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DIY Aluminium Calligraphy Pen

watering76:

You’ll need tape, scissors, knife, disposable chopsticks, empty aluminium can, stapler and ink.

Calligraphy Pen for Gothic: cut the aluminium into two pieces like above and tape it on chopstick, then Staple the aluminium.

Medium Point Calligraphy Pen: Fold a piece of aluminim, and cut it like picture above. Then tape it on chopstick.

Fine Point Calligraphy Pen: Fold a piece of aluminim, and cut it like picture above. Then tape it on chopstick.

Now enjoy it :)

  

 

Turning straw into pen.

foul-ball:

I’m no angel
Six years ago I traded in alcohol for the power to spot angels on Earth — No joke. 
And before you start thinking I’m some kind of a “goodie goddamn two-shoes”,…I still hit the peace pipe and I’m not at all afraid to jerk-off out of my 2nd story window onto the eager tits of the hydrangeas below.
When I first heard Joy was due to give birth to a book, my first thought was, “I wonder how dilated she is?”
My second thought was, “I wonder what her Bishop Score is?” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bishop_score
It was easy to imagine Joy cherry-picking her most treasured Tumblr pieces from years past, and that alone would have earned a spot on my nightstand.
This morning, I find a package in my garage and instantly know what’s inside. I tear through the packaging and find what I’ve been waiting for — yet it’s not at all what I had expected. Instead of a thick book stuffed with twenty to thirty of Joy’s favorite pieces, it’s thin - really fucking thin. And as I quickly scan the pages, my eyes are shocked by the amount of white on each page, in contrast to the black ink.
I immediately flip to the very beginning and I’m not at all surprised the book is dedicated to Joy’s family and all of you. As my feet hit the front stoop of my house, I breeze through a short ”Introduction” and hit the “Prologue”. It is here,..in the second paragraph,..when I first realize I am holding a treasure in my hands.
The book never made it to my nightstand. It’s on my desk, in my “creative space”, staring back at me,…whispering,..”Keep breathing…….keep loving…..keep learning,……keep creating…”.
Someday - Joy will die - but her heart will forever live in “One Hand”.
I’m no angel, but I know an angel when I see one.
Zoom Info
Camera
iPhone 5
ISO
160
Aperture
f/2.4
Exposure
1/20th
Focal Length
4mm

foul-ball:

I’m no angel

Six years ago I traded in alcohol for the power to spot angels on Earth — No joke. 

And before you start thinking I’m some kind of a “goodie goddamn two-shoes”,…I still hit the peace pipe and I’m not at all afraid to jerk-off out of my 2nd story window onto the eager tits of the hydrangeas below.

When I first heard Joy was due to give birth to a book, my first thought was, “I wonder how dilated she is?”

My second thought was, “I wonder what her Bishop Score is?” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bishop_score

It was easy to imagine Joy cherry-picking her most treasured Tumblr pieces from years past, and that alone would have earned a spot on my nightstand.

This morning, I find a package in my garage and instantly know what’s inside. I tear through the packaging and find what I’ve been waiting for — yet it’s not at all what I had expected. Instead of a thick book stuffed with twenty to thirty of Joy’s favorite pieces, it’s thin - really fucking thin. And as I quickly scan the pages, my eyes are shocked by the amount of white on each page, in contrast to the black ink.

I immediately flip to the very beginning and I’m not at all surprised the book is dedicated to Joy’s family and all of you. As my feet hit the front stoop of my house, I breeze through a short ”Introduction” and hit the “Prologue”. It is here,..in the second paragraph,..when I first realize I am holding a treasure in my hands.

The book never made it to my nightstand. It’s on my desk, in my “creative space”, staring back at me,…whispering,..”Keep breathing…….keep loving…..keep learning,……keep creating…”.

Someday - Joy will die - but her heart will forever live in “One Hand”.

I’m no angel, but I know an angel when I see one.

I


I am at the grocery store with my friends heading towards the alcohol section. While they get a beer for themselves I grab three. And a bottle of cheap liquor (to make sure I won’t be sober until the sun rises up again). I feel their concerned looks on me as I examine bottle after bottle to find the one with the highest alcohol content. Halfway out the store, I open the beer and empty half of it with one gulp. “It’s only 5pm,” I hear somebody mumble. “So?”
I don’t want to be that girl, but


II


Five weeks ago I got drunk on tequila at an electronic music festival. After twenty minutes of dancing, I went to the nearest supermarket and lifted six plastic bottles of beer.
Later that night, I sat in a stranger’s room drinking the wine he offered me while he told me he studied music and played stuff in his guitar. He said: “Boys are assholes and I don’t want to use you,” but I still ended up in his bed, eventually giving him head. The morning after, I got dressed while he was still asleep. I thought about him on the train ride home. When I arrived, I went straight to the bathroom and threw up.
I don’t want to be that girl, but


III


Two weeks ago, I lay on a couch in a small, dirty bedroom filled with smoke and a bunch of boys who were too stoned to move. I sipped on my second glass of vodka when one of them asked what I wanted to do in the future. I told him: “Write.” and he said I should go for it because he still remembered the stories I wrote in elementary school. “You’re talented.” “Thanks,” I replied quietly with a timid but seductive smile on my lips. He told me I was really pretty and I accidentally pushed up my short black dress a litte too far.
I don’t want to be that girl, but


