Eunoia

Just trying to add a little wonder. ^-^ Original potter-on-my-wayward-doctor may like + follow you.

[myself-after-midnight]

“you think nobody notices you // yet every face in your dreams is somebody you have seen // you are on the mind of a million strangers”

—

[myself-after-midnight]

“can we lose this stress on romantic love? please? it’s destructive. sure, love is wonderful, and I wish a bountiful amount of it upon everybody but that’s the point I don’t wish for one life partner to provide all the love and support you will need in your life I don’t wish for a succession of them I wish for groups of friends, in different areas of your life I wish for parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles and speaking as someone who doesn’t have very many of those I wish for adults who take the place of those people in your heart who provide those lessons, that support, and that framework I wish for the village it takes to raise a child I wish for this stress upon romantic being so different from platonic to fade and for platonic to be valued just as much as any other form of love I wish for us to realise how lucky we are to have people around us that we can connect to on so many levels and for us to adventure out with open hearts to offer kindness to many and recieve in return and in no way be worried when it is taken as love because love is not a small quantity to be rarely bestowed love is appreciation for our fellows who share this beautiful earth and it takes many forms - I know I can say honestly now and I will not feel any less for doing so that I love you”

—

[myself-after-midnight]

A sweet and to the point story from my 5 year old self, recently found.

I hope you all have a beautiful day x

Kissed turned other

The princess kissed the frog

the frog turned into a princess!

and they married each other.

[swanjolras-blog-archive-deactiv]

man this has been said before by cleverer folks than me, but sometimes you have to sit down and let the sheer size and age of the storytelling tradition just completely overwhelm you, ja feel?

like— think for a second about how mind-bogglingly incredible it is that we know who osiris is? that somebody just made him up one day, and told stories about him to their kids, and literally thousands and thousands of years later we are still able to go “there was a god whose brother cut him into pieces”, it’s so arbitrary, it’s so incredible

that in talking about scheherazade and her husband, you are doing something that someone in every single generation has done since it was written— you are telling stories that have lasted an impossible amount of time 

can you conceive of telling a story, and then traveling into the future and hearing that same story told— with alterations, and through media that you could not possibly conceive of, but your story— in the year 3214?

the fact that we! as a species! have been telling the same damn stories for so long— the fact that we’ve seen homer’s troy and chaucer’s troy and shakespeare’s troy and troy with fucking brad pitt because we never fucking stop telling stories! never ever ever!

we never stop caring about stories, or returning to the same stories, or putting our own spins on stories. we never stop talking about the characters as if they were real, or asking what happened next, or asking to hear it again.

generation after generation, they never ever ever stop mattering to us.

[myself-after-midnight]

There must be a reason why so many books have young protagonists. Often just after the age of ten, but before they reach an intellectual teen age, about fifteen onwards. I think it’s a subconscious rule; that that’s the age where you are old enough to express yourself, to see enough of the word and have thoughts about it, to take care of yourself when you explore, but yet young enough to not understand the problems of adults; to have a different perspective, which gives you a certain power, to go about solving things in a different way. Near everyone remembers what it was like to be young and view the world simply, and I think they are trying to express that again, to explain to themselves how they changed into what they always thought they wouldn’t. To think that if they were still children how much easier everything would be. With the understanding of how adults manage to tangle themselves up and lose some of that love for life and its bountiful pleasures, they create characters and problems, and into families they place the children they once were and their confusion. And then they paint a different path, one where the magic things happened, the door opened up behind the chest of drawers and they vanquished the monsters and their parents were solved of their pain without ever realising. I think the children inside, who live in the walls of warm kitchens which always smell like Mama’s special recipe, are aching to be expressed in this world we found ourselves trapped in, of paperwork labyrinths and towers guarded by dragons of debt.

[myself-after-midnight]

“killing time, killing time

there’s no point you know

just a series of failed assasinations

until one day, Time gets tired of your shit

and kills you”

An extracted thought from a much longer piece

[ellenya]

One day, one rhyme- Day 1856

I fell into a tree today,

In its branches got trapped,

They stopped me floating off in space

But then- Oh no! It snapped,

I plummeted into the sky

I tried to grab a cloud,

But as I grabbed at it, it burst-

With a sound very loud.

The deflated cloud blew away,

To rain it had gave birth

Which luckily is quite heavy

And dragged me back to earth.

[myself-after-midnight]

Into a tree I'll climb again

I got a taste for clouds

I'll push off from the tree crown

And dive backwards to be drowned

I'll scoop the clouds into my arms

Encase my body in them tight

Rewrite myself in their caress

Give everyone else a fright!

I don't know what you think of ghosts

To me they bring great mirth

Buoyant clouds just bobbing

Smiling across the earth

[potter-on-my-wayward-doctor]

“With all the voice in your lungs, rebel with me. Curl your fingers into fists and punch the sky until it cracks in protest. Rain down your anger upon the perpetrators until the flood of our voices washes them away. March alongside your fellows until the earth is imprinted, not with the tramp of warring armies, but the heartbeat of a world united. Do this for me, for yourself, for the future generations and all those who gave us this chance to live right here and now.”

— An Anthem

[myself-after-midnight]

Again for the Friday Strikes.

Climate Change will not stop changing - and neither should we halt for striving for a better and more sustainable future.

[myself-after-midnight]

More than 300 days have budded and withered since first I met you, and I don't know if the graves of the world are better or worse for it.

Are we improved by the meeting and parting of our paths? What different routes may we have trod if we had never laid eyes upon each other?

Impossible questions gain permanence in the mind once spoken aloud...

[myself-after-midnight]

It was the fifth floor of the Tate where we gazed out over the London skyline, faint strains of an accordion floating up to us on the slightly too cold breeze. Reclining in deck chairs, rain not salt water dashing against our faces on this urban beach; I smiled at you as we watched airplanes. We perused Picasso and then returned to the swings, this time under the darkening sky. Joined together by struts of metal we worked in tandem to fly into the night, flinging our heads back until the world reversed itself, blood rushing to our heads as giggles floated up to our guts.

~~~

A half-dredged moment of perfection between imperfect people 23/03/18

[myself-after-midnight]

And so you fell, as inevitable as the leaves in autumn // but the seasons turn as they have to do and he left // like the birds in winter always must

A simple matter of nature and survival

[myself-after-midnight]

Books move at your pace, whatever that may be.

If you need to race, to be submerged, to drown out thoughts of reality under a wave of words, they can help. If you want to crawl between each character and curl under a coating of phrases, extending the discovery of all edges of this haven as long as possible, they are there for you.

Books always open their pages and welcome you back, time and time again.

[myself-after-midnight]

we the unwilling led by the unqualified to kill the unfortunate die for the ungrateful

Engraving on a lighter from the Vietnam War

[myself-after-midnight]

I don't want to world today - existing has become hard again

[myself-after-midnight]

Crisp punch in the gut through the crunch of frozen veins // Cracked windowpanes curl another day beneath them

[myself-after-midnight]

Ah but I fear, I feel the best of my loneliness in the midst of company, and so I shall be troubling on your presence a while longer.

[myself-after-midnight]

i love your blog so much oh my god, you write so beautifully, can i be in love with writing? i think i am, god <3

I know this is old but it meant the world to me to get this, and it means the world to me today so I'm posting it - thank you my lovely; I think it is possible to be in love with a crafted perspective that speaks to you, and I'm thrilled that my words resonated with you. May we both continue to create and bring smiles to others xxx