I am aware that there are writers who successfully avoid ever having to write at all. Whatever creative energies they may possess have been completely absorbed by displacement activities.
A.L. Kennedy (in ‘On Writing’)
will byers stan first human second

#extradirty
DEAR READER
Sweet Seals For You, Always

Andulka

Origami Around
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Today's Document
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
trying on a metaphor
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

Janaina Medeiros
hello vonnie
todays bird

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Cosimo Galluzzi
taylor price

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seen from Morocco
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@ajwrite95-blog
I am aware that there are writers who successfully avoid ever having to write at all. Whatever creative energies they may possess have been completely absorbed by displacement activities.
A.L. Kennedy (in ‘On Writing’)
Nar-ciss-ism inordinate fascination with oneself; excessive self-love; vanity. Were you brought up surrounded by the belief, that even coated in the blood of mistake, you were flawless? Were you parented in such fashion to understand love, or did those meant to sculpt environments of class and structure, instead preside over conditions erring closer to the side of lawless? Were you conditioned too young to see correlation betwixt love and ability to argue, to fight? Early on, was it some sort of twisted mechanism of coping, to deceive, destroy, to master the art of what it means to gaslight? Was there something in me that instantly caused you to trigger? Did meeting genuine affection with cutting, scathing blows make you feel bigger? The switch flipped so often that saw me confused, its days of emitted light turned a balm meant to soothe, entirely misused. Was it easy for you to rip into the depth of my soul with the sharpness of teeth? To leave me standing, discombobulated, in proverbial stains, of my own blood ‘round my feet? There was nothing I wanted more than for us the perpetual storms to weather, in the process of mutual growth, becoming stronger together; perfection does not encompass me by any stretch, but each day you chipped away at a spirit, a being, until she was less, than a shell of herself; …if only it was I who could change, do better… So many times in excess apology I asked that you look at yourself, thinking that some revelation would come, some new perspective, or wealth, of information not yet understood; I realise now, free, that it will do you no good, to look at yourself, skilled mask wearer; your truest friend now, could only be the opaqueness of thick, black mirror. Communications cut, objective was I in ability to examine my heart, and though you’ll always be the first love who seemed gleeful in her exercise, completely tearing it apart; I have managed in my rebirth to completely separate, depart, from wanton ways and wishful ideals, learning reparation to be more accurate than the myth anything ever totally heals. My heart shall never be lost, thrown to the abyss of the dreaded black mirror, for narcissistic tendencies manifested self love, in their aftermath, drawn ever nearer. -Black Mirror
Her.
She knows defeat quite well, for the average person. This isn’t something that she ever chooses to approach explicitly. No, she prefers to hide away in her little space, in her little corner, on her little piece of Earth. It’s small and quiet there. No one bothers to knock at the door. She’s known this to be fact: they can’t hear you cry, and it’s scary that they don’t. It’s a golden truth where’s she’s from. The days it storms in her head are the most absurd. She can never pin down what it is she wishes to accomplish, but she’s headed there, all the same. Her brain cells pulsate the colors of stress, passion, love, hope, anxiety, and depression. Her, scars become her heroes, her heroes become her. This is the most delightful part, she has a peculiar gift. She knows how to use it all. She consolidates her skills, mistakes, and traumas. Thus, she is not what they perceive her to be. She is a Lovecraft monster in the most beautiful way, an epic God of unknown origin, a thing of legends and different dimensions, a creator. She; a writer, and no matter the paths she chooses to lose herself down, she always has that golden compass. You know, the one that points to your greatest desires? Ah, but in the in-between time, her peace comes from a simple act between ink and page, and as if by some invisible force, she always finds her way back to the road less traveled.
Your girl
I thought I’d be sad.
I admit, at first I was
losing you, was hard
until I woke up from the daydream.
and replayed the nightmare
of the girl that kept me hostage
I call her “your girl”
your girl didn’t dress like me
your girl kept her lips tight, to avoid confrontation
she listened to you
your girl couldn’t embarrass you, or that would be a problem
her concerns were put aside, so she ignored them.
your girl didn’t make you be “her guy” and that’s how you liked it
your girl walked through the flames for you
your girl was yours and yours only
and you took that, and broke her.
all she ever wanted to be happy was you.
but she didn’t have you, did she?
YOU had had her.
Angel Dust.
She’s high again, but this time it’s different.
She runs from the house, two different shoes on her feet.
Her backpack’s filled with that shit.
