hiliminarious.

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Online dating is about looks. That’s why we upload not one, but multiple profile pictures. That’s why we swipe through them. If someone is good looking, we will give them a chance, even if their profile might not seem like a perfect fit (as long as there are no dealbreakers...but maybe some people will give a handsome guy or a gorgeous gal a chance even if they know it won’t work). I’m not above this myself. I know what I’m looking for in a mate (for the night or for my life). And if someone just doesn’t attract me physically, I won’t match with them. But I think I’m more lenient on this than other people. Even if I find someone mildly attractive, if we have a lot in common or I think there might be something there, I’ll give it a shot.

That being said, it makes me wonder what people think when they see my dating profile and don’t know me at all. Do I sell myself well? Am I just too ugly for the girls I want? 

I want to remind everyone that looks fade over time. Muscles break down. Nothing lasts forever. 

I’m trying not to be bitter, but I am. I want, just once, for a girl I think is cute and interesting to give me a chance. I’ve messages hundreds of women and no one responds. I’m not sending dick pics, I’m not saying anything rude or lude, sometimes I’m downright creative in a fun way, sometimes in a flirtatious way. And my profile is just as good/bad as anyone else’s as far as I can tell. So it comes down to looks, from what I can see. And in that department, there’s nothing I can do. Nothing I can do.

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What it comes down to, in the simplest of terms, is that I want to be accepted. I want someone that I think might be amazing to give me the chance to show them that I might be some kind of amazing also. It’s not a lack of confidence in myself, because for once, I know my own value. And it’s pretty high. It’s that when I look for someone that I think is of the same value, they don’t see me that way. I’m a pretty awesome person when it comes down to it, but no one will ever know if they don’t at least reply. 

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Maybe if I forget how good it feels to be around her, I’ll forget how I feel about her. And maybe that’s for the best.

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Flowers

Note to self:

Gerber Daisies Hydrangeas Sunflowers Pianese Neptunium Pansies

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Solsbury Hill by Peter Gabriel

When illusion spin her net I'm never where I want to be And liberty she pirouette When I think that I am free Watched by empty silhouettes Close their eyes but still can see No one taught them etiquette So I will show another me Today I don't need a replacement I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant My heart going boom, boom, boom Hey, I said, you can keep my things they've come to take me home

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My brother’s dying. My half-brother. I only have half-brothers. I’m the only one from my parent’s marriage to each other. The youngest by 15 years, at least. It’s been a strange life.

My brother’s been in the hospital for the lat few months. I haven’t visited him. Part of me was waiting for an invitation. Part of me doesn’t like watching people die in hospital beds. There was the hope for recovery. But now he’s home in hospice care and it pretty much means he’s gone. He’s dying. There’s no recovery at this point. And if there is, it would be a miracle.

I’ve never been that close to my family. I didn’t grow up with my siblings. They were all adults living their own lives and taking care of their own kids by the time I was born. My nephews and nieces are all older than me. I don’t understand what a real “brother” or “sister” is, as I’ve never really had one. Mine are more like uncles and aunts that call me brother. I don’t know how to take it. It was confusing growing up.

My dad’s last few months was also in a hospital.I was in high school, and spent nights next to my dad’s hospital bed doing homework and playing my Game Boy Advance. Or whatever system I had at the time. He never made it back home.

I want to be there for my brother’s family, but I don’t know how. I’m not good with emotions, especially showing my own. That’s why I write them out.

I also don’t know what they think of me. I tried to be friends with them, but it never really happened. Every time I try to get close to family it feels forced. I have little to nothing in common with most everyone on either side. 

I know I need to visit him. I want to visit him. I’ll regret it if I don’t. But I’m afraid. 

I’ll go this week. I’ll try to go this week.I’ll go this week.

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I’m not who I was. I tried to write him out - the new me - but it doesn’t work. I keep writing and writing and writing, hoping that I’ll find the old me underneath the layers. If I just scrub it off, and write down who I’m not, I’ll find who I am. But it hasn’t happened yet. And maybe it’ll never happen. But I’ll keep trying. Because who am I if I’m not myself?  

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Why isn't anyone talking about the cinematography and editing in this video? 

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Know Your Audience

When I get into my own headspace and I'm not worried what others think, and I'm just sitting here writing for myself and to myself, I think I can be a pretty interesting writer. To me, anyways. Then again, if my audience is me, then I must, at that point, know my audience. I would hope I know my audience. If I didn't know my audience, that would mean I wouldn't know me. And if I don't know myself, then what do I know?

...I good you bid evening.

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Recovery

There are situations that we all go through that we must recover from, like the death of a loved one. Or a broken ankle. A broken heart. Getting an "F" in that "easy" Sociology class freshman year. And those are just the big ones. There are also the smaller pains; the lesser defeats of everyday life that we must overcome. Like realizing that you're going to be twenty minutes late for work no matter how fast you drive. The key to recovering - to getting over it and moving on - is acceptance. It's not just realizing what has happened. That's not the hard part. It's accepting. It's coming to terms with your mistakes, the mistakes of others, or just the fact that the world isn't fair (no matter how much we wish it was). Maybe if we could just accept our lots in life, recovery would be that much easier. If instead of struggling against the tide, we let it sweep us away. But then again, what makes life beautiful is that struggle. It's that never-ending fight. It's that small glimpse of hope that we all hold onto until the bitter end. That hope that the bed-ridden loved one will get better. That the one you love will accept you for who you are. That the broken bones will one day heal. Without that hope, the point of recovering is pointless. We recover so that we can one day try again. We let the wounds heal, and we limp our ways back to the battlefield scarred, bruised, and ready for more. That's life. 

And no matter how many broken bones we may get along the way, or how many times we must stand up after being pushed down, the hope that we will accomplish whatever it is that we set out to do - be it getting used to returning to an empty home, learning to walk again, or finding a way to let that broken heart heal - that hope will keep us coming back for more. I good you bid evening.

[autogynephile-deactivated202109]

LIFE HACK: disguise your nervous breakdown as a series of jokes

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"Home" by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes

Home is wherever I'm with you.

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I'LL SHOW YOU THE LIFE OF THE MIND!

I don't "get" this movie all that well, but this scene was amazing. 

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I thought the first one was okay, but The Winter Soldier looks amazing! Way more like some kinda espionage thriller, and I totally dig that. Marvel's Phase Two looks really interesting with what they're doing with the sequels -- they've stopped making superhero movies, and started making movies that star superheroes.

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