Twist's Corner...

Mucking about in the mire

722 notes

jhonenv:

Brilliant.  I’m not one of those people that goes around saying I hate kids just because it gives me a cool misanthropic coat of barbs.  I go around saying I hate any kids that aren’t like these kids.

thedailywhat:

Awesomeness Runs In The Family of the Day: Video artist Dicken Schrader rubs his sensational child-rearing skills in all our faces by enlisting the help of his kickass kids Milah and Korben in covering Depeche Mode’s “Everything Counts.”

[dpaf.]

If @crazyjane and @firewuff were musicians I’d not be surprised to see the girls doing this.

3,380 notes

inspector-radio: benedictators: arielpauly: mynameisgrey: iggymarauder: nadzo3: пересматривала сегодня наш “Приключения Шерлока Холмса и Доктора Ватсона”. Момент где, Ватсон играл на скрипке. It took a while. It really did. But John wouldn’t, refused, physically could not just leave Baker Street. So he spent a few nights with Harry, of all people, and then returned to the flat. Mrs. Hudson wasn’t in; it was just as well, because John really didn’t feel like talking to her, or anyone really. Not now. He carefully, slowly, made his way up the stairs - seventeen, exactly - and into the flat. Everything was as it had been when they had been arrested. All of Sherlock’s possessions sat, untouched. His computer was still open, but John didn’t feel like snooping around. He had the nagging thought that he never would. His throat was closing, tears stinging in the back of his eyes and the tip of his nose getting that peculiar tingly feeling it had whenever he began to cry. Blinking and taking deep breaths, he surveyed the room again, unsure of what to do. His eyes fell upon Sherlock’s violin. It sat, leaning to one side, in Sherlock’s chair. The bow sat with it. Together, placed as such, it looked like Sherlock as a violin, one hand under his chin as he scowled into the nothingness, lost in his own mind. A small, hysterical laugh bubbled in his throat and died in his mouth. John fancied it decomposed on his tongue. Or perhaps that was the faint taste of bile as he tried not to vomit from all of this emotional and mental upheaval. Without thinking about it, he stepped forward and gently picked up the instrument. It was light, making John feel as if it were fragile, made of thin, brittle glass - which was completely untrue, considering the number of times Sherlock would throw it down in frustration onto his chair and whip the bow about as if it were a sword he was threatening his brother someone with. John stared at it. It didn’t bite him, it didn’t make some snarky, deep-voiced remark, and it certainly didn’t bring the owner of the snarky and deep voice back. But it did, however strangely, make him feel better. Comforted. He gingerly settled it between his left shoulder and chin, as he had seen Sherlock do so many times. His scar gave a dull twinge at the unfamiliar position, but John ignored it. He picked up the bow, placed it on the strings, and then thought better of it and, in a flurry of fiery determination, searched for the rosin. Once found, he carefully stroked the horse hair over it, mimicking Sherlock. He refused to break this by being idiotic. Once he had put what he felt was a sufficient, and then some, amount of rosin on the hairs, he returned to his previous position. He took a breath, and then gave a slow, sweeping stroke across the violin. It didn’t sound half bad, but he knew the instant he tried to press the strings for other notes, he would sound horrendous. But that didn’t deter him. And so, he spent his hours, long into the night, playing the violin - violating it, making atrocious noises, but refusing to give up. Or even stop. Mrs. Hudson gave up after fifteen minutes of trying to get his attention, and eventually came back with a small meal that went unnoticed. It took two days of almost non-stop playing to sound somewhat decent. It took five months to sound like an amateur. And it took three years to compose his first, and only, piece, simply titled, To Love. /SCREAMS THIS IS WONDERFUL artist is russian cue awkward pride Abloo ;;w;; My heart

inspector-radio:

benedictators:

arielpauly:

mynameisgrey:

iggymarauder:

nadzo3:

пересматривала сегодня наш “Приключения Шерлока Холмса и Доктора Ватсона”. Момент где, Ватсон играл на скрипке.

