how to spot a writer:
unhinged google search history
crying over fake people
owns 200 notebooks (they're all empty)
Noah Kahan
No title available
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr

Product Placement
todays bird
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
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bliss lane
Cosmic Funnies
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cherry valley forever
KIROKAZE

Jar Jar Binks Fan Club

blake kathryn
ojovivo
Mike Driver

Love Begins

shark vs the universe
untitled
hello vonnie

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Bangladesh

seen from France
seen from Italy

seen from Taiwan
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Singapore
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from United States

seen from Morocco
seen from United States

seen from T1

seen from France
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seen from Poland
@doomspren
how to spot a writer:
unhinged google search history
crying over fake people
owns 200 notebooks (they're all empty)
Your trauma responses once kept you safe. Thank them, then gently let them know their job is done. It's time to grow.
zuko and katara’s narrative symmetry drives me insane every time i think about it, actually. you rise with the moon, i rise with the sun; her power waning as his grows, and vice versa. zuko becoming disillusioned with the fire nation as katara learns the truth about the evil that exists within the other nations. how they both orbit around the avatar, the emblem of all their hopes; katara pulling aang forward to his destiny while zuko pursues on the other end, driving him onwards. the way their parallel lines intersect at the end of every season before diverging once more, each one only able to rise when the other falls. circling one another, so close yet so far, until they finally come together in the agni kai, two halves becoming whole at the crux of their individual arcs and their journey together — balance forged in sacrifice, an eternal push and pull finally brought to stillness. and all of this beautifully personifying the show’s most fundamental themes in the process. how the fuck were they not canon.
everyone: what's your goal in life?
me: to write a story so soul snatching, so gut wrenching and so devastatingly beautiful that it leaves you crying at 3am when you have a 8am lecture/shift and it inspires people to write entire essays, to write entire fanfics, mood boards and playlists based on it.
reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something
There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
– Ernest Hemingway
• An Oxford comma walks into a bar, where it spends the evening watching the television, getting drunk, and smoking cigars.
• A dangling participle walks into a bar. Enjoying a cocktail and chatting with the bartender, the evening passes pleasantly.
• A bar was walked into by the passive voice.
• An oxymoron walked into a bar, and the silence was deafening.
• Two quotation marks walk into a “bar.”
• A malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent other, who takes him for granite.
• Hyperbole totally rips into this insane bar and absolutely destroys everything.
• A question mark walks into a bar?
• A non sequitur walks into a bar. In a strong wind, even turkeys can fly.
• Papyrus and Comic Sans walk into a bar. The bartender says, "Get out -- we don't serve your type."
• A mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall but hoping to nip it in the bud.
• A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.
• Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They converse. They depart.
• A synonym strolls into a tavern.
• At the end of the day, a cliché walks into a bar -- fresh as a daisy, cute as a button, and sharp as a tack.
• A run-on sentence walks into a bar it starts flirting. With a cute little sentence fragment.
• Falling slowly, softly falling, the chiasmus collapses to the bar floor.
• A figure of speech literally walks into a bar and ends up getting figuratively hammered.
• An allusion walks into a bar, despite the fact that alcohol is its Achilles heel.
• The subjunctive would have walked into a bar, had it only known.
• A misplaced modifier walks into a bar owned by a man with a glass eye named Ralph.
• The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was tense.
• A dyslexic walks into a bra.
• A verb walks into a bar, sees a beautiful noun, and suggests they conjugate. The noun declines.
• A simile walks into a bar, as parched as a desert.
• A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget.
• A hyphenated word and a non-hyphenated word walk into a bar and the bartender nearly chokes on the irony
- Jill Thomas Doyle
A zeugma walked into a bar, my life and trouble.
What is creativity?
How would you define it if someone asked you to?
Steve Jobs once said: “Creativity is just connecting things.” The great French chef Jacques Maximin is quoted as having proclaimed: “Creativity means not copying.” The English Dictionary echoes Maximin’s quote by…
Movies That Can Be Described With The Same Sentence [via]
Bleh
I'd like to know life as the wife it actually is, not the girlfriend it pretends to be.
Because Bangladesh is a great & special place. Reasons why, from A to Z:
(Thanks to the input of two Bangladeshi readers, I’ve added a few details to the B and P parts to make clear that neither was Lalon Fakir the father of baul nor Shahidul Alam the father of Bangla photography. But they did/do...
Day of the Invictus
It’s been one of those days. One of those days when you look around and above for heavenly intervention to put an end to the pandemonium that is happening around you. No matter how strong you are, you have one of those days when you feel like a dirty, stretched, disgusting piece of gum on someone’s shoe.
In the middle of the daily tragedy ongoing, I copied the entire poem Invictus and pasted it on a purple sticky note on the desktop. In between the spreadsheets and emails and work transactions, I would glance at it, sitting innocently among the jumble of icons. I kept repeating the same lines over and over in my head
“I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul”
It brought to stark contrast how silly I was being. For some reason, knowing the poem’s history and significance, I realized that I’ve been through a lot worse than what I’m going through today. And I will probably go through a lot worse in the future. But I’ve survived so far, and maybe I will survive what is to come too.
The outcome of our difficulties is not within our control. Often we can do our best but still lose. What matters is to take heart and fight through it as best as we can. It means taking control of our fears and emotions and giving it all we have, for otherwise how else are we our own masters, how else do we steer our own path?
My hope for myself is to know I am one of those who lived by these very words I’m writing for the rest of the world.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invictus
women belong in the kitchen. men belong in the kitchen. everyone belongs in the kitchen. kitchen has food
haha agreed!
Girl
Girl. You wear your heart like a ribbon on your pretty hair. Beautiful and to be admired.
Only to be pulled so easily and make everything fall apart.
Tragedy
I've witnessed one of the most horrible things a person can see happening in their country. An accident of such major proportions that leaves a nation reeling in shock and grief. Hundreds dead - the result of greed, negligence and a simple lack of basic humanity and common sense.
So much has been said and shown on TV and in social media. So many tears shed and so many prayers offered. Aid given. Help sent. Fingers pointed. The appropriate amount of outrage from the citizens of the country. Accolades for the fearless volunteers. Condemnation for the parties who failed to act as was required.
A whole country sobbing with shock and grief.
Sometimes I wonder what they went through personally - the victims who were stuck there for days before being rescued, or unfortunately before passing away as the strength and the fight left them. I wonder what kind of hell it must be, to be stuck in a small space, with no way of getting out, aware of being stuck, aware of the hopelessness. Hungry, thirsty. Death stinking the air around them. Sounds drifting through the piles of concrete from around them but fearing that they could not be heard even though, they could hear the noise from outside. Life, a life that they had been living, so close. Just a few feet away was the life that they had known. So close but so far.
How many died, praying, crying, going insane with fear?
All because of greed. Because of lack of basic sense. Because somehow the worst people find themselves in position of power. Because people in power do not realize that power for the sake of power is toxic. Because they do not realize that when you can influence so many lives with your power, the most important thing to do is to make sure you don't abuse it. That you don't hurt the powerless.
I hope we are scarred for life. I hope we can never forget the horrors that we saw. I hope we remember this and we learn our lessons. Our ultimate failure would be if we ever let something like this happen again.
“Write more, help others more, be confident that you know more than you think because I guarantee there will be people who can learn from your experiences and knowledge. I bet you know more than you think.” —Cole Henley
quoted at CreativeMornings/Barcelona with Marta Armada and Javier Usobiaga of SWWWEET