歓迎

[kiboucchi]

[softsipsbiggulps]

I am back on this blog. It has been a while. I want to follow more quote blogs and am open to suggestions for books to read during the summer. And new people to talk to.

[watchoutforintellect]

It is June. I am tired of being brave.

Anne Sexton - from The Truth The Dead Know (via watchoutforintellect)

[yeule-deactivated20240618]

荒木 経惟

Nobuyoshi Araki

Diary Sentimental Journey

[jpnvines]

ぶりっ子の頂点 〜 テオくん

The pinnacle of burikko 〜 テオくん

Hey, pay attention to me.

Later, OK?

Hey, pay attention to me.

Later.

[nippon-com]

A new take on the age old rice ball is gaining popularity in Japan. Known as onigirazu, so named as chefs can quickly make them without worrying about getting sticky rice hands, these versatile and hearty dishes have rapidly become popular search subjects on cooking apps such as Cookpad and have even inspired several recipe books.

The photos above by Laura Tomàs Avellana on Flickr show how to make onigirazu in just a few steps. All that is needed is nori, rice, plastic wrap, and fillings.

[writingsforwinter]

Untruths Written by Three Daughters

Yes, the first man’s hands will wreck you worse than any knife could.

The tub can be red for years but never lead to drowning.

And sometimes the girls are bears.

Not with teeth or claws, but with paws clenched in traps.

They’ll gnaw their own legs off to survive.

They know that flight and fight can be one and the same.

Yes, leaving comes in languages not only the dead know.

If he leaves at dawn, he wants to hurt you.

If he leaves at dusk, he’s afraid to.

You can love in a thousand ways

and none of them will ever be enough.

This is why the living are so pitied;

they love to a fault.

The meat around the bone.

The ring inside the salmon.

Her fist inside your palm.

Her fist inside your heart, closing.

The door, closing.

Another life, closing.

[mostlyfiction]

You talk so much about moving on but your heart is still so full of him. You want to forget but your mind is still set on ways to forgive yourself for falling in love with someone so toxic, someone so unchangeable. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You can’t keep writing about letting go when the words are still drenched in his memory.

“He doesn’t deserve anything when it comes to you,” - CB (via mostlyfiction)

[sleepingtigers]

the most attractive thing to me is when I can be a sarcastic little shit and rather than calling me mean or getting offended they’re a little sarcastic shit back (⊙‿⊙✿)

[produgious]

[srirachaemoji-deactivated201505]

It’s not fair that black people have to constantly be angry in the face of racism in order for our feelings to be valid. “If you’re not angry you’re not paying attention” is actually a sneaky way of policing black peoples’ emotions and further silencing those of us who struggle...

[coltre]

Are you currently in a relationship?

My mom used to tell me when I was young “you’re a wildfire Paolo, be gentle, go slow.” But I never really understood. All the people I’ve been in love with told me “you’re too much for me.” I’ve come to the conclusion I am too difficult to handle, too hard to love. I feel like I’m loved by many but maybe my mom is right, I am a wildfire; pretty to look at, but from a distance

[mostlyfiction]

I haven’t eaten anything today, or at least not yet. I got up early this morning, running on four hours of sleep but it’s hard to tell because I’ve learnt how to cover up the bags under my eyes with enough makeup where no one can tell. I picked up my prescription at the pharmacy and sang to old jazz tunes in my car on the way home while the snow brushed past my window. I haven’t done much today, just drank four cups of coffee, smoked four cigarettes and painted a woman who I will never meet but who sometimes enters my dreams. I can feel her touching me but when I wake up I know it’s not real because I’ve never felt her skin against mine. I opened all my blinds, swept the floor twice and cleaned out my drawers. I found a box of old love letters you sent to me when our love was still growing, still in the midst of blossoming. I’m still in my pajamas, I took a bath and put my red sweater back on. I dyed my hair blue for the second time this month, the bathroom tiles have marks of change between them. I washed all my dirty laundry, hung up all the clothes that had been on the chair in the corner of my room for a couple of months now. I’ve been working so many night shifts that I kept telling myself and my mother that I would do it in the morning but never did, until today. I wrote a poem about changing, ripped it out of my sketchbook and tossed it into the almost full trashcan. I filled out a few job applications online, wrapped a few presents for a friend that has more on her mind than I could ever help organize. I went outside to smoke my fifth cigarette and only got down to the middle until I could no longer feel the tips of my fingers, so I put it out and went inside. It’s not even the middle of the day yet and I have already done all I could to keep me busy, to keep my mind from wandering off, from imagining the life we could have probably had if we would have just talked it through. I keep thinking about the day when you left, when I asked you if you had everything, if you needed anything, if you wanted to say anything or everything before you went away for good this time. It’s not even the afternoon and I am already over-thinking the words that left my mouth before you left the house. I wonder what else I can do to preoccupy my time in hopes of keeping my mind off of whatever it is that I cannot take back. It’s not even dark outside and I am already wondering when I will ever see you again, if I will ever see you again and what I will do right this time when you arrive at my doorstep.

