#time and memory

[inlovewithquotes]

But memory and time aren’t friends. They reject each other, they hurry in opposite directions, pulling the binding taut between them, threatening to snap.

-Gild

[sergioguymanproust]

Many fail to realize how easy it is to step back in time .We shamans do it all the time,and why you may ask ? The answer may vary from person to person.In a few words ,the pleasure of having lived through those moments.Something so profound that got imprinted in our hearts and minds.For us shamans is reconnecting with our ancestors and their time. When images such as this one make you vibrate and a warm feelings embrace you, let those moments stay with you.For many the past must be forgotten and never be recalled.As I said before this is a case by case situation. I recommend that if your vibrations are positive stay with them ,but if on the contrary depress you,them by all means let them go .Words by Sergio GuymanProust.

[inbabylontheywept]

my grandpa was a good man. and it really wasnt his fault - recreationally lying to kids is a proud family tradition - but he told me, once, that cutting a worm in half resulted in two worms.

i think he said it so i'd be more morally okay with fishing? i actually dont remember the context.

point was, he told me this, and he understimated (by a very large margin) how much i liked worms. i was a worm boy. very wormy. and after hearing that, i went home, and i dug through the garden, flipped over every rock, did everything i could to gather as many worms as i could, and then i uh.

i cut them all in half. every worm i could find. all of them. with scissors.

i then took this pile of split worms, and i put them in a box with a bit of lettuce and some water and stuff and went to bed expecting to double my worms overnight. i have math autism, so i had a vague understanding that if i did this just a few times in a row, i would eventually have a completely unreasonable amount of worms.

i was very excited to become this plane's worm emperor.

(i think i was...six?)

anyway, i did not become the inheritor of the worm crown. i instead woke up to a box of dead worms and cried. a lot. i got diagnosed with panic attacks as a teenager, but i think i had them as a kid, i just had no idea what they were. i was kind of processing that a.) i had killed what i had assumed was every single worm in my yard, and thus would have no more worms, and b). i was going to like, worm hell.

(six year babylon spent a lot of time worrying about god.)

so i kind of freaked out, and i climbed a tree, because god can only smite you if you're touching the ground (?) and i sat up there mostly inconsolable until my mom came out and asked, hey, what's up? what happened?

so i explained to her that i had killed all of the worms, forever, and was also Damned, and she took me to the compost pile, and we dug for all of five seconds and found like twenty more worms.

the compost pile was full of worms.

she then told me that a). there were more worms, and we could put them back under rocks and stuff and recolonize our yard and b). that one day, i would die, and go to heaven, and be able to talk to the worms face to face. that i'd be able to tell them all that i was very sorry, and that i killed them on accident, driven only by excessive Love, and that she was positive they would forgive me because worms have six hearts and no malice.

at that point, i think i was sixty percent tear-snot by weight, and i had no choice but to gather enough worms that i could hug them. which my mom helped with. and then after that she helped me put some worms back under each rock.

and for my epilogue: i spent a significant portion of my childhood in trees. and for many years after, even when my mom didnt know i was watching, i would catch her giving the space under the rocks a light spritz with the hose. not because she loved worms.

but because she loved me.

[ellyondesu]

White Marble Floor Room

I lay down with him, On a cold Tuesday morning, The breakfast table stands beside us, Our skin hugs the naked floor, Where the cold dare not reach us.

Half our food is white, And sits unapologetically untouched on the tabletop, While half rests in our hands, Waiting to fulfill our starvation- an opulent ritual of ours, And here, the rotten waste is a thing of non-existence.

And when one of us begins to talk, The other replies in a tone unknown to God, And a melody forms between us, That even the sunlight is unable to burn, Then how shall a whisper even try to escape?

When we look through the red stained windows, Of the muddled room, A web of eternal tales threads itself, Composed of our memories and fantasies, It begins playing like a 90's movie, Where-

We begin humbly at birth and grow old, Little grumpy teenagers too new for this unfair world, Then young adults who don’t know what they shall pursue, Middle aged people wondering how to catch up, All in a room meant for no remorse, Then, finally at death, how can any sorrow fool us?

To read and touch subjects of love, To feel immortality and isolation in a millisecond, To be influenced by nothing but everything all at once, To find comfort in merely the continuity of it all, In the uncontrollable nature of life;

We lay together, on the white marble with the black spots, Our food half eaten, and our thoughts half-done, Where nothing but us finds us.

