Claire Keane

oozey mess

⁂
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
hello vonnie
Cosimo Galluzzi
Xuebing Du
occasionally subtle
Cosmic Funnies

Kaledo Art

Discoholic 🪩
cherry valley forever
tumblr dot com
$LAYYYTER

#extradirty
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Mike Driver

roma★

titsay
Not today Justin
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@blackflamez
Shining path
2022-10-08
a beautiful day
RICOH GR IIIx
Instagram | hwantastic79vivid
"a joy to have in class" aka This Child Will Not Be Diagnosed for at least Eight Years
Spy, dad, chef, laundry-folder, mangaka, seamster, clothes coordinator, penguin feeder, defuser of bombs, dog trainer, psychiatrist, practitioner of concussive therapy, pooper, Anya and Yor carrier, driver, head patter, short putter, dog walker, reader, seducer of a apparently lot of women, liar, tennis pro…
Have we found out anything Twilight is bad at yet
My dad was dealing with some mixed feelings so I told him "In therapy when something is too complicated to do a simple 'pro and contra list' we sometimes do an excercise where you imagine all these mixed feelings around a table in some kind of conference, letting each tell their bit and you leading the debate."
and my dad didn't really respond and just stared ahead so I kept preparing lunch. Until a few minutes later when he suddenly piped up: "I am having a bad time at the conference"
“And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.”
— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
“I can do nothing for you but work on myself. You can do nothing for me but work on yourself.”
— Ram Dass
Something inside my consciousness eats me up. And I'm not even exaggerating. I stare at this sudden invasion of eternal mirk swallowing my bones and shadows. I no longer have words to express the futility of my existence.
I’m jealous of those who can function like a normal human being. They don’t have anxiety holding them back from everything, they don’t struggle to get out of bed or have to put on an act that everything is fine when its not. They don’t struggle to hold friendships and relationships… they don’t feel sad for no fucking reason everyday. Those that can hold jobs and work towards their dreams, the ones who have self esteem and see the beauty in themselves. Those that know what its like to feel safe and secure, not insecure and fearful of it all.
For the last decade or so, I’ve been routinely attending a ride-on lawnmower race. I’ve always wanted to participate, but the high cost of used mowers is better spent on more practical vehicles, like literally anything else. Sometimes, though, the universe sends you a message. And in my case, that message came in the form of an awkward leg of a huge trade-in scam.
Picture, if you will, the humble redneck. They await the approach of big, fast domestic mowers. John Deeres, Cub Cadets, even weird modified Chinese stuff they looted from Aliexpress. There is jubilance, but that soon comes to an awkward hush. An unfamiliar engine note approaches.
My International 1480 combine harvester, all ten tons of it, is barrelling down the highway at a clip somewhere between “tepid” and “jaunty.” Even though I have shown up for a race, I am sandbagging a little bit, making sure that the bets get settled against my vehicle before I show them the might of a fully operational monster such as mine.
Technically, there is no violation. I had looked at the rulebook from every angle in the previous year: it has the correct number of wheels, the proper agricultural intent, and with precise work on the tiller, it can even (poorly) mow a suburban lawn. Is it modified? Oh yes, yes indeed, but I see the nitrous bottles poking out from the rows of Kubotas at the starting line.
And when I leave the starting line, it is a thing of beauty. At least for a few milliseconds. It seems that the wizards at International Harvester simply did not comprehend of a situation in which the frame of their combine would be launched into the air by means of one thousand eight hundred foot-pounds of supercharger-bolstered torque. I had erroneously believed that the loose soil of the rural community would let the wheels dip in, but now I am facing directly into the sky, having twelve o’ clocked hard on my wheelie, shooting flames from my exhaust and whirling vertical blades of death towards the grandstand.
It’s not about whether you win or lose. Sometimes it’s about how many pages you add to the rulebook.
“It’s not about whether you win or lose. Sometimes it’s about how many pages you add to the rulebook. “
I am but a mild-mannered urban being and have no idea what happened in this story, but with all the Gods as my witness I am getting the above text put on a plaque and hanging it in my living room.
After deciphering this, the mental imagery is incredible holy shit. I need to explore this:
Ok so for a lawn mower race, most people are gonna show up on machines about this size
This is an average riding lawn mowers, the kind used for neighborhood lawns. A lot of middle-class households have one.
This is a Combine Harvester
This is the specific model op mentions.
This is not a domestic lawn mower. This is industrial farming equipment. It is BIGGER.
For perspective, a lawn mower would be about the height of one of the front wheels.
So op shows up to a Lawn Mower Race on this thing–which technically isn’t against the rules, since a harvester technically can be used to cut down grass.
Important to note: op has also apparently modified the engine. This isn’t just industrial farming equipment– it’s souped up industrial farming equipment. This is a Pimped Out Crop Harvester.
So op shows up to the starting line on this thing
and op GUNS it.
Here is a concise illustration of what happens next:
90 degree rotation skywards. Another fun detail is that the “whirling vertical blades of death” are now sticking out in the air, presuming twirling gesturing threatening like a maniacal edward scissorhands in the direction of audience bystanders.
And that is how you get some extremely specific phrases added to a rulebook!
ʟᴏɪᴄ.ʟᴀɢᴀʀᴅᴇ
“This is a city of shifting light, of changing skies, of sudden vistas. A city so beautiful it breaks the heart again and again.” -Alexander McCall Smith
| People and Puzzles |
People are like puzzles.
People are not puzzles because they are tough to figure out— no; rather, it is the transformation from shattered fragments to fractured masterpiece that is so similar to the human condition. When a man is born, he is a box of broken and confused pieces dumped out onto the table of existence. He is unsorted, helpless— a mess.
The hands of life and experience slowly bring about a half-done image, a partially completed project that only brings frustration and discouragement to those who glance at it. It's when the puzzle is nearer to completion that the true worth of its existence is seen.
The beauty of a puzzle does not lie in the perfection of the finished image; rather, the beauty lies in the spiderweb of fractures— the lines, curves, cracks and angles— that show proof of a broken masterpiece brought together.
People are like puzzles. Their true worth is seen in how their broken pieces come together to create the stunning masterpiece that is Healed Humanity.
.
~Reigh Lynne