#Ruminations

[sluggoonthestreet]

On rainy days, Morton sits and thinks about all the invisible balls he tried to fetch.

[madgod-of-kvatch]

I've been thinking a lot about how Martin mantled Akatosh, the eldest of the gods, the one who literally brings life to the planet through sunlight and growth to everything on it through time, who is the source of empires and control, whose existence brought the concept of law into the world. And he did it in a single moment of desperate necessity, giving up everything and leaving the mortal realm forever for just a few seconds with the power needed to save it.

And then I think about how the Hero of Kvatch mantled Sheogorath, the (arguably) youngest of the gods, the one who was inadvertently created by the others and fills in all the spaces between them, who makes life worth living through music and color, who allows and enables the mortal mind to expand past the limits placed upon it by all the others, the only one who believes in free will and is willing to destroy anything to preserve it. And how they had chance after chance to turn back, to give up, but set their feet and held their ground and took the reins of eternity to protect a world that wasn't even theirs.

I think about how Akatosh is a reflection of Anu on the surface of Nirn, and Sheogorath is the Sithis-shaped hole in the world, and I wonder if that's why it turned out like this. If the world was meant to end in the Oblivion Crisis, and the two of them together re-anchored the pillars that support reality by mantling the two mortal-compatible aspects thereof. I wonder if they saved the world in ways they didn't even understand at the time.

I wonder if they know that they're still working together, even now, even if they'll never see each other again. I wonder if they know they're still halves of a whole, a Chosen Two who will never be remembered for what they actually did, only for what they left behind. Martin will only ever be a name he didn't know was his own, Septim, and The Hero will never be anything but their first harrowing battle, Kvatch, losing their own name forever by becoming Sheogorath.

I think about it, and I wonder. I hope they know. It seems the least of what they both deserve.

[o-craven-canto]

Imagine a world where everybody from a very young age is taught the basics of phonology and syntax and encouraged to make their own personal conlang for their private thoughts,

and by the time they're teenagers it's so impenetrable and convoluted that trying to read someone else's personal notes is in the same position as the Japanese cryptographers trying to follow Navajo code-talkers,

and the most intimate thing you can possibly do with anyone is teach them your secret language

(and then people are scrambling to rewrite their conjugation tables so their exes can't read their stuff anymore)

[narusasuart]

My fingers are itching to draw SNS in the outfits from the new official art.

I mean - look at those twinks. The tunics? The belts? The jewelry?

[plaidparadscha]

Ocd is awful because you could think that you’ve put your mind at ease once you’ve done/fixed the thing you were ruminating about, then you start over analyzing that one thing again and again, trying to fix it or add onto it just to make it even worse than it was before.

[mynameiselicomics]

Oil.

[selfhealingmoments]

rumination – when your psyche becomes consumed with excessive and intrusive thoughts about negative experiences and feelings ⬇ no amount of meditation, self-care, new diets or exercise will turn the clock back. yes, these methods and practices are good for you and your future, but they will not resolve your past. The only way to heal your past is to fully accept what happened and stop looking at it. take a step back and zoom out of things that don't require your attention anymore. ⬆

[grhmwtts]

