Movement - Tumblr Posts

love will lead you there 🫶🏾

Friday. everyday.

with love,

B 🫀

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Strandbeests: Wind Walking Machines

Like a small god, Dutch kinetic sculptor Theo Jansen has spent the last twenty years creating wind-powered machines called “Strandbeests.” Most at home on damp stretches of beach, these stunning constructions amble across their habitat with unnervingly life-like dexterity. They are intricately built from piping, wood, and wing-like sails, and genetic algorithms are used to organise the steps of their many spindly legs. Fascinatingly, their legs are engineered so that smaller tubes are slotted within larger ones, creating “muscles” that can lengthen while walking to help the body balance. Strandbeests have evolved from rudimentary “species” to more sophisticated ones equipped to deal with their three main predators: dry sand, the sea, and storms. Jansen has given them the ability to store air pressure by capturing wind in their wings and pumping it into old lemonade bottles, so if the wind drops, the creatures can still move—perhaps to save their lives by moving clear of a rising tide. They also have primitive brains: binary step counters that tell the creature its location in its simple world of sand and dunes. Some species also have feelers that can detect both water or dry sand, which immediately kicks the strandbeest into preservation mode, making it instinctively stop and walk the opposite way. Some strandbeests can even sense when a storm is coming, and anchor themselves to the ground to survive. Eventually, Jansen hopes that herds of his breathtakingly life-like creatures can roam coastlines independent of human supervision.

Theo Jansen’s TED Talk

(Image Credit)

"As if alerted by some outside force, they all simultaneously stood and readied themselves to leave, regardless of all other happenings."

Anonymous

"They are soundless apparitions that speak to me, with looks and gestures silently, without any word."

Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front

A train of thought I've been having recently is that dating should be the only social form that can be exclusionary.

This was brought up in my mind when I saw a bunch of morons arguing that cis lesbians were transphobic because they prefer vagina. Not to say that their aren't trans lesbians but it is the opposite of progression to force a body part onto someone that they don't prefer just to feel included. You should know this especially that your comfort is not worth someone autonomy. That's literally the entire point of the LGBTQ+ movement.

Another plight of lesbians is the corrective rape "kink" of lesbians.

"turning them back": lesbians are two women and believe it or not women are people even if you consider them nonpeople so you think their relationships are incomplete without men. THEY DO NOT THINK ABOUT YOU. Their love is not a rebellion to you and it isn't a bruise to your ego, redirect your attention to actually making love a safe space for straight and stop chasing a rape fantasy of getting something someone doesn't want to give you.

Not to mention the men who pride themselves on "pulling" a lesbian.

Sexualities fluctuate so if a "lesbian" got with you then decided she was interested in you that makes her bisexual or someone who probably doesn't see sexuality as a limit and that's HER choice not something to have sick fantasies about.

Inexcusable behavior and sick ideas doesn't get a free pass if you put the word kink next to it..

A lot of men have this egotistical notion that women are lesbians because they haven't found the right penis.. how dumb do you have to be to think that?

Women are lesbians because THEY THINK ABOUT PUSSY NOT PENIS.

Lesbians also don't have a factory setting that makes them straight. Some were born gay,some developed that preference over time and none look back to that. They don't identify with a male loving idea anymore.

UGHH!!!

movement — a.h.b.

cw: nothing i can think of for this one (apart from the usual fluff)

“you’re really bad at sneaking, you know?” his voice makes me jump. i push away from the doorframe, stand up straighter, and curse under my breath. 

he’s on the floor, starfished, face up at the ceiling with his eyes closed. his face looks so soft and tranquil, so relaxed that for a moment there i was sure he’d fallen asleep, nodded off while thinking like he so often does. 

“how d’you know i was sneaking?” i challenge. “maybe i just got here.”

it only takes him a second to click his tongue. “have been smelling your perfume for five minutes now.”

i smile to myself, walk in and stand over him. “and you couldn’t say that five minutes ago? you kept me waiting?” 

without opening his eyes, he shrugs. “kinda like it when you stare at me. especially when you think i can’t tell.”

his face turns from relaxed to smug, the corners of his mouth lifting up. quietly i roll my eyes and stick my tongue out even though he can’t see, and get on the floor next to him. 

the wood digs into my back until i find a comfortable spot, our arms touching, my head tilted towards his. the ceiling is the same plain beige it has always been. i wonder if he sees it differently—the colour and the shadows and the contrast. i wonder if his version is prettier than mine. 

“you’ve been in here for hours. i missed you.”

“it’s been hours?” he raises his brow and finally opens his eyes. “i didn’t realise…”

“did you fall asleep?”

he frowns, tries to look insulted even though we both know it’s likely. “no,” he sighs, “don’t think so at least. i was just…lost in thought. well no that’s not right—if i were lost in thoughts, i would have thought about something. heh, redundant, isn’t it?”

“baby, you’re rambling.” i turn to him, caress his cheek and smooth away the crease between his brow. “something bothering you?” 

the crease i’d worked hard on, reappears. “i don’t know. i feel…i don’t know. i feel…empty?”

“writ—”

“don’t say that word. i don’t have it, that’s not what’s happening!”

his insistence on not using that word—on never using that word—is endearing, and yet i keep it to myself. teasing is not what he needs right now. 

