summary of choir

anorable:

sopranos: "what do you mean i should try….soprano two?”

altos: groan in silence when sopranos still can’t get the melody after 83 tries

tenors: there are 2 of them

basses: stuck singing same note for entire song, sing a singular note 2 octaves higher, go back to same note for rest of the piece

YEP.

(via brierobbie)

I know now that we never get over great losses; we absorb them, and they carve us into different, often kinder, creatures. …We tell the story to get them back, to capture the traces of footfalls through the snow.

Gail Caldwell, Let’s Take the Long Way Home: A Memoir of Friendship (via negromodelo)

I tell my students, ‘When you get these jobs that you have been so brilliantly trained for, just remember that your real job is that if you are free, you need to free somebody else. If you have some power, then your job is to empower somebody else. This is not just a grab-bag candy game.’

sanahgohar:

This is what I love about Winter. You wake up in the middle of the night, maybe just to pee or get water or something, look out the window and see this. It’s so beautiful. And it’s silent; you have no idea that it’s happening until you just look. It almost seems fake. And it makes your bed seem way more comfortable, for whatever reason.


I miss snow for a few reasons, and this is one.

sanahgohar:

This is what I love about Winter. You wake up in the middle of the night, maybe just to pee or get water or something, look out the window and see this. It’s so beautiful. And it’s silent; you have no idea that it’s happening until you just look. It almost seems fake. And it makes your bed seem way more comfortable, for whatever reason.

I miss snow for a few reasons, and this is one.

(via narmeeeen)

Next year I will not be the self of this year now. And that is why I laugh at the transient, the ephemeral; laugh, while clutching, holding, tenderly, like a fool his toy, cracked glass, water through fingers. For all the writing, for all the invention of engines to express & convey & capture life, it is the living of it that is the gimmick. It goes by, and whatever dream you use to dope up the pains and hurts, it goes. Delude yourself about printed islands of permanence. You’ve only got so long to live. You’re getting your dream. Things are working, blind forces, no personal spiritual beneficent ones except your own intelligence and the good will of a few other fools and fellow humans. So hit it while it’s hot.

king-dandy:

So my close friend Ruggy’s cat was shot with a BB gun! The femur is broken in several places and there is a metal ball in her leg!
[Source] [Source 2]
He doesn’t want to put her down, and the only two options are to either remove the leg entirely, or put wires in her leg, but either way she’ll be crippled for the rest of her life! :C
I know 2,000$ is a lot, but the cost of the surgery to amputate her leg, the x-rays, and the medicine is what will be covered for this!
Please please, if you guys can help in any way through donations or spreading the word, it would mean a lot! 
HERE IS THE GO FUND ME LINK!

king-dandy:

So my close friend Ruggy’s cat was shot with a BB gun! The femur is broken in several places and there is a metal ball in her leg!

[Source] [Source 2]

He doesn’t want to put her down, and the only two options are to either remove the leg entirely, or put wires in her leg, but either way she’ll be crippled for the rest of her life! :C

I know 2,000$ is a lot, but the cost of the surgery to amputate her leg, the x-rays, and the medicine is what will be covered for this!

Please please, if you guys can help in any way through donations or spreading the word, it would mean a lot! 

HERE IS THE GO FUND ME LINK!

(via narmeeeen)

Whenever someone who knows you disappears, you lose one version of yourself. Yourself as you were seen, as you were judged to be. Lover or enemy, mother or friend, those who know us construct us, and their several knowings slant the different facets of our characters like diamond-cutter’s tools. Each such loss is a step leading to the grave, where all versions blend and end.

Salman Rushdie (via seabois)

(via howitzerliterarysociety)

Sometimes it’s the feet of the men on the rail when you pass a saloon, and the sawdust floors, and the sound of their voices, and that wonderful smell you get of beer and orange peel and Angostura bitters. Sometimes it’s people passing underneath your window late at night, and sometimes it’s the sound of a horse in the street early in the morning, and sometimes it’s the ship blowing out in the harbor at night.

The Web and the Rock, Thomas Wolfe (via fauxmulder)

(via fauxmulder)