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Delusional Existentialist Electric



To harvest silk from a Golden Orb Weaver (Nephila edulis), the Oxford Silk Group sedates a spider with carbon dioxide gas and pins it down harmlessly. A technician extracts silk from the spinnerets with tweezers and glues the thread to a motorized spool. Once fired up, the motor can draw out  30-80 meters of silk in one session.

In case you’re worried, the spider is fine afterward. Read more at the source.

(via freshphotons)




endangered hawaiian green sea turtle (or honu in hawaiian) swimming under breaking waves. the sea turtles come into the shallow waters to eat seaweed off of the reef and are very skilled at being just the right distance away from the dangers of the crahsing waves. photos by clark little

I love watching documentaries on them.

Clark Little’s the best 

(via hernamewastruth)



you’re hired

free this pig from bourgeois wage slavery

capitalist swine

(Source: awwww-cute, via hernamewastruth)


@cafe_r_st4s getting a little surf action in on his Ducati ST4S. Sweet capture! Tag #croig for a chance to get featured or email them directly to us at!

#ducati #st4s #surf #stunt #motorcycle #croig #caferacersofinstagram #caferacer #inspiration #aesthetics #design #art by caferacersofinstagram

(via tigercatt)

(Source: dontcallmebetty)

(Source: czechthecount, via beautifulmoto)

Smoking crows, they read Edgar Allan Poe too.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -

Only this, and nothing more.’

Upon which I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -

Perched, and smoked, and said nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to smoking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -

On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -

Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!’

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -

`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’

`Smoketh` the raven said, `Nevermore.’

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies smoking on the floor

Shall be lifted - nevermore!

(Source: cruces, via beautifulmoto)