Was today years old when I learned that they have vending machines for books. There’s still hope y’all ☺️

A close up of a jay’s head watercolour painting

A close up of a jay’s blue feathers watercolour painting

A close up of the wooden branch and shadows watercolour painting

A close up of a jay watercolour painting

Some close ups of the jay

#watercolours #birdart 🪶

You always want more than one, they get depressed when alone, plus when they’re young they can huddle if they’re cold. 90s are good at this age but as long as you have a heater on like the one pictured they can go get warm when they’re want to and leave it when they need to cool down

Tell me more about this container you have them in 🤩 was just thinking about picking up some babies next time I’m at the feed store but don’t feel like dealing with the cardboard condo setup 😅

Most definitely 😍

What even is this?!

Those Winter Sundays By Robert Hayden Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he’d call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices?

One reason I love this poem so much is because for all the beauty of the stoicism he describes, Hayden makes a point of including a reference to "fearing the chronic angers of that house."

So if we're bringing back selfless sacrifice as a model of masculinity, let's try to leave out chronic angers.

I like the way you think 🤩