Tumbling Like Alice

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
i-gotta-go-good-day-bitch anastiel
hangofthursdays

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

anastiel

This is it. This is the moment I fell in love with these two. The way Dean looks at him. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen but Cas made a choice, a choice to save the world for Dean instead of doing what he knew what right. The angel who believed in the human, even when the human had no faith in himself.

Source: nevercouldgetthehangofthursdays
i-gotta-go-good-day-bitch werenotinkansastoto

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be.  (via oliviacirce)

When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.

(via bookoisseur)

geekoletta loobeeinthesky-deactivated20160
l-o-t-r

"In fact, I just got Viggo back for a trick that he played on me and my agent a few years ago. I was scheduled to hop on a plane and go, I think it was to Vancouver, to start a job and he calls up my agent after hours. He didn’t get her but he got her husband, and he said: ‘G’day, it’s Karl here. Look, I can’t get on the plane, I can’t find my lucky red socks, I dunno what I’m gunna do? I can’t, you gotta call them up and tell them I can’t do the job, I can’t find my red socks!’ And he said, ‘Okay man, I’ll tell Jenny. I’ll tell her.’ And he goes, ‘I can’t find them. I dunno what to do, mate. I’m not getting on that fucking plane!’

Boom! And he hangs up. So, literally at one o’clock in the morning I get woken up by this fucking phone call from my agent saying, ‘Karl! You gotta get on the plane! I will buy you, I promise, I will buy you five pairs of red socks, I just need you to get on the plane!’ And I’m like, ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ And then I go, ‘Ooh, fucking Viggo!’ Flash forward 10 years! So, six weeks ago I’m in Spain and I’m doing press for Dredd and I see that Viggo’s got a film coming out as well called, Une Plan and my press day is happening the day before his, so with every single journalist that I talk to, I do my interview and as they’re walking out, I’m like, ‘Oh I got a day off tomorrow’ and they’re like, ‘Oh really?’ And I’m like, ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m going to go to Viggo’s farm; he’s just bought a goat farm in Segovia, he’s got a thousand goats! He’s making goat cheese!’

Every single one. (audience laughs) Well, it was reported on the national news! It was published in newspapers! And the next day, every single interview that Viggo went into, they asked about the fucking goat farm. A thousand goats!

So I get this email from Viggo. It starts: ‘You bastard.’ It turns out he got so fucking sick of having to defend this goat story that he just started going with it and saying, ‘Yes, I like the spotted goats because they fart less and their cheese tastes sweeter.’”

Karl Urban pranks Viggo Mortensen