“The sociability of artists is a paradoxical and precarious thing, and ceases the instant they begin their actual artistic work.”
— R. G. Collingwood

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ellievsbear
d e v o n
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
we're not kids anymore.
Jules of Nature
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NASA
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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roma★

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sheepfilms

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@lauvra
“The sociability of artists is a paradoxical and precarious thing, and ceases the instant they begin their actual artistic work.”
— R. G. Collingwood
It likely already exists, surely, but someone should create an online chess game, user vs. computer wherein we can program biases into our opponent. It would be an incredible tool for practising dominion over each piece one by one for when in regular play the situations arise.
One of my favourite aspects of chess is the personal sentiment and psychology of the players. My housemate astutely said, "you love your pawns." During our next game I said "of course you love your knights." Which was an affectionate insult as well as observable. I think to develop in the game, a player should go through focus periods of affection toward each game piece. I think childhood bias runs elemental as the lifeblood in gameplay, I'll probably always idealise transformation and feel it's a betrayal to sacrifice rather than develop my pawns. He'll probably always identify with the masculine nobility of the knight, as he is and has been the protector of friends, family and strangers throughout life.
The First circle by Solzhenitsyn begins with nearly three pages containing an alphabetical character list and I am in love with the decision. The consideration and theatre of it. My housemate gave me ideas around an idea scrapbook, so many of mine are floating around my mind; some present for years slowly evolving, others flitting through and away, and I think the character list is one for the book. I’ll need it to be more visual than a regular writing or notes journal. There are already new notes taking up tabs in my mind. Seems I’m in my Russian writers / fear of communism phase.
Life is one long day with light and shade.
fondness lasts forever
dentist who doesn't upload to the server
One reason amid many for the wound when people flee from our lives is the spiritual recognition embodied by having been essentially sacrificed. What comes to the other in our absence is likely significant if not vital to them, and I couldn’t label a man condemned without witnessing myself there, but it is what it is. It’s esoteric as fuck. We may perceive ourselves on the platter at an empty feast, no longer sharing in a table, unable to see: still understanding the other, however distant, eats.
A thought presents itself that as it can, might well realise itself materially. Or, “I’ve had an idea.”
Today's writer might set alight the entire city in sacrifice to tomorrow's pen. Those great among us unconscionable.
mr beast publishing company
"Oil Well on Fire", is dated circa the 1920s.
Of the past we've matter but it doesn't, each piece by now so well scattered. A shattered whole teaches it's easier to rewrite anew a near enough story to source from ashes. The man's back again then gone in my psyche to reunite us finally only in the minds of others, for when I do move on, they'll utter I never did.
YOU MADE ME DOUBT MY WHOLE EXISTENCE (approbation)
you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for an amazing reason
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
return for me