"No matter how busy I am my thoughts somehow still lead back to you," - Colleen Brown (via mostlyfiction)

[mostlyfiction]

I know that you miss me, and that you wish things would have gone differently, or that we would have had more time. But do you think you are the only one who has been taken for granted? Do you think that just because I am trying to move on means that I no longer love you? Because no amount of months filled with silence that are put in-between us will ever change the fact that I still love you and always will. We were both so selfish when we first met. We never seemed so be on the same page, let alone the same topic. I was always waiting for you to speak first while you were always waiting for me to touch you. I am sorry for this mess that we both made. This mess that is too heavy for either of our hands to clear. But everyday we are pushing through these heaps of cruel words and mislead assumptions, and everyday we are realizing that not even love could make enough noise to fill in the silence that we created for ourselves. I’m trying to think of new ways to apologize to you, to tell you that I do not think you are the only one to blame. But as I write out letters of regret I am always left with a blank ending, an empty pen, new reasons to why we should have waited. I spend most of my time looking for my courage in the things you left behind. I’m trying to find it because I want to use it for when you come back. I want to apply it so you can see that I am not all talk but over analyzed actions. I want you to think better of me like you did before you were in front of me. I want to be your muse again, your perfected poetry, your everything is still good thoughts. Maybe I will use this mess of bitter thoughts and passive aggressive confessions in your next letter. Maybe this will help you understand a little bit more to why it is that I’m still holding on. Maybe you’ll write back. Maybe you’ll come back. Maybe you’ll help me come to terms with our love suffering in the way that it did. And maybe, just maybe this will help you see that even though it feels like I’m moving on, I’m somehow still right beside you.

"A letter full of contradicting sentiment," - Colleen Brown (via mostlyfiction)

[psych-facts]

She did not need much, wanted very little. A kind word, sincerity, fresh air, clean water, a garden, kisses, books to read, sheltering arms, a cozy bed, and to love and be loved in return.

Starra Neely Blade  (via thatkindofwoman)

[mostlyfiction]

I know that you miss me, and that you wish things would have gone differently, or that we would have had more time. But do you think you are the only one who has been taken for granted? Do you think that just because I am trying to move on means that I no longer love you? Because no amount of months filled with silence that are put in-between us will ever change the fact that I still love you and always will. We were both so selfish when we first met. We never seemed so be on the same page, let alone the same topic. I was always waiting for you to speak first while you were always waiting for me to touch you. I am sorry for this mess that we both made. This mess that is too heavy for either of our hands to clear. But everyday we are pushing through these heaps of cruel words and mislead assumptions, and everyday we are realizing that not even love could make enough noise to fill in the silence that we created for ourselves. I’m trying to think of new ways to apologize to you, to tell you that I do not think you are the only one to blame. But as I write out letters of regret I am always left with a blank ending, an empty pen, new reasons to why we should have waited. I spend most of my time looking for my courage in the things you left behind. I’m trying to find it because I want to use it for when you come back. I want to apply it so you can see that I am not all talk but over analyzed actions. I want you to think better of me like you did before you were in front of me. I want to be your muse again, your perfected poetry, your everything is still good thoughts. Maybe I will use this mess of bitter thoughts and passive aggressive confessions in your next letter. Maybe this will help you understand a little bit more to why it is that I’m still holding on. Maybe you’ll write back. Maybe you’ll come back. Maybe you’ll help me come to terms with our love suffering in the way that it did. And maybe, just maybe this will help you see that even though it feels like I’m moving on, I’m somehow still right beside you.

"A letter full of contradicting sentiment," - Colleen Brown (via mostlyfiction)

[renoirs]

Fun Fact: Vegetarians live up to nine years longer than meat-eaters. Nine horrible, tedious, meaningless, worthless, meatless years.

Renoirs (via renoirs)