IV


The last time I got blackout drunk, I woke up hungover with spray paint in my hair and bruises on my cheeks. When I opened my notebook I found three of the 1€ razor blades I bought at the drug store covered in blood and a note that said: “I hope he never puts his hands on me again.”
I don’t want to be that girl, but


V


I love the way liqour burns my throat and sets a poisonous fire in my bloodstream. I love the way it hurts me. Hurt me. I want to feel flames consuming my insides instead of nothingness and insomnia and stomach acid.
I don’t want to be that girl, but neither do I want to be myself.

Why people still refer to me as “that girl”, by sprachkunst (via sprachkunst)

I bet you got bored
of the sane girls

who slept at 10pm
and had three meals a day

and I bet you got bored
of the sane girls

who had a happy childhood
and a genuine smile

and maybe that would explain
how someone like you
got with someone like me

because you were looking
for a sad girl with a grey soul
and a broken heart
weren’t you?

you were looking
for a girl who could
forget to sleep or eat
for three days straight

simply because she was too
scared of her own damn mind
and all the demons living in it

but people aren’t toys
you can play with and put down
when you are bored

and I’ll tell you a thing
you probably do not know
about sad girls with grey souls
and broken hearts:

once you tell them
you love them
at 3am
while they are smoking
cigarette after cigarette

your words get stuck
in their lungs
like the smoke they inhale
and they invade their blood

like a poison

and just like that,
you become part of them,
part of their infinite sadness
forever or

until the last drop of
the very same blood
you invaded with your
sweet sweet words

flows out of their
lifeless body

I bet I scared you off
with these words

and I bet
you already miss
the sane girls.

Sad girls with grey souls and broken hearts, goldenkintsugi (via goldenkintsugi)

"He’s not mine," she said. "And I don’t think he ever will be."

"And maybe that’s a good thing because things are never how you imagine and having expectations only ever sets you up for disappointment."

"But I can’t help but wonder what lying in his arms would be like," she told the sky, "I can’t help but imagine being close enough to feel his breath on mine and his skin on my skin."

She closed her eyes and felt the wind run it’s fingers through her hair, and imagined he was beside her.

"He’s going to kill me you know," she whispered to the moon,"he’s going to commit murder and the worst part is he won’t even know it."

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #43 (via blossomfully)

1) A boy telling you you’re pretty won’t make you see the beauty in the fullness of your cheeks, in redness of your lips at 2 in the morning when tequila is making the bar bathroom spin. He can’t take away the ugliness that you see in yourself, you have to do that.

2) You have to be ready to hear someone say they love you. You have to be ready, and you have to be willing, and you have to listen. Because sometimes, they won’t say those three words, they’ll put a blanket over you while you’re watching a movie, they’ll kiss your cheek when they think you’re asleep, they’ll smile when they see you first thing in the morning. But you, you have to be willing to see it, feel it, let it in. Letting someone love you takes practice.

3) Don’t make compromises you can’t live with. Compromise is a different version of what you want, not a whole other Universe.

4) Learn to say no. No - to a movie you don’t want to watch; no - to sex you don’t want to have, no- to a relationship that’s driving you mad. Say no - to things that hurt you, to people that extinguish your fire, to jobs you hate and places that are desolate. There are bad things that we can’t control, bad things that happen and we are sucked into and have to feel with every fibre of our being, but the rest - learn to distance yourself, learn to say no.

5) Don’t expect people to walk through fire for you - not your parents, not your friends, not the person you’re in love with. Love doesn’t mean sacrifice, love shouldn’t mean sacrifice. Don’t expect someone to give away pieces of them, so they could fit you better. And don’t feel hurt when they refuse to - it’s self-preservation. Instead - learn from them. Do it as well.

6) Don’t tether yourself to people. Learn to make connections, to love, with both your feet steady on the ground. Learn to let people pass through your life; like a summer breeze, not a storm that’s just been unleashed.

7) Learn the difference between growth and growing up before it’s too late. Rooftops and water fights and ice cream for breakfast can be a part of your life at 10, 25, or 35. But by the time you’re 35 you need to learn to say enough, to be able to walk away, you need to be able to love yourself. Love yourself the way you loved yourself at 10, before the world had a chance to fill your head with ugliness.

m.v., The list of things I learned before turning 22, pt.1. (via findingwordsforthoughts)

Levels of Tumblr.

potterwholockedd:

constantine-spiritworker:

helioscentrifuge:

1 follower = egg

10-40 followers = hatchling

50-99 followers = baby dragon

100-349 followers = dragon

350-500 followers = still a dragon

501-799 followers =  mega dragon

800- 4,999 followers = super hella dragon

5000+ followers = UNHOLY OFFSPRING OF LIGHTNING AND DEATH 

These are the legit numbers.

sUPER HELLA DRAGON YES

unholy offspring of lightning and death did you mean night fury

(Source: toucher)

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