Wheat Fields Are More Mystical Than Fields Of Other Crops. You Are 7,000 Times More Likely To Meet An

APPRECIATION POST FOR HERMES BC HE’S SO WONDERFUL AND IM SO THANKFUL FOR THE GOOD FORTUNE HE BRINGS ME!!!

Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) Official Trailer

@terrasunshine and I wrote a collaborative devotional together! This was 100% her lovely idea, and I’m so happy we got to do this together. Here it is!! (You all should go and give Terra love for this, because she’s so talented.)

O, Hephaestus, You borne in the flame of a forge, did you gift an artist their hands?

Hands that are so gentle, so soft, that a touch is as light as air?

Splattered in a thousand colors, nimble, an artist’s hands are their tools.

With these most precious tools, they create beauty which brings mortals to tears.

A gift from You, dear Hephaestus, built from bone and iron, to gift their creations to You, in Your glorious name.

With You as Teacher and Guide, they find their hands in motion, constantly moving and creating.

Through this motion they find peace; through the peace they find beauty. And they gift it all to You.

Dipped and dyed, poked and callused, each piece a prayer of praise.

Even mistakes hold beauty, for each ink spill or dropped stitch brings understanding and character to the artist’s creation.

Even unfinished works hold devotion, for even in abandonment can beauty be found.

O, Hephaestus, we as artists thank You for this divine and heavenly gift.

Each work we make will sing Your praise forever.

no negativity this year we love ourselves like supervillains

i think the only thing wrong with some of us is that we’re being robbed of traditional jobs like woodworking artisans and witch doctors and being forced to like… write a cv and breathe stale air conditioner air when we should be barefoot hauling oranges from an orchard…

I met the old gods and death had her titties out.

“I had an auto-repair man once, who, on these intelligence tests, could not possibly have scored more than 80, by my estimate. I always took it for granted that I was far more intelligent than he was. Yet, when anything went wrong with my car I hastened to him with it, watched him anxiously as he explored its vitals, and listened to his pronouncements as though they were divine oracles - and he always fixed my car. Well, then, suppose my auto-repair man devised questions for an intelligence test. Or suppose a carpenter did, or a farmer, or, indeed, almost anyone but an academician. By every one of those tests, I’d prove myself a moron, and I’d be a moron, too. In a world where I could not use my academic training and my verbal talents but had to do something intricate or hard, working with my hands, I would do poorly. My intelligence, then, is not absolute but is a function of the society I live in and of the fact that a small subsection of that society has managed to foist itself on the rest as an arbiter of such matters. Consider my auto-repair man, again. He had a habit of telling me jokes whenever he saw me. One time he raised his head from under the automobile hood to say: “Doc, a deaf-and-mute guy went into a hardware store to ask for some nails. He put two fingers together on the counter and made hammering motions with the other hand. The clerk brought him a hammer. He shook his head and pointed to the two fingers he was hammering. The clerk brought him nails. He picked out the sizes he wanted, and left. Well, doc, the next guy who came in was a blind man. He wanted scissors. How do you suppose he asked for them?” Indulgently, I lifted my right hand and made scissoring motions with my first two fingers. Whereupon my auto-repair man laughed raucously and said, “Why, you dumb jerk, He used his voice and asked for them.” Then he said smugly, “I’ve been trying that on all my customers today.” “Did you catch many?” I asked. “Quite a few,” he said, “but I knew for sure I’d catch you.” “Why is that?” I asked. “Because you’re so goddamned educated, doc, I knew you couldn’t be very smart.””

— Isaac Asimov

the gods have had mentally ill worshippers for as long as they’ve had worshippers.

the gods have had chronically ill worshippers for as long as they’ve had worshippers.

the gods have had neurodivergent worshippers for as long as they’ve had worshippers.

they won’t be offended or think less of you just because your devotion looks different to able-bodied neurotypical devotion. they understand.