Map-free Traveling

sightings on the road to self discovery

[thoughtsablaze]

That awkward moment when your imagined existence isn’t better than reality because you can’t escape the void https://instagram.com/p/Bf2JNA3B_S7/

[thoughtsablaze]

“Move on”

“Maybe it’s time to move on,” she said, casually tidying the kitchen. My hands slid from their resting place beneath my chin up to my eyelids, fingers pressing into the thin veils, luminescent colors joining the hot tears that welled at the edges. The weight of the world on my elbows grew heavier, unsteady as my chest jostled between breaths and my shoulders trembled. “It’s not your fault that things didn’t work out, but maybe it’d be easier if you focused on something else.” Fresh wine sloshed into her too large glass. I can’t. I never asked for this abrupt conclusion. “I can’t just start living like nothing happened! I can’t turn my back on the one relationship that made me feel confident, feel happy.” Sticky tears wiped away, I fingered the neck of my barely sipped glass. “Moving on feels like saying that I fucked up and can’t solve the problem, like I’m leaving it all behind and severing ties... but I didn’t ask for this to end. I don’t want it to end. It’s not my fault.” The final words trail, unconvincing to all. She has a good heart to keep going, to keep encouraging a grandiose future glistening with fairy godmother blessings. But then she reminds me of all the heartfelt warnings from before: when you do something against the norms of monogamous, heterosexual, heteronormative existence, you have to expect to get burned. All the weird people deserve their fails, right? And those words get added to the playlist on repeat, the comments and phrases dropped by former lovers and friends, the proof that my hypothesis of failure is solidly ingrained in existence. I hyperventilate into the darkness, the sheets damp with sweat and tears, no level of physical and mental exhaustion enough to lend escape. I was irrevocably content. Why do I have to step out alone?

[thoughtsablaze]

Muse – Mercy

“Mercy” was the third track released in advance of the 2015 album Drones. The singer is regretting her transformation into a drone (detailed on the third track “Psycho”). She is

It’s been too long since I listened to Muse, but their music is always appropriate for life when they find their way back into my queue. “Mercy... Mercy... Show me mercy, from the powers that be Show me mercy, can someone rescue me? “Help me, I've fallen on the inside And all the men in cloaks trying to devour my soul...”

[thoughtsablaze]

An Illogical Solution to Heartache

Nothing you ever say will convince me that this isn’t my fault. No, I didn’t cast the first stone. I didn’t declare the conclusion. Did I unknowingly feed the fissure? Perhaps. But I knew we were doomed. This life is perpetual doom, unremitting disappointment, ceaseless failures. I knew no amount of care, no caravan of hours, no trembling confessions of love--extensively considered and self-consciously admitted--could make this equilateral experiment work.

I let myself fall for the notion that inspirational quotes about happiness being derived from love could perhaps give life to my logically guided, yet unsatisfying, existence. “Stop overthinking everything and just do it,” they said. They are the fucking worst.

Because if I’d rested within the fortress of my mind, I could’ve avoided these sobs, this heaving body, this mental ticker tape of reminders that humans are greedy and constantly destroy others and I am forever failing. Yes, admitting you shredded my spirit makes me weak. But I was always weak. And you knew it.

I was a pet project for your ego, for your pleasure. The more I think, the clearer the emotive blur of the past year becomes: I was a stepping stone for your filthy paws, an ill-set support beam to bear your responsibilities while you flitted down Narcissist Lane.

I debased my nature to value emotional connections over sustainable solitude, and you stole my power--my control. Yes, I got a glimpse of something beautiful in return, but you swatted it from my hand and straight into the flames. You swear this irrational fire of decisions is meant to cleanse, meant to let us move forward without change, but you’re too divorced from reality to see you’ve burned the bridge too. You’ve burned everything. There’s no continuing on. Just drowning.

Drowning and gasping and drowning and gasping drowning and gasping drowning and gasping ad infinitum

I weep into the void, and the void laughs.

[licieoic]

“Pensive” - Digital Oil Painting

This is one of my favorite images of Chris. I kept the painting soft this time, without the final sharpen filter to bring out the strokes. I think it adds something, softens the profile without hiding any of his distinctive features.

This is NOT a Photoshop filter, every stroke is painted by me.

[katie-mcgrath]

[wilwheaton]

And now I’m sad.

[sunnyditch]

Reblog forever. #Firefly

[tvtypes]

Molly Hooper (BBC Sherlock)- INFJ Counselor (Introverted Intuitive Feeling Judging)

INFJs are champions of the oppressed and downtrodden. They often are found in the wake of an emergency, rescuing those who are in acute distress.

Strongly humanitarian in outlook, INFJs tend to be idealists, and because of their J preference for closure and completion, they are generally “doers” as well as dreamers. 

Due in part to the unique perspective produced by the alternation between detachment and involvement in the lives of the people around them, INFJs may well have the clearest insights of all the types into the motivations of others, for good and for evil.

Read More

[aruminatinganimal]

A Conversation While…: A Conversation While… - Chapter 1

Horace and Jasper discuss the various motivations for the defense of faith.

[aruminatinganimal]

A Conversation While…: A Conversation While - Series Trailer

[thoughtsablaze]

This is my all-time favorite web series. Check it out!

