Wow. It kind of points out how spoiled we are, who don’t live in a landfill; to create beauty from refuse.

John Green's tumblr: code-red-arthur: festusthehappydragon: darkstoriesofthenorth:...

code-red-arthur:

festusthehappydragon:

darkstoriesofthenorth:

for-one-shining-moment:

subliminal-mind-duck:

John Green’s car breaks down

The Fault in Our Cars

John Green gets locked in a pub

The Fault in Our Bars

John Green writes a strongly…

Ooh! Ooh! John Green writes a critique of George Lucas’ changes to the Star Wars canon

The Fault in Star Wars

Source: subliminal-mind-duck

Hyperbole and a Half: Depression Part Two

I’ve never felt depression like some do. I mean, I’ve been depressed, but I’ve never visited downtown Depression (I just hung out in the suburbs every once in a while). This means I have no point of reference for figuring out ways to get *out* of downtown Depression (or for being able to recognize a good map).

I think, though, that the page I’m linking to may be helpful. If not, it’s at least distracting, which may be helpful for unintended reasons. Helpful or not, it does seem like it might be important, and I like sharing things that might be important.

txchnologist:

by Txchnologist Staff

Our eyes here at Txchnologist are usually firmly set to the horizon, scanning for what the future holds. Sometimes, though, we get a kick out of turning around and seeing what the past’s modern technology looked like and how people back then thought about the future.

Today, we bring you a few good finds from the vault that capture the future machines of the past. Click here to see a few more.

Read More

I love old “World of the Future” pictures, but there is nothing about that walking car that doesn’t creep me out.

Seriously, what does it run on? Nightmare fuel?

wilwheaton:

samaralex:

megsokay:

STOP IT, self-help manatee. I actually just cried because of LAST MONTH.

Thank you, self-help manatee.  I needed that.

This is just beautiful.

The world is a better place thanks to self-help manatee.

Source: sebastianshortcakes

New Novel Project - Mucking the Big Belt (Sample)

Putting this out there. Feel free to let me know what you think.

bing

bing

bing

Declan John rolled over in his bunk, grumbling and covering his head with his pillow.

bing

Gorram it. Lurching upright, he reached under the bunk and pulled out the antique pistol. Energy weapons were more popular these days, but Declan liked the heft, the solidity, of a real gun. Opening the cylinder, he checked to make sure the single round was still loaded. He closed the cylinder and spun it, cocked the hammer, held it to his temple and pulled the trigger.

click

Declan’s body slumped, and he let out a deep sigh before placing the revolver back under the bunk. Then he got up, threw on whatever clothes he could find that didn’t stink, and made his way from his cramped quarters down the cramped passageway to the cramped galley. Coffee in hand, he traversed another cramped passageway, through a cramped hatch into the cramped cockpit. He settled into the pilot’s seat and disabled the autopilot, which had been binging, signalling the proximity of Saturn Station. He was still about twenty thousand kilometres away, but didn’t like leaving the driving to the autopilot when there might be traffic. There was traffic today. A lot of it. Clearance to the Titan colony took twice as long as usual, even though he’d just payed his permits up last week, and the smirking station guard looked like the type who would have kept him waiting even longer if the room full of pilots hadn’t started grumbling. Dec could smell the reluctance coming from the guard as he handed back the paperwork. Dec glared and grunted back which, in hindsight he realized, probably just made the guard that much more smugly satisfied. The approach to the planet was as uneventful as it ever was, including ploughing right through an electrical storm. He figured Titan was still trying to chuck people off. Since it was terraformed, the weather had been terrible. Not much in the way of rain, but no shortage of storms. Dec had to kick the navigation processor three times on the way down to keep it from cutting out, once more than usual. Eventually, though, he made it to the unloading station just in time to wait three more hours while they unloaded the ships that got there before him. At this rate, he wouldn’t make it back to the station until well after midnight.

“Hey, waterboy!” The plant supervisor’s voice rang across the unloading platform. Dec clenched his jaw so hard, he could hear his teeth creak. Without a word, he handed over the paperwork and began hooking up the transfer lines. “How’d a mucker like you end up with a sweet gig like bringing me a drink? Hey, I just had a thought…” “Be nice to it. It’s in a strange place,” Dec muttered under his breath. “…You’re like my waiter or something,” the supervisor continued, “Maybe I should tip you. Nah, the service is so crappy, you should be paying me.” “Tell you what,” Dec growled, “Since I brought you a drink, why don’t I give you something to eat? Like your teeth, maybe.” The supervisor’s forced grin turned into a scowl as he threw the paperwork back at Declan and spun on his heel. Declan finished his unload stifling a smirk of his own. It was nice to get that guy to shut up for once. It also meant he wouldn’t have to ignore the guy while he waited for the half-million litres of water to drain from the tank, which took some time. It was times like this that Dec missed his less frequent but much more lucrative runs into the inner system; to the Mars colonies and the Jupiter stations. People just seemed more polite, and they recognized how important guys like Dec were. Clean water was at a premium throughout the system, even with all of the recycling tech that had been developed. Lots of folks just didn’t like the idea of drinking “reclaimed” water, because they knew where it’d been reclaimed from. They should try flying long-haul from the Big Belt. Dec had nothing but reclaimed water. He couldn’t dip into his shipment in-flight, and wouldn’t even if he could. This stuff was worth more to him than if he were hauling pure platinum. The console in front of him beeped quietly, signalling the tank was totally drained. Another fifteen minutes of unhooking an stowing lines, and twenty waiting to get his paperwork signed to confirm delivery, and he was back in the cockpit and heading for the station in orbit overhead. Landsiders may like what muckers bring down, but they don’t much like muckers hanging around town, even in forsaken outposts like Fisher’s Crater, Titan.

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