When people repeatedly try to pull my strings and realize I cut them off. Is it enjoyable to pick a person apart based on a few assumptions from their blog? I think you find it easier to look at everyone else so you don’t have to look at yourself. When you poke at others’ insecurities pay more attention and you may find that they talk about them now because they’re no longer an issue. Can you say the same for yourself? Being a puppetmaster means first learning how to not be a puppet. You can’t have drama with a person if you refuse to play their game. I’m glad I learned that.
I kind of want to be a librarian if only to spend my time where people shut the fuck up. I know libraries are louder these days than they were in the time of rotary phones and index cards. There’s a reading room and an internet room and a crazy homeless person picking their teeth in the art book aisle. But libraries are still a place of solace. You can still check out anything you want on astrophysics even if you don’t understand it and stare at the ceiling for an hour without being questioned. I’d rather a library than a church. They don’t even ask for money and more reading material. And if you want to ask forgiveness for your sins you can do it to shakespeare rather than a god you don’t believe in. The best libraries have a million little corners with comfortable chairs. In these corners is dappled sunlight and a view of pedestrians and rose bushes. Is there any other place where no one invades your space even with noise pollution? If they carried martinis and bottles of whiskey in between the stacks they’d be near perfect. Maybe a pile of pillows in the rare books room on the top floor.
L.A. seems like the kind of place you want to move if your silicone isn’t getting enough attention. I don’t mean to pester my friends in LA. Many bright and talented people live there, and a few of them will read this. I adore you guys. But let’s face it. That’s where all of the fake boobed jaded single ladies go to find meaning in their lives. Is it meaning you want or someone to appreciate your silicone implants and mediocre jokes?
I blame Ernest Hemingway for all of my drinking problems. Have you ever read Hemingway? 90% liquor menus and 10% heartbreak. He was a man’s man because every bearded twenty year old reblogs him in a fishing boat but was he though? He spoke about depression and heartache and killed himself in his sixties because the weight of the world was too much. You want to glorify his manly appraisal of exploration and alcoholism go right ahead, but I love him for his bleeding heart and sensitive eye and I think frankly that’s why you do too, little fawn.
Can we just skip the formalities and go straight to the part where you get weird and start ignoring my texts? If you want to build a relationship with someone you have to open your eyes to all of the red flags, especially when you don’t want to see them. Like “I don’t give out my number I only use kik” or long silences interspersed with flirtatious innuendos.
If I could tell my future grandchildren anything it would be “people are fucking retarded”. Cussing is not bad for children anymore than occasional candy or wine. Tell them life is rainbows and unicorns and Santa is real and alcohol is off limits and fuck is bad and sex is bad and a few house chores are good because they can win an Xbox but chores without allowance will get them nowhere and honestly you’re going to have a real mess on your hands. Tell them people will break their hearts and lie and also be surprisingly beautiful and sweet because you never know until you do. Take this from someone who is working her way up to motherhood with plants, a cat, a dog and a steady stream of cuss words.
Sometimes when I’m on my period I just feel like a walking tampon. I bleed more than Joffrey at his wedding party. I can hardly move and guys complain about being misunderstood.
"Look a tattooed couple fucking in a bathtub in the forest, that makes sense" -tumblr. I’ve seen it all and usually 100 times because the strictly Reblogger blogs have short term memory loss and an obsessions with the mundane and absurd decorated with tatts.
If I were a bear I’d eat all the bad people and then I’d move to Antarctica because fuck this noise. I’ve always wanted to go to Antarctica and if not there Alaska because there’s something magical about seeing nothing resembling humanity for miles and the possibility that you’ll be swallowed up in the white void.
I want to date a nerd who doesn’t get off on talking about what a nerd he is. Why do you feel compelled to tag “nerd joke” is it because you feel like studying science makes you more worthy of being passionate for the universe and stars and space? That memorizing comic books makes you “different”? We’re all nerds here, lose the pretense, the false humility doesn’t become anybody.
Have you ever noticed how every handsome man has a female friend watching him like a hawk? “We’re just friends” she insists smiling nervously every time he flirts with a new girl, remaining ever loyal in the background like a shark ready to devour its prey. Please for the love of all romance do yourself a favor and let it go. He will never be yours or it would have already happened.
What’s after postmodernism? That’s what I need to know. Do androids dream of electric sheep meets Eckhart Tolle meets reality tv.
I think I have a different idea of good friendship than a lot of society. For me it isn’t assuaging your ego or crying about all your hardships to gain sympathy (that is knowledge you gain in time not to reel in a friendship), and it isn’t public performance, social obligations, extravagant birthday parties, presents and daily gossip sessions with your clique. I love jokes and wit and general goofiness and those help solidify a connection but for me a real fucking friendship is consistency in compassion and respect; being there for the occasional meltdown and being there for spontaneous surprises. It also means some patience getting past people’s barriers, discernment, some raw honesty, acceptance but also challenging constructively the parts inside you that want to crumble or flower or scream. Friends I’ve lost were never my friends, and even if it’s sad to lose them it does give me space for people who will really be there not with flirtatious words, ephemeral promises and begrudged obligations but rather with their hearts.
Clou le Fou
In conjunction with my photography exploring negative space, I have also been writing in that silent time between midnight and 4am, and here I have gathered memories and words from that space between dreams and reality.