It took a while. It really did.

But John wouldn’t, refused, physically could not just leave Baker Street.

So he spent a few nights with Harry, of all people, and then returned to the flat.

Mrs. Hudson wasn’t in; it was just as well, because John really didn’t feel like talking to her, or anyone really. Not now.

He carefully, slowly, made his way up the stairs - seventeen, exactly - and into the flat.

Everything was as it had been when they had been arrested.

All of Sherlock’s possessions sat, untouched. His computer was still open, but John didn’t feel like snooping around. He had the nagging thought that he never would.

His throat was closing, tears stinging in the back of his eyes and the tip of his nose getting that peculiar tingly feeling it had whenever he began to cry.

Blinking and taking deep breaths, he surveyed the room again, unsure of what to do.

His eyes fell upon Sherlock’s violin.

It sat, leaning to one side, in Sherlock’s chair. The bow sat with it. Together, placed as such, it looked like Sherlock as a violin, one hand under his chin as he scowled into the nothingness, lost in his own mind. A small, hysterical laugh bubbled in his throat and died in his mouth.

John fancied it decomposed on his tongue. Or perhaps that was the faint taste of bile as he tried not to vomit from all of this emotional and mental upheaval.

Without thinking about it, he stepped forward and gently picked up the instrument. It was light, making John feel as if it were fragile, made of thin, brittle glass - which was completely untrue, considering the number of times Sherlock would throw it down in frustration onto his chair and whip the bow about as if it were a sword he was threatening his brother someone with.

John stared at it. It didn’t bite him, it didn’t make some snarky, deep-voiced remark, and it certainly didn’t bring the owner of the snarky and deep voice back. But it did, however strangely, make him feel better. Comforted.

He gingerly settled it between his left shoulder and chin, as he had seen Sherlock do so many times. His scar gave a dull twinge at the unfamiliar position, but John ignored it.

He picked up the bow, placed it on the strings, and then thought better of it and, in a flurry of fiery determination, searched for the rosin. Once found, he carefully stroked the horse hair over it, mimicking Sherlock. He refused to break this by being idiotic.

Once he had put what he felt was a sufficient, and then some, amount of rosin on the hairs, he returned to his previous position.

He took a breath, and then gave a slow, sweeping stroke across the violin.

It didn’t sound half bad, but he knew the instant he tried to press the strings for other notes, he would sound horrendous.

But that didn’t deter him.

And so, he spent his hours, long into the night, playing the violin - violating it, making atrocious noises, but refusing to give up. Or even stop. Mrs. Hudson gave up after fifteen minutes of trying to get his attention, and eventually came back with a small meal that went unnoticed.

It took two days of almost non-stop playing to sound somewhat decent.

It took five months to sound like an amateur.

And it took three years to compose his first, and only, piece, simply titled, To Love.

/SCREAMS

THIS IS WONDERFUL

artist is russian

cue awkward pride

Abloo ;;w;; My heart

(via brokenheartedfestivities)

328 notes

neil-gaiman:

Leaving aside the usual business of missing my wife, I wish I’d been in Auckland NZ last night. Amanda bumped into Richard O’Brien in a juice bar on the morning of the Dresden Dolls show, and well, she’s Amanda, so things sort of happened.

Like, this.

Ooookay, I wish I was there for this…


22 notes

vsatone: svetlania: I think this applies to many other fields, actually. RAISE YOUR HAND IF YOU AGREE. I have had this very thought many times. Especially when I’m working at 3 AM and my cat is snoring right by me. HAhahah yes.

vsatone:

svetlania:

I think this applies to many other fields, actually. RAISE YOUR HAND IF YOU AGREE.

I have had this very thought many times. Especially when I’m working at 3 AM and my cat is snoring right by me.

HAhahah yes.

