4d printing is not a thing we cannot access dimensions higher than the third
The 4th dimension is time. Here, an object is printed in 3 dimensions but is constructed so that the stresses and strains in the material that occur when interacting with some environment it is in (such as water), will cause it to move in a predicted way. So it is 4D printed. This isn’t the only research group studying this. It is what it has been called for a few years now.
I took the longest time to say the word. Even longer to put my name in front of it. When I first caught grasp of what it meant to me, I’d mouth it ever so slowly, never letting the sound of it escape my lips for fear I might actually hear it. When I mustered up the courage to whisper it, I hated the way it sounded; it seemed so dirty, filthy, unnatural.
It’s the first word I’m teaching my kids to say. Not mum, not mommy. Lesbian.
One rainy day, I was wrestling my conscience in front of the bathroom mirror and I couldn’t contain myself. Index finger pointed at the center of my reflection’s accusatory nose I roared, “Lesbian!” The argument was over. I smiled. It fit. I said it again and again. By the end of the day, I was Samira, a lesbian. The rainbow was in plain sight.
…I am a woman, a lesbian, and an Indian — three wonderful minorities that have, over the years, created a strong personality I am proud to call my own.
Before I moved to the United States, I lived in Chennai, India, for 23 years. I’ve never been in the closet. Well, not really. I’ve always been butch — short hair, boys’ clothes, a gentleman’s manner, and of course, a way with the ladies. But in India, not being in the closet doesn’t necessarily mean being out of it. As long as you keep the tongue tied and let the blind ignore the obvious, being a lesbian is a piece of cake. But it wasn’t so much about being gay as it was about being different.
It was a daily routine of playing the tomboy for my family until it got so old everybody knew I wasn’t growing out of it. It was time to talk. But silence was all I ever heard. I ended every sentence just as soon as I put the words together.
I must’ve been about 18 when a cop cornered me at the end of the street. To him I was a young boy with an attitude problem. I had it coming. Let’s just say what happened next wasn’t pleasant and I didn’t leave the scene unscarred.
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t tell my parents. I didn’t tell anyone.
I moved to the U.S. a few years later. I wasn’t trying to escape; I’d learned to live with my life and I did a pretty decent job of it. I took to the stage. I sang. I wrote poetry, stories and plays. I had a job. I did well for myself. I didn’t know what I was missing.
When I came to Tampa, all I could say was, “I am gay.” I still couldn’t stomach the word lesbian. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I liked being gay. I was okay with it, proud even. But I couldn’t talk about it. Not with my roommates, not with my Indian friends.
I haven’t met another gay Indian woman in Tampa. I wonder where they are, sometimes if they are. As the self-proclaimed, stand-alone Indian lesbian in the area, I have taken it upon myself to educate the rest of the Indian population in Tampa about the LGBT community as best I can.
…I love being a true Indian, one who can embrace the honesty of an inclusive culture. But it isn’t the only culture I’m a part of. After years of contemplation and trying to marry the two, I now wear both flags with pride.
Three and a half years later and I am an obnoxious lesbian. The stage knows it. My audience knows it. My pen knows it. Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube know it.
The world knows it.
As for my family in Chennai, some conversations are just easier with strangers.”
—Samira Obeid, “Dykotomy: growing up lesbian in India.” [x]
Trump, as I know you know, is trying his damnedest to take away a lot of people’s civil and human rights. His supporters necessarily support this -either because they actively hate us, or because whatever “non hateful” reason they have to support Trump is more important to them than the fact he is, as I said, trying to take away a lot of people’s rights.
So, when we see that we’ve been sharing the work of a Trump supporter, we want to know about it so we can stop. We don’t want to contribute to Trump supporters getting attention or getting paid for their art, no matter what the art consists of, because the person who made it either wants us dead/deported/fired or kicked out of our house for being trans/etc, or doesn’t care that they’re helping that shit happen. (And the distinction between those two things matters a lot less than you likely think.)
I just messaged the artist on his Instagram. This is NOT him.
Please spread this version. If he had a Twitter he would cross promo his Instagram. At least for the exposure.
some Lucky, your friendly horsehair-worm-infested zombie postman pal! they’ll deliver wasteland mail in record time, and their parasitic worms only misbehave occasionally (they’re very well trained).
sleepliving 