Still seeking the Great Perhaps

Joufu ja nai Ja-ku dekiru

[say-something-im]

Falling to Oblivion

Have you ever felt like your falling? Similar to when you're about to fall asleep. There's a sudden drop, almost as if there is something deeper pulling your mind back to its roots. Except this fall isn't forceful. It's full of bliss. A freedom of never-ending black scenery passing by. Oblivion. Your soul is falling to Oblivion. There is no ground. Gravity does not exist. Close your eyes and imagine it. Nothing is surrounding you. Nothing is pressuring you. Your soul is no longer chained down, no longer trapped in a box of thoughts: Am I loved? Do I love? Am I alive? Instead, you're ready for your heart to stop. You try to move your body, but find the endlessness too enticing. Too welcoming. The energy to go on has left and it is obvious that if your soul remains in this state, it will not come back. Regardless of life's beckoning, there is just something about falling. Free falling to Oblivion.

[say-something-im]

Thoughts on Suicide

So I have this theory about suicides. Here me out before you call me crazy. If you understand this, you may be well on your way to understanding everything. There are people who go through life, seemingly with the utmost bliss. They seem to have the strongest faith that life truly is great. We think to ourselves that they truly don't understand the world yet. They're so shiny and bright. So beautiful. They are the young souls. The ones who only feel they're own energy. Until they don't. Until they get hurt. Again and again. And then they die. When they are born again, their souls are a little charred. There is some scarring around the edges. They are a little more reserved. Then they get hurt again and again. The cycle repeats. These are the souls that gather. They know the others have experienced pain and hurt. They know the others understand the world more. They admire and long for the shiny young souls but their scars run too deep. The charred edges know blackened stripes. It's irreversible. This world does too much damage in the end. Eventually, the soul reaches its limits. When it is reborn again for the final time, in the heart of hearts, the soul knows. It can take no more of the world's fires. No more of the world's swords. No more of the world's ill intent. When the final needle stabs it, when the final match lights near it, when the final young bright soul passes by, the individual says enough is enough. And they bring the end themselves. The hurt of what they do shatters what remains of their soul, feeding it to the winds. They know it's unavoidable. After all, a soul truly can only take so much. Still, there is little relief. Only in that they won't be born again. Every soul eventually reaches this conclusion. There is little else this world has to offer.

[sixpenceee]

The creatures under your bed like to reach up and hold your hand when you leave it dangling over the edge of the bed. Not because they want to eat it or anything, but because they're scared of the dark. You make them feel safer. They hold your hand to feel safe and not so alone.

What a twist. Someone draw a comic/cartoon of this!

[sixpenceee]

Compilation of some of the comics so far.

By tumblr user bakanohealthy

By tumblr user lifes-author

By tumblr user fullycookedbacon

You guys rock! If you still want to draw something go ahead. Put it in the forsixpenceee tag!

[rapewhistled2013login-deactivat]

[true-love-is-everything]

I know there are other people, but I don’t want anyone else. I want you. Even when you’re sad, even when you make mistakes, even if we don’t agree at times. I still just want you.

(via true-love-is-everything)

[the-fourth-kind]

[afaganistan-blog]

ppl in africa are dying

[lovelightself]

[jocelyncharlesblr]

[kfcbuckets-deactivated20210108]

please graph your answer

[dirkedstrider-deactivated201508]

Graphing is where I draw the line.

[smeliot-deactivated20220528]

did you just

[ewan-mcgregor-trash-deactivated]

it seemed the best fit

[heckboymoved-deactivated2016033]

[poyzn]

[train-to-win-deactivated2016090]

This makes me happy

[lacarpadeklee]

I love the last photo

[conquermountains]

[say-something-im]

spamblebee

[winterpatrick-deactivated201411]

it’s nine in the afternoon and my thighs are the size of the moon

[feeling--stabby]

At least you have thighs *aggressive bone clacking*

[winterpatrick-deactivated201411]

what the fuck

[lauranowlin]

[thelightawakens]

“So, you know the lost masters. They’re the ones who started the Keyblade War.”

“Never heard of ‘em.”

[heyifinallyhaveablog]

my earnest apologies, love! If you think, I’ll be tender. That is what you, deem to be conventionally tender. For my passion, knows not the bounds of conventional tenderness, That entails submission. I will be a tigeress, Set to scratch every impression, That you leave on me, To be embossed on you. Of course, I will find it in my will, To let my lips linger on yours in passionate fervour, But, my hunger shall be ravenous enough, To let itself be satiated by the very breath, That your desire for me pours into my being, You are the spark that set me aflame, And now, I shall be the fire that you incited. And, when has fire ever been tender, my love? Fire, can be serene. But, tenderness? In all its definitions and cognate expressions, Has never been an ally of the fire. I shall be the bonfire, in all its serene composure, To warm you in its solace. I shall be the raging combustion, That purges ore in its wake, While I purge the dross of my ore, In the flames that you seek to spew for me. Our love, shall rivet its impressions on us, Our desire, shall inscribe its ballads on our selves, But never would they be singing their dirges into being embers. And if, we digress into infernal infernos, Set to char each other into oblivion, Our elegies shall find its utterances, In the final spurt of its destruction. But, in all of this, my love, There shall be no tenderness, That multitudes tend to seek. There shall be love, wrought in fire, There shall be untainted affection, invigorated with all the passion That purity of the soul can bear. There shall be my unblemished ardour for you. But, my love, If it is conventional submission you yearn for? Fire isn’t made to provision such submission.

Tenderness

Arpita Biswas

For poe-sies

And,

Sakambari // fafulous

For their birthdays, which co-incidentally, coincide.

(via heyifinallyhaveablog)

[paulruddaily]

“Nice to have support from your family, your loved ones”

Paul Rudd talks Ant-Man on the David Letterman Show