[mimok]

Stillness in the Rush~

This image was taken during one of my evenings in China, and it has stayed with me since the moment I pressed the shutter. The young policeman stood perfectly still while the world around him blurred into a rush of motion and noise. He didn’t flinch, didn’t turn his head, didn’t blink. He became like a statue amidst a flood of passing ghosts. I remember wondering then—what kind of training does…

[samw3000]

Replay

We start by discarding small belongingsTiny childhood dreamsFlying imaginary friends to the moonOn a wooden spaceship spoonTowel and sheet capesSuperhero and villain gamesLife as a circus and a stageAll the time in the worldTo find your placeThen Pressured into practicalityAs we continue to growTrading dragons to make endsSwapping stories for trendsPutting away action figuresAnd fairy tales to…

[jypsyvloggin]

Mother's Lament By Adam MacDougall

Mother’s Lament – A Journey Through Music and Visuals Music has the power to touch our hearts, and Mother’s Lament by Adam MacDougall is no exception. This soulful piece captures the essence of love, loss, and memory, resonating deeply with listeners. We’ve brought these emotions to life through a carefully crafted music video that complements the song’s poignant melody. The Inspiration Behind…

[canisalbus]

✦ Fashionably late ✦

[proxycrit]

Day 26- Lanayru Mountain

Perhaps dragon song sounds familiar. No matter; it’s time to get to business.

On that note, magnesis is reacquired! Purah’s still working on the other glyphs.

(“We’ll find a cure by the end of this year, I promise.”

“I hope we do, Mimi. I really, really hope we do.”)

((This is a totk au called familiar familiar! Zelda doesn’t go back in time, history is forever changed, and link is beset by ghost memories from his magic arm as per usual.))

(Want to throw a coin to an exhausted art hermit? Check out my patreon!)

[deepspacenova]

I ALWAYS KNEW CALEB'S KISS WOULD BE OUT OF THIS WORLD

[zorangezest]

rafael the 12 year old of all time. he should’ve been on hypixel bedwars

soundwave was not in fact hacking

[soapbbox]

You know how in TFP Optimus can’t really remember what happened during his time without the matrix. Yeah. The sad version of this what if Optimus met cogless Megatron.

Cont from this, and this

[chloesimaginationthings]

Michael Afton’s happiest day in FNAF

[raccmeta]

theeee messiest heroes of olympus doodles ever but i wanted them out there

[crumbsinthesea]

"It wasn’t until about two years into the pandemic, when the “vax and relax” era was clearly not going to work, that I had to reckon with my system for organizing time. I couldn’t delay the future any longer; I couldn’t continue protecting the story of my life from the pandemic’s incursion. So I accepted the terrible fact that the pandemic was going to continue indefinitely and was not merely an event in my life but rather the container in which the rest of my life would take place. This was a difficult reckoning. It required that I come to terms with a great deal of grief about the failures of those around me; about what I lost and will have lost; a privilege in thinking that these were the sorts of world-historical changes that happened to other people, at other times. But it was also a reckoning that rescued the orderliness of time, for me. It was as if the clock was un-paused, and life resumed its forward march. I think most people stabilized their warped sense of time by other means. Instead of accepting that the pandemic continued on, that we failed to contain it and so would need to incorporate its ongoing reality into the stories we tell ourselves about our own lives, they instead transformed the fantasy of after into their reality. After the pandemic, after the lockdowns, after our world ruptured. They were able to interrupt the prolonged uncertainty that the pandemic had brought to all of our lives by erecting a finish line just in time for them to run through it. And as they ran through it, celebrating the fictional end of an arduous journey, they simultaneously invented a new before. This is the invention of memory. The Pandemic became something temporally contained, its crisp boundaries providing a psychic safeguard to any lingering anxieties around the vulnerability and interdependence of our bodies that only a virus could show us. No longer did it threaten to erupt in their everyday lives, forcing cancellations and illnesses and deaths. It was, officially, part of The Past. And from the safety of hindsight (even if only an illusion), people began telling and re-telling the story of The Pandemic in ways that strayed from how it all actually went down. It was a way to use memory as self-soothing."

--Emily Dupree, The invention of Memory