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Tumblr Dancing Bear Video

the mamas \u0026 the papas - dancing bear (slowed)

The smallest things set me off. Just now I could feel all my energy, my motivation draining out of me because of one sentence. I have no right to be mad at them for talking like that.

I should just mind my own business. There are so many things that I remembered today:. I truly do. It has nothing to do with my mum.

My mum has always wanted the best for me. The other one in my family keep putting stones into my way and I have no energy to lift them.

In a few months she will be going too. Nobody knows it. Even if they heard me crying or asked me why I am crying I just brushed it off.

However, how can I tell them. I thought so many times about going to a doctor but I feel like my problems are not serious enough.

I am also scared of what my family will say. At this point I am already done with living and I am really ready to die. I am just breathing because of my mum.

This note just shows how my mind is working in overdrive. I jump from one topic to another. Eventually the children moved out of home and the parents rather than throw the toys and memories away decided to store them in the attic.

Although the doll had been well played with it was still in rather good condition when it was placed in a box and forgotten about. About eleven years later the family were having a clean out of the attic when they stumbled across a rather odd looking doll.

The doll was wrinkled, aged, like that of a very aged person. The arms were stiff and mummified, wrinkles running along their length.

It was when they recognized the clothing and other items in the box that their blood ran cold. It was their daughters doll, once baby faced, it had now aged.

Incredibly it had aged in much the same way a human does, the wrinkles were all in the right areas but it was the eyes that were most haunting, once those of a dolls they now looked human — looking in them they could almost detect a presence, a wisdom… a spirit?

They family got rid of the doll and the new owners soon parted ways with it to a new owner. It is not known where the doll is today or even what it looks like.

There is a bit of debate as to how the doll aged. A few people, doll collectors and the like say that the plastic or organic material had degraded, a kind of rot.

Or maybe there is someone out there retaining their youth and beauty, well past their best before date, as the doll bares the burden of age?

During the early 18th century, with Schools of Anatomy and a thirst to learn more about the workings of the human body on the rise, there was a high demand for fresh human corpses.

With most schools obtaining their corpses from executed criminals or the few people who donated their remains, there was always a need for more.

In the dead of night the snatchers would wander the resting places of the dead, in order to locate fresh graves. Upon finding one, they would spend a large portion of the night digging it up, removing the body, then carting it off to a place where they could exchange it for money.

The Anatomy Schools were more than happy to pay good sums of money to the snatchers, and of course, were always on the look out for more. The authorities caught onto this trade quite early, but turned a blind eye.

It was a necessity for the understanding of our bodies and the training of future medical practitioners. The authorities went as far as to cover up many of the incidences of grave snatching, in order to prevent the public coming to outrage.

Mortsafes were iron cages that would be partially sunk in the ground. They formed a lattice of metal, allowing the grave to be viewed but making it impossible for it to be interfered with, without employing heavy tools.

At times the coffin would be affixed in the cage and buried. Not everyone could afford these measures to protect their loved ones remains, and soon grave watch groups were created.

Members of the community would, in groups, volunteer their time to patrol the resting places of the dead, to catch out the snatchers. Some communities even constructed watch towers in the cemeteries, so a degree view of the cemetery could be monitored from up high.

Some communities pooled their money to buy several safes and iron coffins, to hire out to those who could not afford one outright — the schools were only after fresh corpses, so using a safe to prevent the snatchers coming near for a month or so was sufficient to keep their loved ones remains safe, the decomposition during that time would mean the body was no longer sought after.

With the idea of temporary protection in mind, Mort Houses came to be. These were stone buildings that would hold bodies for a time until they were deemed no longer fresh.

The bodies would then be given their final burial. Although today these measures are no longer needed in most parts of the world, these body securing devices can still be found, relics of that age.

However, not all cemeteries will keep a body safe, as although fresh corpses are generally obtained through legal measures, it is bones that are sometimes sought in places around the world.

Hag stones, also known as Holey Stones or Witch Stones, are stones that have a naturally occurring hole and are usually found near oceans and other bodies of water.

They are said to be powerful protection talismans, and when worn or carried they protect the bearer from curses, hexes, negative spirits, and harm.

They have also been used to prevent nightmares, being strung on a bedpost or placed underneath pillows. Indeed, even his eyebrows tangled with his beard so that his face looked like two brown pennies in the snow.

The man looked after him like he was his papa: he fed him scraps of his own food, he taught him to dance and gyrate in the manner of the women who he often dragged back to his cabin.

He gave him clothing, at first little blue velvet shorts. Then a matching vest with bright brass buttons.

Finally a beret with a gold tassel which swung around his head in circles as he twisted his hips and head to the music. He went to all different towns with his papa.

He saw all different kinds of people and danced for them. This was his favourite thing ever. To dance for people — to see them clap and cheer.

The faces of delight on the little children. He adored them. He loved to run over to the children on his two back feet with his front paws reached up to their waists and hug them.

They loved it too. They kissed him and stroked his fur. Soon he grew so that he could hug the children properly with his paws on their shoulders and not on their waist.

He felt like a little human child himself with his red velvet suit that had replaced the smaller blue one. He felt so loved. They were a team — bringing delight and happiness to children and adults wherever they went.

He often wondered in the hours when his papa was passed out drunk, when he was sprawled out on the fur rug in front of the fire, why he had fur all over his body in places where his papa had not.

He wondered if his papa shaved parts of his body like some of the other papas in the towns had shaved their faces. Soon the bear grew out of his red velvet suit so his papa gave him a new one yellow one with bells sewn on.

It smelled, not like his papa, but like someone else — someone like him and it had thick black hairs stuck to the inside. He had grown so much that he could now hug the children in the most natural way — picking them off their feet and squeezing them tight — their spindly legs waggling in the air.

While at first they squealed in delight, soon the squealed for other reasons and their parents grew angry. The bear grew very sad.

He loved seeing the delight in the eyes of the children — he was addicted to it — but now he only saw fear. His papa became mean. He would make him sleep outside in the cold chained up to post like his was some kind of animal.

He would kick him and call him names. One day he gave him his favourite food, honey-coated biscuits, and led him through the rain into the forest on a rope.

He tied him to a tree and walked away. The bear called to him. The bear cried. He pleaded and begged, but his papa walked away and left him there.

After a few days of patiently waiting in the rain for his papa to return he got so hungry that he ate the rope.

He tried to follow the scent of his papa. He tried to find the path back to his cabin, to his home, but the rain had wiped all scents and tracks away.

He wandered for days, not sure what else to do. He ate whatever he could find, but it was all horrible compared to his favourite honey-coated biscuits.

He slept in a huddle on the ground and his tears matched the heavy rain that fell upon his back. With no hot fire to keep him warm and no fur rug to soften the ground he did not know what to do.

The young bear wandered through the forest, his head and heart low to the wet ground. He could not tell if he shivered from the cold or the sobbing or the terrible rumbling of his empty stomach.

For weeks he shuffled around the forest. Nothing looked or tasted edible to him.

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