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“Two souls are sometimes created together and in love before they’re even born.”

— F. Scott Fitzgerald; The Beautiful and Damned

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“The free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it – basically because you feel good, very good, when you are near or with them”

— Charles Bukowski, Tales of Ordinary Madness

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haunted house? no. haunted person. the house is just collateral.

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i wanna quit everything and doom scroll for eternity

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drinking water when I have a headache should give instant relief. it should go away. what's even the point of drinking water if it can't do that

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It's so weird to see someone who understands fighting games write fiction about people playing them.

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i’m obsessed with how every single person can be stupid in their own special way and infinitely smart in another. simultaneously

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somewhere out there right now is a kid with curly hair being raised by people who have wavy hair at best and those people are giving them 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner and telling them to dry brush it. and that kid is gonna spend all of middle school and high school hating their hair and moping over the flat iron. they're being told right now that if they don't dry-brush their curl pattern into oblivion every morning it means they're unkempt and gross even though they naturally have the kind of ringlets that a thousand bridezillas would commit horrible murders for every june. it's happening right now it's an absolute epidemic and a tragedy every time

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For the longest time I opted on the side of "no coffee, potatoes, etc" in fantasy writing, on the argument that if I was writing a pseudo-european medieval story, featuring elements brought to Europe by colonialism would imply the existence of colonialism, and if I was going to include that kind of elements, I could not just mention them casually, it would have to be a major theme of the story.

Then I scrolled past a post on tumblr specifically about "can you have potatoes in a fantasy setting for no reason" that had pics of Peruvian potato farmers and asked "are you really too much of a coward to not write these people into your stories?" (the tone was probably not that accusative, I paraphrase from my own perspective of this), and something clicked in my head, and this epiphany manifested in my head as Gordon Ramsay yelling

"IT WAS NOT THE FUCKING COLONIALISM THAT INVENTED THE FUCKING POTATO."

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I'm getting better at managing my limerences. Well, it seems the stars align, conditions are ideal, etc. as well.

I'd like to speak of the experience though.

It's like a price tag on a product. The sticky kind.

Except you're the product because something is left on you. You're also the price tag since part of you is torn away. Left behind.

You're both.

Because the third party was a mirage you dedicated to building. Sure, they may be great people in their own respects (idk if that's how u word it) but this ghost attachment is yourrrs alone.

So in the end, as they say. You're limerent over a reflection of yourself. And that's beautiful. It makes the ache beautiful and dull.

I love it. I can breathe.

It used to feel suffocating. It felt so hopeless I still haven't recovered from that fully. I was so afraid it would happen again, and I thought something was wrong with the way I'm wired or something.

Perhaps it is but I don't feel so faulty and shameful about it anymore. Being able to speak through what I'm going through is so liberating. It helps me a ton.

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I'm fine as long as I'm not pursing my lips in to breathe

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I am looking neither respectfully nor disrespectfully. I gaze without recognition of your form, and without understanding.

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I cant believe this tweet is how I find out

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"tumblr humor is only funny to tumblr users" NOT true. those bitches on pinterest love us.

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these are KILLING me

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no animal was harmed during the making of this video. not one. for the few minutes that we were shooting film, the guns of each hunter fell silent. the industrial bolt throwers observed a moment's peace and the jaws of every predator hung softly open. no fish bit any hook and the bait worms held off on drowning only until the cameras stopped. the tails of ruminants ceased to flick just as their attendant flies, in unison, landed on their flanks to catch their tiny breaths. a spider instantly stopped winding silk around a wasp, patiently waiting for the caesura to end. a young veterinarian paused with the syringe in their hand. somewhere, a colicky baby stopped biting its mother's nipple and nursed happily for the very first time. we're sorry. we're sorry it couldn't have been longer. we didn't know this would happen.