The seconds right after waking, I become aware of the room temperature. Too warm. My eyes are dry from the fan’s drone. I recall my dreams, crumpled tissue paper memories dissolving with the passing minutes. Brush the hair from my forehead, wind myself more snugly under the blue cotton sheets. I am not ready to start the day. Retreat into a fantasy of comfort, affection. Silence the alarm.
"Normality is a paved road. It is comfortable to walk but no flowers grow on it."
Vincent van Gogh (via aussieteen)
rough sketch, please ignore the terrible scanning. I’ll do something about it some other time
ambedo n. a kind of melacholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—which leads to a dawning awareness of the haunting fragility of life
Atheism is Okay
Christianity is okay
Judging someone based on their beliefs and support system (Whether it’s God or science or a Flying Spaghetti Monster) is NOT okay
J.K Rowling added this to the series.
i can’t feel anymore
Neither can Fred.
In Berlin, after World War II, money was short, supplies were tight, and it seemed like everyone was hungry. At that time, people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favor: could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed.
She started out to deliver the message, when she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She was, naturally, suspicious, so she went to the police.
When the police paid a visit to the address on the envelope, they made a gruesome discovery, three butchers had been harvesting human flesh and selling it to the starving people.
And what was in the envelope the man gave to the woman? A note, saying simply “This is the last one I am sending you today.”
[made rebloggable by request]
read like a motherfucker. don’t learn from your betters, just inhale them. imprint rhythms and chokeholds and things-that-shoot-up-your-spine into your fingertips. read how romance novels create characters so vivid you want to fuck them and have them be fucked. read brutal minimalism and extravagant prose. read children’s books to remember about wonder and post-modernists to remember about freedom. read because at some point you will be so full with the consumption of language you will need to start pouring it back out again.
write like an asshole. write things when you’ve stayed up so late you are delirious. write when you’re drunk. write when a song has made you feel catastrophic. write when you’re famished. write when you’re spitting mad. write so you don’t curl up in the bottom of a shower and sob. write when people have torn strips off you. write when you’re high on adrenaline. write because there’s a monster on your back and you need to make it real and separate from your soul. eventually, you will not need any of these props to make you brave enough.
seriously. that’s it.
"All the elements in your body were forged many, many, many millions of years ago in the heart of a far away star that exploded and died. That explosion scattered those elements across the desolations of deep space after so, so many millions of years, these elements came together to form new stars and new planets and on, and on it went. The elements came together and burst apart, forming shoes, and ships, and sealing wax, and cabbages, and kings, until eventually, they came together to make you. You are unique in the universe. There is only one Merry Galel, and there will never be another. Getting rid of that existence isn’t just sacrifice, it is a waste."
Doctor Who- The Rings of Akhenaten
“We teach ourselves how to cure razor burn with honey and oil, and how to curl our lashes using safety pins, and how to fling curses and other big girl words into the sand of Jones Beach like an apology; We lick the back of our teeth and our tongues catch on the cracks from lost enamel because our older sisters taught us that the toilet can be our best friend if we want it too. We ignore the silver scars on our fingers. We ignore the burn in our throats. We ignore Lisa who isn’t like us because she’s diagnosed and she’s in the hospital now. We pretend we are women. We tell fraternity boys we are sophomores at NYU and Columbia and they eye the shorts our mothers said we couldn’t buy and smirk with canine teeth. When they kiss us, they pretend we aren’t lying, and we do the same. There are bonfires that sputter and bikinis that stretch too tight and the weekend we spent at Jane’s summer house in Montauk, our legs so long we seemed impossible. There is the afternoon at the pool where we poured vodka into our water bottles and tanned drunk. There are morning afters and the taste of Advil on hung-over tongues. Our mothers have doe eyes and our fathers sigh when we ask for money for tank tops and sterling silver belly rings and nail polish, and it is a summer of firsts. The first time we examine the geometry of our bodies, the first time we lick the salt off a shot glass, the first time we bite our lips and say ‘I am in love’, in the confident lilt that all unsure people have. We did not love those boys, we did not love the heat, the skirts, the air, the city. We loved the girls we thought we were, and at 16, that, that was okay.”
silence after the storm
survivors hesitantly creep out from their corners of refuge and survey the aftermath of the mishapocalypse. above the echoes of poor photoshop and that uncomfortable (but dashingly handsome) stare, the stream of hipster posts merrily bubbles to the surface once more. fandoms are eagerly regaining the dash, hoping to cultivate a stronger united force of allies, in preparation for the next time. oh yes, the long awaited empty herse of sherlock has not yet driven through. for now, the mishas have reached their post limits, as the storm washes over. blown out, but not forgotten; next time, we will be ready. a new era has begun
So, guys, this was my college application essay
I am an eclectic collection of thoughts and feelings derived from no singular source. I was once an entirely blank person, a paper child without any color, and stroke by stroke I became real.
Brilliant people of this world, and the ungovernable forces of the world itself taught me every beautiful thought running through my colorful mind. Writer’s fictions, and artist’s palettes revealed azure joy in me through their creativity. My instructors taught me the sulfureous anger of mankind through wars long since passed.Through my father’s aneurism, the world showed me proper navigation through the stygian void of loss, and sanguine love through my mother’s ceaseless compassion.
It is because of these happenstances that I am not the product of any isolated source; I am my mother, my father, my favorite authors, and my brother. I am my angels and my devils. I am my teachers, my best friends, and the monsters under my bed. And I am so much more than that.
I don’t know if I will ever have that one defining experience which could show who I am in a singular telling, and I don’t know who I will become in later years, but I do know that there will always be more to influence me—more sights, more experiences, more sounds, more writings, more discoveries, more loves, and more people. I am a multifaceted creature, and I will continue to be one throughout my life. I will experience more, learn more, and become more than the sum of my years.