That shit she told me to steer clear of.
Wet, a hard taste to get off your tongue according to my once loving, over-protective sister.
Angel Dust numbs more than just taste buds.
We lock the doors and set the alarm. There’s not much solace in that. If the Angel Dust wants in, it’ll scratch at the walls of her brain until she busts the windows out. Mom tells me to get some sleep. She walks tall and pretends she isn’t terrified, for me and maybe for herself too.
Three a.m, the hour of the wicked, I lie awake. Restful sleep is a pipe dream.
I can hear the creak of the back gate from my bedroom window. The follicles on my neck turn themselves inside out. She shuffles there on the back porch. She sings legato, and calm.
An unwelcome calm, because what follows is reminiscent of a beast with a thousand mouths, all screeching, all ravenous and poised to consume.
It’s the Angel Dust. It uses my sister to sing to me, it wants me dead.
The cool blade is where it’s always been, under my pillow, safe. I shut my eyes tight and forget that I’m a prisoner to a drug I’ve never ingested. I will do what I have to. I will keep my life.
I fall asleep to the sound of a horrible lullaby but I find momentary peace.
I wake in the morning to the sound of sirens. I meet my mother in the hallway.
“What is it?” I plead weakly.
“It’s over now, Ashlyn,” she says.
Six TV masters — including David E. Kelley, Noah Hawley and Lisa Joy — reveal the risks and rewards of storytelling without a net: "It's a gut check: If you start thinking about whether it's appropriate for everyone, you're left with oatmeal."
The American Dream:
Let us be perfectly clear,
About what exactly this idea means,
We are discussing, of course, The American Dream,
Let’s begin with the youth of today,
If our fathers could speak to their children, what on earth would they say?
There is no sense of pride, an absence of roots,
No substance, no sense, no structure, no value,
Perhaps that we are distracted by things,
The pursuit of possession, of women, cars, and other useless things,
Obsessed with happiness, without knowing what it is,
How and where to obtain it, so they seek it in bills,
They seek it in interest, percentiles, and who’s got the most stuff,
They seek it in unobtainable physical appeal,
They obtain it through binging, purging and the skipping of meals,
They obtain it through Twitter, Instagram and the World Wide Web,
If this is the age of knowledge, why is everyone walking around brain dead?
They seek it through celebrity that they can never reach,
They seek it through fads, price tags,and hair damaged by bleach,
But for every brain dead zombie, there are those who wake up,
See the world for what it is, and they are a select few,
Those who understand America is not held together by capitalist glue,
Getting fat and getting loaded on plans that only serve to benefit you,
Shutting up the groups who have a different version of truth,
Taking all and leaving none to those who dare to differ from you,
Those who know that we were built with intelligent insight,
The people’s sovereign voice, and each individuals God bestowed right,
Innovation, dedication, and the individual truth,
Commitment to each person,
And their right to pursue any path that they choose,
Rising from the bottom all the way to the top,
Without the perks, networks, and tapes of yourself in the nude,
Walking around with your head held high,
Because even if you’re sitting in dirt, you can still get by,
You can still be strong and look up at the sky,
Bath in the sun and keep yourself in the light,
Acting and speaking however you wish,
It being no one else’s place to question why,
Turning dirt into gold at the end of each day,
Seeing diamonds in nothing,
Remaining young enough to play,
But for reasons unknown,
These ideas are deficient today,
We do not understand that we are being used,
We want to hide from the trouble,
the media has raised us, confused,
We don’t want to know; We want to be tucked in,
But if only we knew, every single problem stems from the problems within,
The same protectors singing us to sleep,
Are wearing masks to hide their faces and their truthful intent,
Their mission is to feed and make us puppets for greed,
We don’t want to know, so they don’t bother to inform,
That they’re robbing our minds, to make us conform,
Celebrity is closely followed while real men and women are thrown in the dust,
They aren’t famous, they aren’t rich, and they aren’t drugged up enough,
That is the world we live in, and it’s making us blind,
And in order to see you must close your eyes,
You must open your soul; you must open your mind,
Let’s talk about those who dare to think differently,
Notice all injustice, and strive each day, still, to be free,
Let’s talk about The New Age, and what it feels like to breathe,
Let’s talk about the teachers, healers and young people of liberty,
Let’s talk about passion and the path to revolution,
Let’s discuss the changing world, and the path worth pursuing,
We are the revolution, the next big change,
We are the ever-changing people, place and thing,
We are all a part of a plan,
The change the world will come to see is in our little hands,
This isn’t just a game or a clever play with words,
These aren’t just ideas and thoughts transferred onto paper,
You’re the hero because you made a move when everyone was still,
You noticed all injustice and were strong, never letting it break your will,
You are one in six billion, you are no average person,
