The Distillery

escapekit:

 Chromatic Typewriter Prints

Tyree Callahan has recycled (or upcycled, perhaps) a classic 1937 Underwood typewriter by replacing letters with sponges soaked across the spectrum with bright yellows, reds, blues and combinations thereof.

Les fruits et légumes moches / the inglorious fruits and vegetables.

It’s all in the marketing.

Snake snake snake…

Toad Words

jumpingjacktrash:

the-real-seebs:

ursulavernon:

            Frogs fall out of my mouth when I talk. Toads, too.

            It used to be a problem.

            There was an incident when I was young and cross and fed up parental expectations. My sister, who is the Good One, has gold fall from her lips, and since I could not be her, I had to go a different way.

            So I got frogs. It happens.

            “You’ll grow into it,” the fairy godmother said. “Some curses have cloth-of-gold linings.” She considered this, and her finger drifted to her lower lip, the way it did when she was forgetting things. “Mind you, some curses just grind you down and leave you broken. Some blessings do that too, though. Hmm. What was I saying?”

            I spent a lot of time not talking. I got a slate and wrote things down. It was hard at first, but I hated to drop the frogs in the middle of the road. They got hit by cars, or dried out, miles away from their damp little homes.

            Toads were easier. Toads are tough. After awhile, I learned to feel when a word was a toad and not a frog. I could roll the word around on my tongue and get the flavor before I spoke it. Toad words were drier. Desiccated is a toad word. So is crisp and crisis and obligation. So are elegant and matchstick.

            Frog words were a bit more varied. Murky. Purple. Swinging. Jazz.

I practiced in the field behind the house, speaking words over and over, sending small creatures hopping into the evening.  I learned to speak some words as either toads or frogs. It’s all in the delivery.

            Love is a frog word, if spoken earnestly, and a toad word if spoken sarcastically. Frogs are not good at sarcasm.

            Toads are masters of it.

            I learned one day that the amphibians are going extinct all over the world, that some of them are vanishing. You go to ponds that should be full of frogs and find them silent. There are a hundred things responsible—fungus and pesticides and acid rain.

            When I heard this, I cried “What!?” so loudly that an adult African bullfrog fell from my lips and I had to catch it. It weighed as much as a small cat. I took it to the pet store and spun them a lie in writing about my cousin going off to college and leaving the frog behind.

            I brooded about frogs for weeks after that, and then eventually, I decided to do something about it.

            I cannot fix the things that kill them. It would take an army of fairy godmothers, and mine retired long ago. Now she goes on long cruises and spreads her wings out across the deck chairs.

            But I can make more.

            I had to get a field guide at first. It was a long process. Say a word and catch it, check the field marks. Most words turn to bronze frogs if I am not paying attention.

            Poison arrow frogs make my lips go numb. I can only do a few of those a day. I go through a lot of chapstick.  

            It is a holding action I am fighting, nothing more. I go to vernal pools and whisper sonnets that turn into wood frogs. I say the words squeak and squill and spring peepers skitter away into the trees. They begin singing almost the moment they emerge.

            I read long legal documents to a growing audience of Fowler’s toads, who blink their goggling eyes up at me. (I wish I could do salamanders. I would read Clive Barker novels aloud and seed the streams with efts and hellbenders. I would fly to Mexico and read love poems in another language to restore the axolotl. Alas, it’s frogs and toads and nothing more. We make do.)

            The woods behind my house are full of singing. The neighbors either learn to love it or move away.

            My sister—the one who speaks gold and diamonds—funds my travels. She speaks less than I do, but for me and my amphibian friends, she will vomit rubies and sapphires. I am grateful.

            I am practicing reading modernist revolutionary poetry aloud. My accent is atrocious. Still, a day will come when the Panamanian golden frog will tumble from my lips, and I will catch it and hold it, and whatever word I spoke, I’ll say again and again, until I stand at the center of a sea of yellow skins, and make from my curse at last a cloth of gold.

Terri Windling posted recently about the old fairy tale of frogs falling from a girl’s lips, and I started thinking about what I’d do if that happened to me, and…well…

!.

You know how if you go through years and years of “best science fiction short stories”, every so often you find some short story you’ve never heard of before, but it’s just amazing and brilliant and leaves you wondering why you never read stories with that plot before? This is one of those.

Seriously, wow.

this made me smile.

i’m still smiling.

 Eunice at Artimess || Wreck This Journal

Webcomic recommendation: a no-nonsense wombat finds herself tangled up with magic, destiny and gods, none of which she wishes to have any truck with.

800-850 pages, complete.

This is a brilliant online graphical novel. Ursula Vernon has created a captivating world with wonderful characters.

RALEIGH: In some ways that could have gone better.
IDRIS ELBA: You both totally and humiliatingly failed.
RALEIGH: Yes, ‘succeeding’ is one of the ways in which it could have gone better.

- Sarah Rees Brennan, Pacific Rim parody (via leafsfeelings)

Favourite part of this parody:

RALEIGH: How did I not know you’d built a giant sword into the robot?
MAKO: Bubbles, I love you, but sometimes you talk too much and you don’t pay attention.

(via minionier)

Aaaaaaaah this. Is. Hilarious.

IDRIS ELBA: You’re never quite ready for the day when they leave the nest, and meet a man, and pilot a giant robot with him to avert the apocalypse.

(via greenchestnuts)

HERMAN: By Jove, we will own this bad boy for real!
NEWT: … By Jove? Nobody says that. English people don’t say that. If you are a time traveller, you can tell me. I will believe you, and chances are I will also find it totally hot.

(via centrumlumina)

wjt:

On interview training (emphasis in original):

It’s astonishing how many of the people conducting interviews and passing judgement on the careers of candidates have had no training at all on how to do it well. Aside from their own interviews, they may not have ever seen one. I’m all for learning on your own but at least when you write a program wrong it breaks. Without a natural feedback loop, interviewing mostly runs on myth and survivor bias.

I do a lot of interviewing at my current job, and this certainly applies to me – and, as far as I know, to most of my colleagues, who also do a lot of interviewing. In the extreme, we have people who less than a year ago were undergraduates interviewing people. How can we possibly be judging candidates fairly?

Interestingly enough, I have had training, of sorts. I’ve done the training that my university required to interview potential undergraduates. The training and the interview process itself did include some of the recommendations in this follow-up post, but certainly has room for improvement (partcularly in the area of tracking false negatives).