“right, get up!”

“what…?”

“come on,” i insist, tug on his hand, “get up. you need something better. there’s no point in lying there like a dead fish, is there?”

he glares at me and even that lacks conviction. ultimately he gives up, but he makes sure to groan and sigh as loud as possible before standing up. towering over me. 

“hi,” i smile, “there you are.”

“there i am,” he tries to smile. it comes out more as a grimace. 

“play something for us. what were you listening to before?”

he averts his eyes and hedges, a pink tinge taking over his entire face like he’s just come inside from being out in the sun. 

“my own music,” he mumbles. “i wanted to see what people liked about it so much, if i could recreate it.”

“you could bang pots and pans together and still create a masterpiece.”

“you’re biased!”

“and also right,” i retort and try not to melt when he places his arms around me. “those two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know? now,” i step to one side, wait for him to follow my lead. then step to the other. then i throw him a cheesy wink. “make me sway.”

he rolls his eyes but i don’t miss the tenderness that creeps in them, don’t miss the way his grip on me tightens. don’t miss the way he’s suddenly the one leading us, swaying to his own song. his voice is all around us, i rather like it like that. 

“what’s the point of this, can i ask?”

“does there have to be a point?”

for a moment, he’s silent. then he shrugs, twirls me around. “i guess not.” 

“and are you not having fun?”

“dancing to my own song?” he scoffs. “‘s arrogant.”

“and dancing with me?”

that gets at least a tiny smile out of him. it’s enough to make his eyes crinkle, to make his smile lines appear. and for a moment in the sunlit room, i fall for his smile again. 

“that’s lovely,” he picks me up, twirling us together and gently sets me down again. “maybe i should write about that. about you. about how when you move, i’m moved.”

“catchy,” i laugh. “maybe you should. i’d love to be a muse.”

“darling, you are a muse,” he smiles wider, then bends down to kiss me. “my perfect muse.”

buttery warmth spreads through my body, right down to the tip of my toes. “you give me too much credit. all i did was walk in here. and dance. if you want to call swaying at a glacial pace ‘dancing’.”

“and you give yourself too little credit,” he speaks, breathes more like it. if we weren’t standing so close, i wouldn’t have heard him at all. “you’re perfect for simply existing.”

WHEN I SAY I BELIEVE IN 'MOVEMENT' SUPREMACY I'M TALKING ABOUT THIS

Hozier tonight at Lytham Festival

Source: Instagram.com

🔥 Diving into the fantasy realm with this fiery creation! Using AI, I’ve unleashed a spectacle of bright colors and dynamic motion that encapsulates my love for vibrant artistry. The joy of crafting such visuals is truly exhilarating! 🌟 What styles and elements resonate with you in the world of art? Share your favorites below! ✨

humble. and here are a couple of recent sketches that I love for no particular reason

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A Musing Monday 🎐

Today I'm musing on movement vs lack of movement. Right now there's a lot of movement around me, and yet im feeling stuck. Immobile.

One of my partners is on a family vacation, a close friend of mine is moving, another friend started a new job. I know people finishing their book drafts and starting journeys to learn drawing and going back to school and marching up to businesses to ask for jobs.. it's amazing. Its breathtaking. Achingly so.

I feel petrified in comparison. Im having moments of movement- a little inspiration, a flash of bravery, and idea of things that could be. But it feels like an engine that rumbles with the start of something only to immediately fade back to stillness. Sometimes a lack of movement means peace. Not here.

We dont expect that stutter in our protagonists, we dont see it much in books and media. Is it because of the way it itches? The way it reminds us of headaches that keep us from sleeping while also dragging us into feeling sleepy? Perhaps its just not interesting to show someone putting forth surges of effort only for nothing to come of it. Perhaps its too scary. Too reminiscent of the futality we run from.

This musing doesn't have a pretty bow on it, no positive note to soften- but I invite you to ponder on it. How does it sit in your chest? How are you defying it or being defined by it? How would you write about it? How can a protagonist be defined by the way they can't move when they're trying to?

Active babies!!!

Wow, I cannot get to sleep these babies I mean all 3 must be running around inside my belly and its starting to hurt but I think I'm only about 20 weeks along

Rude awakening

Got woken up 5 as the babies were moving, flipping, fighting and kicking non stop, there really active today. May try capture some movement

A picture of my big pregnancy belly, these babies are being very active today!

Here the proof to with the last post, I'm so big!

Can you help me out with a love tap for my friend and client @labarich ? 😍... Help me celebrate how beautiful and strong she is! 💕 ... ... Here she’s working on keeping glutes, abs, and obliques ON as she opens her shoulders and finds a little spinal extension... ... Don’t be fooled by her grace! That bar she’s holding? It’s NOT static - it’s hung on springs so she has to use her strength to keep from falling down to the mat... AND, she’s doing it with a big smile, to boot! 😃. . Tag someone YOU appreciate who does their work with dedication and a beautiful good-natured smile! 😘. .. .. #strongsaturday #strength #pilates #Cadillac #cadillacpilates #balance #beautiful #movement (at Pilates Northwest) https://www.instagram.com/teammona/p/BtG6rEzHels/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=4izkqgv8juaw