#exasperation

[keepquiet7-blog]

[e-skelly]

(Rowan)

Quackity is here? Uh 😳. Wait- is that my Q or the bitch’s Q?

I assume it's the other you's Q.

[embervoices]

Nothing makes me less inclined to share/reblog a post I was otherwise interested in than attaching a manipulative push instead of a simple request.

"Please share to spread the word!" 👍💌

vs.

"Instead of sharing [something unrelated] how about sharing this useful thing for once!" 🙄

"Liking a post doesn't help anybody else." 🤷🏼

"Most people won't share this. Will you?" 🤦🏻

"If you don't share this, you are a bad person." 😒

"Share this with other people. If they send it back, you don't suck!" 😣

If your post requires guilt tripping, blackmailing, and/or insulting the reader to get it shared around, the problem is not the readers.

Stop. Just stop.

[spudcity]

To The Dead in the Graveyard Underneath My Window

Written in a Moment of Exasperation

How can you lie so still? All day I watch

And never a blade of all the green sod moves

To show where restlessly you toss and turn,

And fling a desperate arm or draw up knees

Stiffened and aching from their long disuse;

I watch all night and not one ghost comes forth

To take its freedom of the midnight hour.

Oh, have you no rebellion in your bones?

The very worms must scorn you where you lie,

A pallid mouldering acquiescent folk,

Meek habitants of unresented graves.

Why are you there in your straight row on row

Where I must ever see you from my bed

That in your mere dumb presence iterate

The text so weary in my ears: "Lie still

And rest; be patient and lie still and rest."

I'll not be patient! I will not lie still!

There is a brown road runs between the pines,

And further on the purple woodlands lie,

And still beyond blue mountains lift and loom;

And I would walk the road and I would be

Deep in the wooded shade and I would reach

The windy mountain tops that touch the clouds.

My eyes may follow but my feet are held.

Recumbent as you others must I too

Submit? Be mimic of your movelessness

With pillow and counterpane for stone and sod?

And if the many sayings of the wise

Teach of submission I will not submit

But with a spirit all unreconciled

Flash an unquenched defiance to the stars.

Better it is to walk, to run, to dance,

Better it is to laugh and leap and sing,

To know the open skies of dawn and night,

To move untrammeled down the flaming noon,

And I will clamour it through weary days

Keeping the edge of deprivation sharp,

Nor with the pliant speaking on my lips

Of resignation, sister to defeat.

I'll not be patient. I will not lie still.

And in ironic quietude who is

The despot of our days and lord of dust

Needs but, scarce heeding, wait to drop

Grim casual comment on rebellion's end;

"Yes, yes . . Wilful and petulant but now

As dead and quiet as the others are."

And this each body and ghost of you hath heard

That in your graves do therefore lie so still.

– Adelaide Crapsey

[wren-der]

The internet so great! Youtube will only work right (ad free) with AdNauseam and DailyMotion won't play if AdNauseam is installed. My plugins are going to start waging war with each other soon.

[aragarna]

Good Omemes: I don't wanna, but I'm still gonna - David Tennant as Crowley (Good Omens, 2x02)

[the-real-wholesome-bitch]

As you lay on the floor, a song plays on your phone, a candle burns, your head propped on a sweatshirt. The song that you found in 2020, you have changed. Who were you then, who are you now, who will you be? Always finding something new about you. But the song stays the same, while you change. The candle that your friend gave you for your birthday, will the friendship burn like it? You have had many friends, some have stayed, more have left. When you sit in the library with your friends, do you look around and think “you’ll never leave me”, but then they do. People grow apart, people push away, and sometimes you cling on. The sweatshirt you got from high school, is now any different? You still like the same music, you like the same food, you still fit in the sweatshirt. Would your past self be proud, or will it scorn you. You think of it all, in a room filled with things that make you feel at home, they don’t match each other, but they suit you.

[yoan-le-grall]