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(Source: timburtonsblog)
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High-res →
Swimming pool with New York skyline, Mumbai
The eye-catching swimming pool in Mumbai, India, has been built to raise awareness about the threat of sea level rises as a result of global warming.
It was constructed by attaching a giant aerial photograph of the New York City skyline to the floor of the pool.
The idea was conceived by advertising agency Ogilvy & Mather, who were commissioned by banking giant HSBC to promote its £50million project tackling climate change.
The Ogilvy team came up with an innovative way to show the adverse impact of global climate change. They glued an aerial view of a city to the base of a swimming pool.
When the pool was filled with water, it gave a shocking effect akin to a city submerged in water. The visual of a sunken city shocked swimmers and onlookers, driving home the impact of global warming, and how it could destroy our world someday.(via yunzi)
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One destination on my very long “Must Travel” list.
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(Source: mmfangirl)
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![thedailywhat:
Heartwarming Tearjerker of the Day: Scott Widak has Down syndrome and is terminally ill with liver disease, and he loves to receive mail. So his nephew Sean O’Connor recently posted his P.O. Box on Reddit, to see whether anyone might be interested in sending his uncle a letter: “One of my uncle’s favorite things to do is open mail, and I thought that if he got a lot of mail it would cheer him up.”
It’s been a month since the post, and Widak, an artist, has received mail from all over the world, including the United States, Sweden, Finland, Australia, Japan, the United Kingdom, and Mexico. Redditors have sent heartfelt letters, custom artwork, art supplies, DVDs, and personal keepsakes.
“The mail that’s arrived has all been extremely positive and thoughtful,” O’Connor says. “My family and I are amazed at how so many strangers could come together for a random act of kindness.”
Don’t miss the rest of the pics — they’ll make your Monday.
[mashable]
A nice, heartwarming story for a cold, rainy Saturday afternoon.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m40pg6DzkT1qzpwi0o1_500.jpg)
Heartwarming Tearjerker of the Day: Scott Widak has Down syndrome and is terminally ill with liver disease, and he loves to receive mail. So his nephew Sean O’Connor recently posted his P.O. Box on Reddit, to see whether anyone might be interested in sending his uncle a letter: “One of my uncle’s favorite things to do is open mail, and I thought that if he got a lot of mail it would cheer him up.”
It’s been a month since the post, and Widak, an artist, has received mail from all over the world, including the United States, Sweden, Finland, Australia, Japan, the United Kingdom, and Mexico. Redditors have sent heartfelt letters, custom artwork, art supplies, DVDs, and personal keepsakes.
“The mail that’s arrived has all been extremely positive and thoughtful,” O’Connor says. “My family and I are amazed at how so many strangers could come together for a random act of kindness.”
Don’t miss the rest of the pics — they’ll make your Monday.
[mashable]
A nice, heartwarming story for a cold, rainy Saturday afternoon.
(via missmeds)
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Came home to the most beautiful bunch of flowers from Sinead tonight.
It made my day so much, I almost cried.
I’m so lucky, I don’t really know how I managed to be lucky enough in my lifetime to find a best friend this amazing.
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I spend hours looking for the best porn to get off to and then its over in five minutes
(Source: porn4ladies, via shessofuckedinthehead)
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Today, an international court sentenced former Liberian president Charles Taylor to 50 years in prison for war crimes. Taylor was convicted last month of aiding rebels during the bloody Sierra Leone Civil War. Charles was the president of Liberia from 1997 to 2003. He is the first former head of state to be convicted of war crimes since WWII.
Today is a good day.
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(via times-are-changing)
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Starting my day off listening to “Thirteen Tales of Love and Revenge” by The Pierces, eating McDonald’s cookies and a double shot espresso.
Will probably never get sick of this album.
Also, I haven’t had a cigarette today, hardly had very many yesterday and don’t feel like one at all right now. It’s also No Tobacco Day according to the World Health Organisation website- so I’m going to try to keep it up until at least tonight.
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The Pillowman
Once upon a time, there was a man who did not look like a normal man. He stood about nine feet tall and he was made entirely of these fluffy, pink pillows. His arms were pillows, his legs were pillows, his body was a pillow, his fingers were little tiny pillows. Even his head was a big, round pillow. On his head, he had two button eyes and a big smiling mouth that was always smiling so you could always see his teeth, which were also pillows – little, white pillows. Now, the Pillowman had to look like this; he had to look all soft and safe because his job was very sad and difficult.