[thoughtsablaze]

Aside from the bit about the pregnancy, this movie is perfect. I cannot think of a film that better captures the nuances of human intimacy and the emotional and physical journeys of relationships.

[thoughtsablaze]

[thoughtsablaze]

Brush with the familiar

There are so many things I loved about this movie. It's winter. It's the middle of nowhere. It's lonely, but wanting.

Abby tries to live and have fun despite the weight of guilt and the blinders of a terrible self image. "We accept the love we think we deserve," as I heard recently in The Perks of Being a Wallflower. And she's deeply loved... by her imaginary friend.

Richard is a loner, always on the hunt for a perfect writing environment that doesn't exist. He's caught up on details, on not doing anything unless the end result is completely perfect. This doesn't just apply to his novel: it's the theme of his entire life. His imaginary friend doesn't help much.

There's inspiration and misunderstanding, confessions and betrayals. Abby and Richard's friendship looks forbidden on the outside, but I knew it could work. His relationship with his wife, though, was clearly broken. She was living with the assumption that her sensitive husband needed to change.

Richard Dunn: We could have had a baby, Claire! Why didn't we have a baby?  Claire Dunn: Why? Because you are a baby! You are an infant! You still have an imaginary friend!  Richard Dunn: I just wanted a little warm thing. Something simple I could start with. A single relationship with a person that was new and pure. Where I could be me and they could be them, and that's all that is expected, and we could build this world where there was some one else other than me to think about and be about.

This movie hurt, but I loved it. It felt so familiar. And oddly enough, I've been thinking a lot about imaginary friends lately.

I hope you watch it.

[thoughtsablaze]

confessional

~*~*~*~

I reached a point last night when I was done. There was laughter, games, happy people, iced pink cookies—and I wanted out. In a moment, I was tired of trying, of being friendly, of competing, of existing.

~*~*~*~

I awoke abruptly at 7:15 from a frustrating dream: I arrived at my zumba class with my workout friends, all pumped up to work out. Everyone in the room was goofing off as the first song began and the stage was set for a show, not a workout. We ignored it all and danced, but slowly others begin sitting down and pushing us out of the way. I was annoyed: I'd come determined to work out and others kept getting in my way. Then the whispers began: other women were pointing and commenting about how I shouldn't even try the class. So I gave up. I tried to walk away but was stopped by a leather jacket-clad man who led me back to my mat just as the lights went out and the show began. Though the figure was strange, I recognized the voice and arms of my love, wrapping me in encouragement as his scruffy chin rested on my forehead and kissed away the unhappiness. I looked up and was shocked to find he was not my love, but an acquaintance's husband. I was frozen in place, wishing within to get away from him and the glaring women around me, yet outwardly appearing to be content. I stayed in bed until noon after I first awoke, dozing myself into a headache.

~*~*~*~

I scrubbed the dishes in a whiskey-fueled haze, the hot water making my dry hands ache. Without the TV to distract my mind, my thoughts wandered over the previous evening's game night. As soon as I recollected all of the smiling faces, the kindness, the good food and cheek-burning laughter, my brain brought up the searing embarrassment of a bad joke (that no one responded to). A lost game (the teams were even on wins/losses by night's end). Surely they were judging me for drinking too much soda and eating too many cookies (everyone else was too). I should've worn a different shirt (one girl complemented it).

Before I could pat myself on the back for getting all my work done last week, I was berating myself for not doing more. For wasting my Sunday afternoon when I could be doing research. Already assuming I'll get behind this week.

I'm a self sabotager. In the midst of a drama-free, happy, entertaining evening, I inexplicably felt unhappy. Finishing my work on time isn't good enough for me. Losing a few pounds and still being in the top 25% of teams during my zumba studio's fitness challenge isn't enough because it's my fault we aren't doing better since I took this weekend off (nevermind that I've been to the most classes and bringing in the most points). I am in love... but as soon as we get off the phone, I think, "Give it 3 months, 6 months. Surely this will end. Surely you will fuck this up."

~*~*~*~

I have caught myself grimacing at work. I'll be absentmindedly scrolling through a list of keywords and replaying a phone conversation that ended in anger a week ago. A fight from a year ago. An embarrassing moment in high school. It's as if I'm obsessed with discontent.

~*~*~*~

I forbid happiness.

[thoughtsablaze]

My culinary goal

[zoewashburne]

The light on their faces: Mal is cragged, often shadowed, but strong, sad-eyed and kind. Kaylee is round, warm, and open. Sexuality and honesty. River is planed, underlit, eyes hooded. She’s a question. Simon works in angles as well, coolly handsome and hard to connect with - but ultimately he’s a romantic. Jayne doesn’t give a good goddamn how he’s lit. Zoe glows. She cannot help it. Wash is light, playful - often amongst his screens or slightly blown out by the sun of high atmosphere. Book is solid, solid through. Inara’s light is complex, like Mal’s. Hiding and beckoning.

Joss Whedon (Serenity: The Official Visual Companion)

[adoctorworld]

Submitted by: Rivka

[thoughtsablaze]

Failure has set a precedent. But I have to know.