trying on a metaphor

tannertan36
Sweet Seals For You, Always

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JVL
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Show & Tell
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
will byers stan first human second

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Cosmic Funnies
Not today Justin
todays bird
RMH
ojovivo

Love Begins
wallacepolsom
YOU ARE THE REASON

titsay
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
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@f-lyingintofate
i’m sick of social media i want hobbies again
Taken from Loving: A Photographic History of Men in Love 1850s–1950s
recently i’ve been feeling this thing growing horrible inside of me like a wedge between all of my bones. a violent, cruel energy. the sharpness is unfiltered, the voice is wet and furious.
energy cannot be created or destroyed, of course. this one feels horrible to carry, the kind of unshaped potential that demands a release. i have tried kinetic responses; have done my running and my planks and my holding on. i have tried meditation and soothing behaviors. i have tried it all.
i still feel that claw, an unspent scream in its most horrid little state. the skin of which is ugly, raw.
once, when i was like this, i cut all my hair off. once, when i was like this, i ate so much i threw up. once, when i was like this, i ran into traffic. once, when i was like this, i did so many bad things to myself to get it out that they had to take my hands away from me. it’s like i have to get it out by pulling, and the pulling is so violent, there’s no way to remove the splinter without also removing me.
i tell my friend. i’m gonna have to go into the woods and yowl for hours on end. then i will turn into a werewolf and run around and get leaves in my hair and you’ll never see me again. or if you do see me, i’ll be running amok in a cvs, holding a dead squirrel in my mouth, looking for vengence.
he covers my hand with his. “when you go into the woods,” he says, “take me with you. we will both scream, and scream, and scream, and then we will go home together. you can be a wolf in your own bed.”
so i will be a wolf in my own bed. we will find a way to get it out without opening my ribs. we will remove it under a full moon, and we will be feral, but we will no longer kill the girl wild on the altar of her own bones. we will raise her instead.
Dolly Parton onstage, 1970
you’re laughing. i told you a joke and you’re laughing. i love you
lately nothing feels under my control!!!
where am i, where does my identity begin. can i playact a happy person in all my friendships or is that manipulative. can i take this personality test honestly or am i trying to pick things for a specific end. is this something i actually want or am i just bored and looking for anything. do i really feel like i care about my horoscope, or am i just looking for how others might see me. when i get dressed am i actually dressing for myself or am i dressing for the illusion i’m complete. am i actually seeking answers about who i am, or am i trying to shape the answers into who i want to be. am i real to myself or am i lying.
Milk and honey
im not being funny but artistry will save your life. music, painting, pottery, writing, carving, weaving, the act of creating will save you.
Michael Jackson once told Oprah he didn’t want a white actor to play him
In the middle of a controversy over white actor Joseph Fiennes’ new role as Michael Jackson in an upcoming British TV movie, who better to hear from than the King of Pop himself? In 1993, Jackson explained his vitiligo and his pride in being black. That didn’t stop Fiennes from coming up with an excuse for his casting.
Why so serious? https://www.instagram.com/p/Bx08XR-FzNI/?igshid=17h2qviiprfwd
“I wanted to be a famous author. Literature has been my passion since childhood. But whenever you have a passion, it’s so easy to convince yourself that you’re not good at it. Because you read all these fantastic authors. And then you try to write yourself, and you learn how difficult it can be to write a single perfect sentence. It’s so much work to be happy with what you’ve written. And sometimes you choose life. We’re in Paris, it’s sunny, I have wonderful friends, maybe I should just be enjoying these things instead of thinking about how to package and share them. So I got a job in communications. And I mainly just wrote for my own enjoyment: poems, notes, journals. But I never shared a thing. Not a single page. With anyone. But last year I wrote a story. A complete story. A real story. With two characters, a beginning, and an end. I thought: ‘Maybe it’s not too bad. We must test. Maybe this is the moment.’ So a few months ago I submitted it to a contest in my town. It’s just a small town. And just a very little contest. But this morning I got the email. I won the prize. And I’m just so happy. This weekend I’m going to the beach with my family. I can’t wait to tell my mother. I can’t believe I get to say these words, the greatest words: ‘I will be published.’” (Paris, France)
tbh the real advice I’d give to anyone is, do shit alone. go to a museum & go at your own pace & leave the instant you’re done. go somewhere you’ve never been and just wander around, duck into & out of places as it pleases you. linger as long as you’d like.