Tea and Oranges

the-old-folk-blues asked: Sorry if I was unclear. I remember a while back you were considering your dream-team American Gods (one of my favourite books) cast, and you made a point of wanting the right ethnicity for Shadow. Which I found weird because I spent most of the book thinking of Shadow as a white guy until the "coffee-and-cream"(?) offhand description towards the end. So, thought I, if Shadow's ethnicity is so unimportant to be "revealed" towards the end of the book, then why does the actor’s ethnicity matter? 1.

neil-gaiman:

With the greatest respect, that might say more about how you read the book than it does about the book you thought you read. Take a look at American Gods again and let me know what you find…

the4freedoms:

So a few days ago, I made a reference about iharthdarth to a friend of mine who’s a really big Star Wars fan. Much to my consternation, he admitted he’d never heard of it. And when I went to go complain about it to somebody else, they revealed they had never read it either! Thus, heartbroken, I turned to tumblr to rectify the situation. The comics above are just a few of my favorites.

You can read the first one here. Go. Go now. What are you waiting for. 

(via waxjism)

copperbadge:

thegreatgodum:

speaking of alexmovingbackwards, she may not be the only one whose Interests this poem is Relevant To.

Emily Dickinson and Elvis Presley in Heaven, by Hans Ostrom

They call each other E. Elvis picks
wildflowers near the river and brings
them to Emily. She explains half-rhymes to him.

In heaven Emily wears her hair long, sports
Levis and western blouses with rhinestones.
Elvis is lean again, wears baggy trousers

and T-shirts, a letterman’s jacket from Tupelo High.
They take long walks and often hold hands.
She prefers they remain just friends. Forever.

Emily’s poems now contain naugahyde, Cadillacs,
Electricity, jets, TV, Little Richard and Richard
Nixon. The rock-a-billy rhythm makes her smile.

Elvis likes himself with style. This afternoon
he will play guitar and sing “I Taste a Liquor
Never Brewed” to the tune of “Love Me Tender.”

Emily will clap and harmonize. Alone
in their cabins later, they’ll listen to the river
and nap. They will not think of Amherst

or Las Vegas. They know why God made them
roommates. It’s because America
was their hometown. It’s because

God is a thing
without feathers. It’s because
God wears blue suede shoes.

With All Due Respect

Emily Dickinson fell in love with women
And Elvis got his licks from Black folk.
Respectfully, if there is a God
(and only one God)
The fuck would It need shoes for? 

If there is a Heaven, undoubtedly Emily is one of its queens
Blissfully happy
With Kate, or maybe Sue. 
She is not sexless; she has desires
And now there is more than poetry she can do with them.
When she does receive company
She probably hangs out with Gertrude Stein
Sits out on the porch with Alice B. Toklas
And Sylvia Rivera. 

In any idea of Heaven I care for
The music is played by anyone who loves it
But crowds flock to the people who made it
Not to the people who marketed it best
The acceptable white face (if not hips) of blues.

By the end I imagine Elvis probably just wanted to be left alone for a while anyway.

Someday he will emerge, and maybe he won’t be thin and young
Maybe he’ll still be fat and wearing that godawful jumpsuit
Because he liked jumpsuits
And nobody will care.

Because if a God is running around like some kind of heavenly bookings agent
Finding people cabins and shit to live in
If It exists
I prefer Heaven not be exclusively populated

By de-sexed bisexuals, white bluesmen,
And a God who has to wear shoes to get around. 

And maybe someday their hometown will be as safe
For fat dudes in rhinestones,
Black musicians
Queer people
Poor people
Maybe even people who don’t believe in God
But not without a little more breadth of imagination
When it comes to picturing Heaven.

Hugh Laurie as Mr. Palmer in Sense and Sensibility (1995)

(Source: bashooking, via waxjism)

bookshop:

solongasitswords:

nullbula:

thesylverlining:

what happened in roughly 1870 though
why was there temporary internet
with a few people searching for pokemon?

It’s a search of Google books, but the question still stands, what the Fuck happened in 1870

I CAN ANSWER THIS!!
In the Cornish dialect of English, Pokemon meant ‘clumsy’ (pure coincidence).
In the mid 1800s there was a surge of writing about the Cornish language and dialect in an attempt to preserve them with glossaries and dictionaries being written. I wrote about it HERE.


I just love that this post happened to find the ONE HUMAN ON THE INTERNET who had the answer to this question

bookshop:

solongasitswords:

nullbula:

thesylverlining:

what happened in roughly 1870 though

why was there temporary internet

with a few people searching for pokemon?

It’s a search of Google books, but the question still stands, what the Fuck happened in 1870

I CAN ANSWER THIS!!

In the Cornish dialect of English, Pokemon meant ‘clumsy’ (pure coincidence).

In the mid 1800s there was a surge of writing about the Cornish language and dialect in an attempt to preserve them with glossaries and dictionaries being written. I wrote about it HERE.

I just love that this post happened to find the ONE HUMAN ON THE INTERNET who had the answer to this question

(Source: neilcicierega, via waxjism)

micdotcom:

Potent minimalist art sends a strong message about police and vigilante brutality in America

Journalist and artist Shirin Barghi has created a gripping, thought-provoking series of graphics that not only examines racial prejudice in today’s America, but also captures the sense of humanity that often gets lost in news coverage. Titled “Last Words,” the graphics illustrate the last recorded words by Brown and other young black people — Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant and others — who have been killed by police in recent years.

Let us not forget their voices

(via modhero)