this fucking website i swear to god
Me with Grant, erryday (I’m the ostrich).
<3 My wife, ladies and gentlemen.
There’s something particularly eerie about an abandoned shopping mall. Perhaps it’s the stark contrast from its intended purpose: to see such a sterile place once designed to entice throngs of shoppers into its doors, now so completely devoid of any human life, dilapidated and darkened with time. It’s basically the very definition of post-apocalyptic. But in the case of the (now ironically named) New World shopping mall in Bangkok, Thailand, abandonment by humans doesn’t equate with lifelessness. The mall, which reportedly caught fire in 1999 (rumored to be arson by a competitor), has since flooded with several feet of water and become a paradise for koi and catfish.
As seen in these photos from chef / travel writer Jesse Rockwell, the resulting “urban aquarium” is at once delightful and surreal. Rockwell writes on his travel, photography, and food blog A Taste of The Road that someone deliberately introduced the fish (to probably reduce mosquitoes) into the vacant mall, but that locals in Bangkok’s old town “discourage people from visiting it.” He says he had to wait for a policeman to leave before entering, which makes his resulting images all the more breathtaking. (via The Verge)
Sometimes I wish this would happen to all the malls. Mostly when I’m in one.
Literally my summer anthem
Grooving to this all the time.
Das my jam
THANK GOD FOR WHO EVER MADE THIS.
This just became my solution to not caring
There is no divorce, in the Harry Potter books -
It simply doesn’t happen. We see women
Of all sorts, except the kind that change their minds.
Witches nor muggles live single and no one
Breaks up with even a boyfriend.
These girls don’t second guess what seems to be fate
And without this facet I find
Their humanity lacking, and Jo Rowling’s
Intentions are called into question
For me – what am I supposed to see
In the rock solid permanent personalities
Of these mostly magical ladies?
Molly Weasley scolding errant twins
And setting knitting needles flying, she
Waits for her husband, defends her daughter,
Feeds elaborate feasts to hungry hordes.
A paragon of home and hearth,
Shrieking with shock at scandal and
Scrubbing grime away from Grimmauld Place.
Mr Weasley is a necessary accessory,
A love that lives at the Ministry
And sneaks mischief in a shed she does not cross.
I love Molly Weasley, and I’ve been her,
Crafting granny squares and Christmas cookie shapes
With breaks to hang diapers on the line.
We read Ginny, casting curses in a temper,
Red hair flying on the quidditch pitch.
Ginny will not take your shit! She can keep up
With the older kids, or boys,
She can date and gossip and roll her eyes.
I know how Ginny feels, I’ve seen Ginny in
My little sister, the angst of the baby
Jumping speed bumps in roller skates.
Beating back admirers with a knee pad full of dents…
But ultimately this fire sprite, “Ginevra”
Wants Harry, her crush at nine to be her life
As he was “meant to be,” neat and clean.
Clueless Harry blushing as he saved the world.
Ginny does not change, as Hermione does not evolve
From the scrawny thing tottering under an
Enormous tome, the shy girl crying when pushed too hard.
Same books seeming to shrink as her fingers swelled,
Hermione is always brilliant and bushy-haired.
At eleven or nineteen we see her wanting Ron,
Eyes shining with angry tears – when volunteers are needed
Research required, anything undone -
Her hand is raised.
I have had my arm in the air, and
I have called out answers, interrupting, and I
Have sat, the silent observer, in the back
Of an unaware room,
And what I want for Hermione does not come.
No scholar appears, impressed with her answers –
No academic to appreciate her mind, her time
Instead is allocated to a hungry boy that berates
Her inability to cook and I imagine her in
A burning kitchen, sending canaries round his head
At forty, fifty, sixty -
This is not a happy end.
There is Aunt Petunia, pinched and stern
Before the evening news, with Vernon, and here
An austere and statuesque Narcissa Malfoy
Beside her death eater husband. Nevermind
Maternal hesitations of sycophant houseguests.
French Fleur, lovely at the bedside
Of her werewolf fiancé, is admirable as
Lovely Lily is baffling, settling, as she does
For the arrogant bully that insisted.
Even Bellatrix, wild lunatic, cackling at the feet
Of her master, maintained her marriage
Through her stint in Azkaban, emerging still
As half of “The Lestranges.”
I love the breadth of types and styles,
For sheer variety of women
Harry Potter stands alone.
Yet these women are characters,
Pre-programmed, with parts to play.
They’re pulled from molds
And cannot change
Or make mistakes they learn to regret.
Where is the growth?!
Where is the changing mind, the breakthroughs -
Where is the wandering heart,
Straining in its confines?
J.K. Rowling is a hero of mine,
One of just a few examples that I look to,
And when I do, I wonder if divorce
Is just too ugly – or too wrong -
More taboo than murder or abuse?
I wonder if this tale of mothers cannot see a woman
As a whole, apart from motherhood.
I love this sanctity enshrined, as with the Virgin Mary
Putting parenting on a pedestal to say,
“There is nothing like this bond,”
Because a Mom IS an irreplaceable, inescapable
Thing to have, I am grateful
As a mother, for this tribute,
As with the Virgin, ever “pure” because she never
“Knew” her husband, disappointing me
Eternally by separating
Horny from wholesome,
So too I cannot relate to these Rowling women.
Instead I fear, again, that
I am not good enough.
This is how I wrap my daughter’s presents.
Are those crocs
Gonna frame this and hang it in my kitchen
I love everything in this
If you always win, you’re not challenging yourself.