You are one, who remembers what this idea means,
We are discussing of course, The American Dream
No right or wrong storytelling answer exists. Ever.
William Goldman (in his screenwriting memoir ‘Which Lie Did I Tell?’) (via jamesgrantbrown)
i feel like this insult went under-appreciated
Blue.
Just a little blue,
A little bit defeated,
Just a little bit unglued,
But,
I never tried to hide myself,
I’ve always told the truth,
And that may be the very factor,
Thats always pulled me through.
Stop making excuses, just do it!
It all starts with self-love!
Take your time to get to know yourself + find self-love. This won’t happen overnight, it’s something you need to practice, build + progress.
Stop beating yourself up over things you can’t help. Picking on yourself so harshly for things, overthinking + comparing yourself to people.
You can never be anyone but YOU. Instead of being negative about it, start working on making a better version of you.
‘I have this vision but I just don’t know how to get there because…’
Stop with this immediate self-doubt. How can something come to you when you’re not ready to receive it?
Getting what you want out of life — you’re the only person who can make this happen for yourself!
Hoping, wishing, overthinking, complaining about things you don’t have yet… It’s just a waste of time.
Oh, but it’s impossible — Hello? Have you looked around? People are doing impossible things every day. It’s just your mindset.
Expand your mind to be open, understand that there are endless opportunities for yourself — that may even come unexpectedly.
Push yourself, work hard + set goals — the sooner your start, the sooner you’ll get there!
You need to believe in your vision 100,000%. Back yourself, back your dreams, back your vision!
Setbacks + Failure
It’s not the end of the world.
We’re constantly moving forward + learning.
Question things + reflect on situations WITHOUT judgment.
Learn from your setbacks — build + grow from them. Use them to fuel yourself + move forward.
Tips + Tricks:
Writing + journalling — Put your thoughts, feelings, goals, drawings + scribbles onto paper! Express yourself, reflect and be non-judgemental.
Self-love + care — Nourish your mind, body, soul + spirit. Push yourself to achieve greatness, but remember to take care of yourself to, on the inside and out.
Talk to people + listen — If you have a problem, be vulnerable! Tell someone. Listen to what people are really saying, let them inspire you + take care of them.
Acceptance — Accept who you are + be proud! Be open to self-development + learning. Be the best you you can be + accept others.
Ask questions, go further — Question yourself + situations. You won’t develop nor learn from sitting on the sidelines quietly.
Dream big — Make your dreams outrageous + huge! Persist, persist, persist + never give up!
Never stop giving — Life is all about giving + taking, but mostly giving. Make people feel special, spread your energy, love + support!
Tack it on your bathroom mirror.
And it was in those ridiculous little moments that I'd notice the plain and fascinating routine of my direct environment. It was in those same moments that I'd observed the subtle way in which each existing form around me played a huge part in the way life would turn out on this planet, and perhaps, the entire universe. It was a peculiar thing; regardless the size of the movement, from the minuscule, whistling wind turning each leaf directly in front of me, to the hurried, heavy foot paces of the man taking out the trash next door. It was beautifully simple yet tragically complex all in one enigmatic bundle. It never failed; everyone played their part. The whole planet was in constant declaration of itself, emanating it's identity to the rest of the universe. And that always made me feel very small, but in the same instance, endlessly significant.
Talent is cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work...
Stephen King
loose-leaf notebooks are my favourite thing - I use them for both my notes and bullet journal!
Same, same.
Color Drip
Some day’s I let my heart win,
Let those older colors drip their way in,
The wound is precise, in the way it re-opens,
The same familiar burns reappear like old friends,
Collecting each thought that replays in my head,
Like a nightmarish loop that’s nostalgic at best,
Every new seam I’ve made an effort to stitch,
Every old phrase I’ve been trained to forget,
Every old note that your voice has played out,
Infects my soul and fills me with doubt,
How could I ever be better than you?
How could I dig myself out of this blue?
My heart plays a trick and it tells me to wait,
That sometimes the one who falls short is fate,
The timing was wrong and you’ll be back for me soon,
That you’ll whisk me away and you’ll lasso the moon,
And when those old colors slowly traipse in,
It is hard to forget that I did nearly win,
The evening was warm and your eyes begged me to stay,
So I swallowed my pride and was honest that day,
I remember your smile and the green in your eyes,
You were much too good to tell me a lie,
“In awe I am, at exactly who you are,
The grace that you carry in spite of your scars,
But there is someone who understands you better by far,
And I must confess, I don’t love you the same,
It’s regretful that I am the cause of your pain”,
I remember the day as if it were new,
When each color drips in to remind me of you,
And for a quick moment I let my heart win,
Until I remember I must move on to begin.