2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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$LAYYYTER
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@jackie-pepper-jaime
Undress these beautiful lies, blind me with animal eyes, carve your heart into mine,carve your heart into mine. Brush me with venomous lips, tear me to passionate strips,stir up the beast inside,atir up the beast inside... Take me for all I’m worth! Touch me until it hurts,Until it hurts,until it hurts, until it hurts...
Until my body burns. Love me until it hurts...
Your name, forever the name on my lips, just like our last kiss...
"Losing him was blue like I’d never knownMissing him was dark grey all aloneForgetting him was like trying to know somebody you've never metBut loving him was redLoving him was red..."
Please don't turn around... leave me high and dry...
I liked to think that Bonnie was you, a little girl again, before the war and poverty had done things to you. She was so like you, so willful, so brave and gay and full of high spirits, and I could pet her and spoil her, just as I wanted to pet you. But she wasn’t like you...she loved me. It was a blessing that I could take the love you didn’t want and give it to her..."
Wanting to say to everyone annoying: "Oh, Fiddle-Dee-Dee!"
But knowing, that you'll just sound crazy, "grandmaish", or they just won't get it...
"Do you know why I did it? I was mad, crazy with jealousy. She never cared for me and I thought I could make her care. But she never cared. She doesn’t love me. She never has. She loves--”
Rhett Butler to Melanie Wilkes.
In the land of Gods and Monsters...
Writer's Madness
Creative work requires huge efforts in such a personal sacrifice and dedication as exceptional among ordinary mortals, that there could be the source of serious personal consequences.
According to psychoanalysis, literature is an organized form of delirium, said Freud: "The instincts dissatisfied are the driving forces of fantasies, and every fantasy is a wish dissatisfaction, a rectification of unsatisfactory reality ". As if being mad was to be a writer or vice versa.
Art and madness touch, that's for sure, but the differences between madness and art are evident. Writing can transform insanity into an a fact, it's not just a download of words, it is structured language that communicates something.
Fears, nightmares, paranoia, are ghosts that feed the writing, and the author reflects them in his works, voluntarily or involuntarily.
Other writers are really crazy, paranoid or schizophrenic as Strindberg or Artaud. You may be crazy, drunk, drugged, but writting needs a great lucidity and a huge control over what you are doing...
An artist goes in sane and lucid into his personal hell and comes back torn and with arms full of valuable fragments of his guts, then builds something beautiful for others. The essential difference is the round trip, to sumurge your self in the underground hell and come back up, although there are no guarantees of it, and there are some get caught in the shadows.
I acknowledge that the writer's craft has side effects. I suffer social isolation, I get obsessed with my stories, live other lives, those of my characters, writing I lose track of time, I forget the world, but also fully enjoy what I do. Write protects me from other worst follies, teaches me, I humanizes, and that's not so bad...
“No, my dear, I’m not in love with you, no more than you are with me, and if I were, you would be the last person I’d ever tell. God help the man who ever really loves you. You’d break his heart, my darling, cruel, destructive little cat..."
"You’re such a child, Scarlett. A child crying for the moon. What would a child do with the moon if it got it? And what would you do with Ashley? Yes, I’m sorry for you--sorry to see you throwing away happiness with both hands and reaching out for something that would never make you happy." - (I can't help feeling like a child crying for the moon.)
-Rhett Buttler, Gone With the Wind
“I bare my soul and you are suspicious! No, Scarlett, this is a bona fide honorable declaration. I admit that it’s not in the best of taste, coming at this time, but I have a very good excuse for my lack of breeding. I’m going away tomorrow for a long time and I fear that if I wait till I return you’ll have married some one else with a little money. So I thought, why not me and my money? Really, Scarlett, I can’t go all my life, waiting to catch you between husbands.”
-Rhett Buttler. Gone with the wind.
"I was always an unusual girl, my mother told me I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean. And if I said that I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way, I’d be lying, because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to NO ONE , who belonged to EVERYONE, who had NOTHING, who wanted EVERYTHING, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me..."