(via michaelk42)

3,802 notes

nok-ind:  World’s languages traced back to single African mother tongue: scientists. New Zealand researchers have traced every human language — from English to Mandarin — back to an ancestral language spoken in Africa 50,000 to 70,000 years ago. Scientists say they have traced the world’s 6,000 modern languages — from English to Mandarin — back to a single “mother tongue,” an ancestral language spoken in Africa 50,000 to 70,000 years ago. New research, published in the journal Science, suggests this single ancient language resulted in human civilization — a Diaspora — as well as advances in art and hunting tool technology, and laid the groundwork for all the world’s cultures. The research, by Quentin Atkinson from the University of Auckland in New Zealand, also found that speech evolved far earlier than previously thought. And the findings implied, though did not prove, that modern language originated only once, an issue of controversy among linguists, according to the New York Times. Before Atkinson came up with the evidence for a single African origin of language, some scientists had argued that language evolved independently in different parts of the world. Atkinson found that the first populations migrating from Africa laid the groundwork for all the world’s cultures by taking their single language with them. “It was the catalyst that spurred the human expansion that we all are a product of,” Atkinson said, the Wall Street Journal reported. Atkinson traced the number distinct sounds, or phonemes — consonants, vowels and tones — in 504 world languages, finding compelling evidence that they can be traced back to a long-forgotten dialect spoken by our Stone Age ancestors, according to the Daily Mail. Atkinson also hypothesized that languages with the most sounds would be the oldest, while those spoken by smaller breakaway groups would utilize fewer sounds as variation and complexity diminished. The study found that some of the click-using languages of Africa have more than 100 phonemes, or sounds, whereas Hawaiian, toward the far end of the human migration route out of Africa, has only 13, the Times reported. English has about 45 phonemes. The phoneme pattern mirrors the pattern of human genetic diversity as humans spread across the globe from sub-Saharan Africa around 70,000 years ago. Source: http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/news/business-tech/science/110415/language-science-linguistics-mother-tongue-english-chinese-mandarin-africa Very very cool

nok-ind:

 World’s languages traced back to single African mother tongue: scientists.

New Zealand researchers have traced every human language — from English to Mandarin — back to an ancestral language spoken in Africa 50,000 to 70,000 years ago.

Scientists say they have traced the world’s 6,000 modern languages — from English to Mandarin — back to a single “mother tongue,” an ancestral language spoken in Africa 50,000 to 70,000 years ago.

New research, published in the journal Science, suggests this single ancient language resulted in human civilization — a Diaspora — as well as advances in art and hunting tool technology, and laid the groundwork for all the world’s cultures.

The research, by Quentin Atkinson from the University of Auckland in New Zealand, also found that speech evolved far earlier than previously thought. And the findings implied, though did not prove, that modern language originated only once, an issue of controversy among linguists, according to the New York Times.

Before Atkinson came up with the evidence for a single African origin of language, some scientists had argued that language evolved independently in different parts of the world.

Atkinson found that the first populations migrating from Africa laid the groundwork for all the world’s cultures by taking their single language with them. “It was the catalyst that spurred the human expansion that we all are a product of,” Atkinson said, the Wall Street Journal reported.

Atkinson traced the number distinct sounds, or phonemes — consonants, vowels and tones — in 504 world languages, finding compelling evidence that they can be traced back to a long-forgotten dialect spoken by our Stone Age ancestors, according to the Daily Mail.

Atkinson also hypothesized that languages with the most sounds would be the oldest, while those spoken by smaller breakaway groups would utilize fewer sounds as variation and complexity diminished.

The study found that some of the click-using languages of Africa have more than 100 phonemes, or sounds, whereas Hawaiian, toward the far end of the human migration route out of Africa, has only 13, the Times reported. English has about 45 phonemes.

The phoneme pattern mirrors the pattern of human genetic diversity as humans spread across the globe from sub-Saharan Africa around 70,000 years ago.

Source: http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/news/business-tech/science/110415/language-science-linguistics-mother-tongue-english-chinese-mandarin-africa

Very very cool

(via theaunties)