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there was a moment when the people in the movie theatre and the capitol audience in the stands were laughing at the same things, having the same reactions to the games, to the deaths, to flickermans jokes, to the doctor's announcement...i wonder aren't we watching it for entertainment too
suzanne collins' books may exist in popular culture as "dystopian", but they have always been a meticulous and startlingly close social critique of our world. at what point does our own idolization of the movies and the books repeat that story? we watch just as the capitol audience does.
all dystopia eventually crosses a line from realistic futurism to current relevancy. how long will it take us to realize we've already crossed that line with these books? and the very people who need to realize this are the ones in that audience...real or fake, we're the same: consuming and consuming.
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i hope for a future with no blown out birthday candles
i'd have everything i've wished for
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“You don’t know what a wild, crazy longing I have, what an ache there is inside me.”
Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin, featured in A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953
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"im sick of haunting myself from within like an old house"
- erica jong
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if we existed in a world without mirrors or cameras
if i had never seen my reflection before
would i recognize my eyes?
what would i see in them?
heartbreak or hope?
grief or regret?
happiness or longing?
what would i see?
what can you see?
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im trying to tell people i love them more.
who am i to cage it within myself, for only me?
i want to let it dance,
let it fill them as it fills me,
who am i to hoard this warmth?
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"grief is just love in a heavy coat"
and regret is just a keychain on the keys you keep losing
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"a woman is not written in braille...you don't have to touch her to know her"
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“I’m not sure which is worse: intense feeling, or the absence of it.”
— Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin
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i trail behind and above myself, watching like a balloon that's only kept in place by the iron grip of the child that still sits in my heart
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i need an alarm clock attached to my heart. it tends to wake up too late.
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i pull my twelve year old self out from under my skin and whisper to her, "be selfish, be proud, be kind.
she pulls out my heart from within hers and whispers the same
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scream in the night "i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you
and whisper to yourself "i loved"
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ive felt true happiness in early morning sunset conversations with a best friend who understands me better than any god who withholds true happiness from their children ever could.
and I realized sitting in that sunday school room, that they pity everyone who doesn't have the "full knowledge and hope the gospel brings". but i don't know if any of them have felt the early morning sun in their face and in their bones and closed their eyes and thanked themselves instead of their god.
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my 14 year old self writes: "i'm not good at grief"
my 20 year old heart screams: "you don't have to be good at everything"
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