lately,

i’ve been trying to hold space for the harsh realities—the limitations, regulations—i must impose on myself. i spent the past decade unlearning what my church had taught me to be definitively “good” or definitively “bad” and, in such, unleashed a brutal and intoxicating world onto my feeble, pastel body. in said liberation was a newfound understanding that there is no place for objectivity in regards to the good, the bad—but there is, and must be, subjectivity to the good, to the bad. i soon thereafter considered myself a hedonist, indulging in the endless search for pleasure with a fixation on the pursuit of a higher fix each time, because i had believed that since i had the capacity, the ability to do all things then i must do all things. i suppose, herein i shall introduce emotional intelligence, making its entrance in stride, arm-locked, with a sense of identity. somewhere, in the place where their skin meets, warm by their intertwining arms, resides desire—futile, pulsating—escaping. this is where i find myself now: captivated by their entrance, rotten as intrusive thoughts darken the stained glass windows of the church of my mind. what ceremony is this—i dare not ask. but i am keen, and i am ruined, like never before. my veins rupture, an aneurysm of a divinity, where the “good” and the “bad” seek to tear apart each ligament of mine. in these spaces between possibility is the understanding that anything can reside within it, for the specifics do not dictate the general picture—the microaggressions do not typically overtake the one’s impression of character—but certain matter does make a knee capable of bending or in need of replacement. as such, it is within our own genetic, emotional, makeup which suggests what matter might be best for our personal functionality, ease of existence. and only, through the desire brought by contact of emotional intelligence and a sense of identity, their two independent entities and the room that is this church that is this world, that this life of a mind, do we begin to understand how exactly to piece together this body, this world, this life of self. in this process, i find myself. in this process, i find myself questioning my individuality, examining it through a lens and finding in what ways it differs to that of the general understanding, the inundation of mass media. but only in the quietude can i find myself. so i hold space for the harsh realities—the understandings crippling my adolescent-views of self, world. and i allow myself to accept—radically, theatrically, screeching in beauty and terror—that what is “good” for me is good for me, what is “bad” for me is bad for me, and neither of these standards decree a general “good” or a general “bad”. they instead eradicate judgement, eradicate fear, and invite empathy and honor to each outlook. i, still worry-minded and adolescent-angsted, wish to know how good/bad works for other people, hope that i am not the only one to feel so alienated by the way the world apparently works. but in the most minute senses: i must think of these guideposts as allergies. varying in intensity from discomfort to death, i must know the risks and remedies. i must accept that my body, my brain, might not take to 0T7 very well. even if 0T7 is commonly revered, i must instead respect my own limitations, and see them for what they are: understandings which enable me to find my own ease of existence, embrace my personal functionality at its best. it’s a long, hard-fought battle to recognize one’s own capacities and shortcomings. tis an arduous process, what most call life. and i am thankful to recognize that these specifics contribute to what makes me me, similar to the atoms, to my genetics, a glorious collision suggesting life, i get to embrace my own harsh realities. for the world is vast and we can lose ourselves within it. the self is vast and we can find our world within it.

[ren-054]

I have to realize that my superiors and current authority figures don’t have an obligation to like me and I have to continue on my life without their approval

I am like a foster cat and they are my handler, this is not my forever home. This space is transitional. They know that, and I should to. I have better places to be.

[godsentfailure]

[o-craven-canto]

Even in a purely, coldly utilitarian moral system, there are three questions to ask before accepting harmful or destructive Means because they ostensibly lead to a better End:

Do the Means lead to some other negative End, in addition to the intended one? The classical example of the naïve utilitarian doctor who kills a patient in order to harvest their organs and save five patients, in practice, if accepted, leads to general loss of trust in doctors and hospitals and therefore to much greater loss of life; hence, doctors should follow a hard rule of not killing patients to harvest their organs, even if this might save more lives in the shortest term.

Are the Means necessary in order to achieve the End? The negative utility of atrocious Means still ends up in the final account along with the supposed positive utility of the End (and without the penalty for uncertainty that the latter should arguably be given). The Means are as much part of the final state as the End.

Do the Means, in fact, lead to the End? Any consequentialist justification for an atrocity-for-the-greater-good automatically fails if the atrocity does not plausibly bring out the greater good, even before any other consideration is taken. It's all well and good to say that you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs, but (ignoring for the moment that people are arguably owed more consideration than eggs) a large chunk of the 20th century was a sustained and furious festival of egg-crushing and egg-trampling that resulted in precisely zero omelettes.

[danadivine]

Less thoughts; more intentional thinking.

[sweetonsugden]

I’m on S5x21 of my rewatch. Dean and Sam are being made sick by Pestilence.

Cas arrives after having to catch a plane because he basically powerless after carving a sigil into his chest and being zapped to kingdom come in the previous episode.

So, Dean is on the floor, writhing with pain and sickness, but the moment Cas staggers into the room, Dean finds the strength to call out “Cas”.

Umm… why? We, the audience, knows it’s him. Cas obviously knows both Dean and Sam are in that room. But the writers found it necessary for Dean to say his name anyway. To call out to him.

It’s all these little things that seem insignificant, but really aren’t, that add to the bigger things that happen between them. 

[plaidparadscha]

Feeling guilty while also having Ocd is the worst feeling ever.

I’m already feeling guilty and my Ocd is just making it worse and I’ll start ruminating about it constantly and it’ll be about something I did when I was 12.

[lunalejanaa]

There are those who caution against revisiting old memories, as if remembering too much could somehow alter them.

But I’m confused…

Is there some way to control your thoughts?

There are too many ghosts of you in my head switching on with the murky memories of your stupid green eyes, your fingers twirling my hair, your mischievous smile...

I’m delirious, drowning in fragments of you, ambushed by them at random moments of the day.