You see, whenever a lady or a man had a very sad and dreadful life and they just wanted to do away with themselves, just end their lives and end all the pain, well, just as they were about to do this, by gas or by razor or by bullet or by whatever preferred method of suicide – “preferred” is probably the wrong word for that, but anyway – just as they were about to do it, the Pillowman would go to them. He would sit them down and he would gently hold them and say, “now, hold on a minute”, and time would slow strangely and as time slowed, they would go back in time to when that man or that lady was just a little boy or a little girl and the life of horror they were to lead had not yet quite begun.
And you see, the Pillowman’s job was a very sad one because the Pillowman’s job was to get that child to kill themselves, and so avoid all the years of pain that would just end them up in the same place anyways – facing a river, facing a shotgun, facing a razor. “But I’ve never heard of a small child killing themselves”, you might say. But the Pillowman would always suggest that the child do it in a way that made it look like a tragic accident: he’d show them the bottle of pills that looked just like sweeties; he’d show them the place on the river where the ice was too thin; he’d show them the parked cars that it was really too dangerous to dart out between; he’d show them the plastic bag with no breathing holes, and exactly how to tighten it. Because mummies and daddies always find it easier to come to terms with a five-year-old lost in a tragic accident than they do with a five year old who has seen how shitty life is and has taken action to avoid it.
Now, not all the children would go along with the Pillowman. There was one little girl, a happy little thing, who just wouldn’t believe the Pillowman when he told her that life could be awful and that her life would be, and she sent him away, and he went away crying, crying big, gloopy tears that made puddles this big, and the next night there was another knock at her bedroom door and she said, “go away, Pillowman. I’ve told you, I’m happy. I’ve always been happy and I’ll always be happy.” But it wasn’t the Pillowman. It was another man. And her mummy wasn’t home, and this man would visit her every time her mummy wasn’t home, and she soon became very sad, and as she sat in front of the oven when she was twenty one she said to the Pillowman, “why didn’t you try to convince me?” And the Pillowman said, “I tried to convince you, but you were just too happy.” And as she turned on the gas as high as it would go, she said, “but I’ve never been happy. I’ve never been happy.”
Well, See, when the Pillowman was successful in his work, a little child would die horrifically. And when the Pillowman was unsuccessful, a little child would have a horrific life, grow into an adult who’d also have a horrific life, and die horrifically. So, the Pillowman, as big as he was and as fluffy as he was, he’d just go around crying all day long, his house’d be just puddles everywhere, so he decided to do just one final job and that’d be it.
So he went to this place beside this pretty stream that he remembered from a time before, and he brought a little can of petrol with him, and there was this old weeping willow tree there, and he went under it and he sat and he waited there for a while, and there were all these little toys under there, and, there was a little caravan nearby, and the Pillowman heard the door open and little footsteps come out, and he heard a boy’s voice say, “I’m just going out to play, Mum,” and the Mum said, “well, don’t be late for your tea, son.” “I won’t be, Mum.” And the Pillowman heard the little footsteps get closer and the branches of the willow tree parted and and it wasn’t a little boy at all, it was a little Pillowboy.
And the Pillowboy said, “hello,” to the Pillowman and the Pillowman said, “hello,” to the Pillowboy and they both played with the toys for a while. And the Pillowman told him all about his sad job and the dead kids and all of that type of stuff, and the little Pillowboy understood instantly ‘cause he was such a happy little fella and all he ever wanted to do was to be able to help people, and he poured the can of petrol all over himself and his smiley mouth was still smiling, and the Pillowman, through his gloopy tears, said, “thank you,” to the Pillowboy, and the Pillowboy said, “that’s alright. Will you tell my Mummy I won’t be having my tea tonight,” and the Pillowman said, “Yes, I will,” lying, and the Pillowboy struck a match, and the Pillowman sat there, watching him burn, and as the Pillowman gently started to fade away, the last thing he saw was the Pillowboy’s happy mouth as it slowly melted away, stinking into nothingness.
That was the last thing he saw. The last thing he heard was something he hadn’t even contemplated. The last thing he heard was the screams of the hundred thousand children he’d helped to commit suicide coming back to life and going on to lead the cold, wretched lives that were destined to them because he hadn’t been around to prevent them, right on up to the screams of their sad, self-inflicted deaths, which this time, of course, would be conducted entirely alone. -
(via katuriankaturiankaturian)
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My mother and I circa ‘89.
She really had some questionable fashion choices, even if it was the late 80’s.
I still love her and the photo though.
A Highway Unicorn
A knife, a fork, a bottle and a cork, that's the way you spell New York.
Chloe Rose - Wollongong.
