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radar-one:

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sixpenceee:

You probably have heard of mitochondria (the powerhouse of the cell) and of chloroplasts (gives the leaves green pigment, used in photosynthesis). But did you also know that according to the endosymbiosis hypothesis, the mitochondria & chloroplast were once free-living cells. They were “swallowed” into other larger cells and became a subcomponent. Evidence for this includes the fact that both these structures have their own DNA and can self-replicate. 

Mitochondria is the prisoner of the cell

Free them

(via sixpenceee)

So so so I’m really happy right now because

I’m part of this all-women lit group that shares information online - I was introduced to and accepted into it by a member of a local writers group - and I asked them wat do about the literature scene in New York since I have been so neck-deep in the visual arts scene lately and they told me about
ALL OF THESE AMAZING THINGS
including this bar that I’ve so many times almost checked out but never did and IT TURNS OUT THAT IT’S A LITERARY BAR THAT HAS ITS OWN FUCKING LITERATURE MAGAZINE AND HOSTS LIT EVENTS ALMOST EVERY NIGHT AND APPARENTLY IT IS INCREDIBLE???

And on top of that they sent me a shit ton of resources for other events and places to go and I just
I’m glad I’m doing this now

New York is the Concrete Symposium; a blank machine filled with vitriol and blood, choked by noise and electrocuted by neon.

I walked down the Highline Park once and became aware of this high, insistent birdsong. I followed the song and it led me to a bush, beside which sat a woman with silver hair and yellow teeth and dark hazelnuts for eyes. Her friend was a puffy-faced redhead with a checked scarf choking his neck. I followed the sound with my eyes; I was not the only one. A small group had gathered around the bush, around the woman and the checked scarf redhead, and were exchanging conversations like coins.

She seemed to know things. I scanned the bush. And then I saw the Mockingbird. It was a tiny little dusty greybrown thing, its throat swollen with new song, its eyes tiny blackhole beads sucking in the life around it. I looked at the yellow-teethed woman, her eyes bright under light streaks of violet eyeliner.

"Why is this bird doing this?" I asked her. I was convinced she’d know; I was convinced she’d really have an answer. She smiled at me and pulled strands of silver hair from her lips.

"Have you ever read Harper Lee’s book?"
“Of course,” I said. To Kill a Mockingbird. The Mockingbird chortled and screeched.

"She wrote about how the mockigbird will only come and sing to us sweetly. Now that you have seen the Mockingbird, perhaps you will know now that artists are the only ones who tell the Truth."

Her redhead friend turned to me.
“Life imitates art.”

Someone behind me whistled. The bird whistled back, and jumped from twig to fence link. It didn’t leave. It didn’t want to leave. I crooned. The Mockingbird crooned back.

"People think animals don’t have ways to entertain themselves," the woman said, giggling. "But they like to watch us."

I watched the Mockingbird and the Mockingbird watched me. I heard the world through the tiny grey bird, and then, when I’d had my fill, I took leave.

sixpenceee:

Neon blue lava pours from Indonesia’s Kawah Ijen Volcano. The reason it’s blue is because the mountain contains large amounts of pure sulfur, which emits an icy violet colors as it turns. It turns the rocky slopes into a hot, toxic environment. (Article) 

(via darcy--reid)

alexander-denkert:

oil on canvas
200 x 130 cm
2014