#strange thoughts

[mynameisdeaddreamer]

I don't know if you noticed, but in that scene where Neil is writing a letter to Mr. Nolan, Todd just sits on Neil's bed... (no subtext). They're at a level of relationship where it's not just Neil's stuff or just Todd's stuff. It's all shared 🥺

I didn't draw this picture, it's from Pinterest ;)

[betsygimblesagain]

How many people out of the world's population do you think are Murder Virgins (have ended fewer than 1 human life)?

[daydreamingastronauts]

when I was a kid, I used to dream of being a college student having a great social & academic life

now that I am a college student, all I dream of is being that child who had great dreams and hopes on her future.

[dairine-bonnet]

That's how it must be done without any bugs!xD (I still think the RT's sleeping in quite a strange position lying on Heinrix's arm instead of his chest or shoulder. And, Hein, why did you put your heavy leg on hers?!)

Calcazar is pretending he's extremely busy with all the documents in front of him, but Lynette and I know he's aware of most things happening on the board of the RT's voidship. We just hope this knowledge is not too... profound when it comes to someone's private life!

[diary-of-shutterpunk]

Standing on a park bench holding a coffee that has gone cold three existential crises ago.

*erhm*

People spend their whole lives trying to become interesting, which is funny, because the moment someone becomes interesting the first thing they do is try to look normal again.

Watch closely.

A person dyes their hair neon green, pierces their eyebrow, learns three obscure instruments, reads books with titles that sound like haunted furniture… and the moment someone asks them why, they say:

"Eh… I just like it."

Which is technically true.

But it’s also the emotional equivalent of hiding a dragon behind a houseplant. The truth is that humans are strange little narrative machines wandering around pretending to be furniture. We sit in coffee shops discussing the weather while secretly carrying entire mythologies in our heads.

Carl Jung noticed this and wrote:

“Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens.”

But awakening is inconvenient.

Because the moment someone wakes up they notice something terrifying.. Everyone else is improvising too. The banker, the bartender, the goth girl lighting a cigarette outside a club, the photographer crouching in an alley trying to capture the moment when a puddle briefly becomes a mirror.

Nobody actually knows what they’re doing.

We’re all just adjusting our hats and pretending the hat was part of the outfit the whole time. ='D

Because society is essentially a massive game of musical chairs played by philosophers who forgot they were philosophers.

We invented taxes, chairs, dating apps where people swipe left on someone who might have been the love of their life because the lighting in the bathroom selfie was suspicious.

Meanwhile the universe is over here quietly manufacturing stars out of hydrogen like a bored baker.

Marcus Aurelius once wrote:

“You have power over your mind — not outside events.”

Which sounds wise until you realize your mind occasionally decides to remember something embarrassing you said in 2009 while you’re brushing your teeth.

So the i propose a theory..

Maybe the point of life isn’t to become perfectly stable or perfectly wise or perfectly normal.

Maybe the point is to become precisely strange enough that the universe briefly pauses and goes "Ah. There you are"

Because every once in a while you see someone walking down the street and something inside you whispers.. oh.. that’s allowed..

And suddenly the entire social dance shifts half a step.

Which leads to the question.

If the person you are pretending to be met the person you would become if you stopped pretending..

Which one would recognize the other first?

[winwin17]

I don't know how to explain this, but I just saw a truck that was, well, Fingolfin, if he was a truck.

[lukewarmpetulance]

Can I just... wear a white gown/ let my hair down/ and dance in circles/ under the moonlight? Can I just... haunt my own night?

— gemma ˗ˋˏ 𖢻 ˎˊ˗