Writing is one of my
Writing is one of my
Words on paper sound better than when words are spoken.
When written down, you can auto-correct.
You can rephrase each sentence to make them sound right.
You don’t have to worry about correctly pronouncing words
or using the correct words.
More thought is put into words that are written down.
When I speak, I do it without thinking.
I am never cautious and I never think about how it could sound to the other person.
I never consider what my words could do,
or consider how they might be translated.
I am sloppy and rough with my speech.
My spoken words are never as organized as my writen words usually are.
It is only when I write that I can become aware
of how I would like say my thoughts in a organized way.
Because it is only in writing
that I ever have to stop and think about how I would like to convey my thoughts.
It is only in writing that I search for a point or direct idea.
I am not articulate enough to speak the way I want,
or express myself the I would like.
I am able to understand myself better when I write.
It is when I write, that I can explain my own raw emotions
the way I see them.
Writing is one my closest friends.
Writing is one of my outlets.
Writing is one of my drugs.
-ask
(via ask)
Yourself
And you’re worth saving.
It’s a war not easily won
But if anything is worth winning then
This is it.”
(via themonotonousmonster)
Samson
This is Samson. As per his Monday morning ritual, he sat in his office studying. Slouched over a peeling wooden desk. Whether the desk was oak, pine, or something else, he didn’t know. He rested in a dated leather chair that limped to one side. It was too spongy to be comfortable, but he liked the old chair - he had, with a chuckle, nicknamed it the “Tenured Professor”: senile, but enduring. He liked to think that it watched over the room in his absence, although, he wasn’t absent often.
Samson is young, but Samson is smart. He is, in fact, the youngest in the room; even the yellowing fern in the corner is two years his senior. He had inherited the room from an uncle whom he did not remember, an uncle who had apparently liked him very much. This faceless man did not say much in his will, except that he wished Samson to grow into a “handsome and deliberate man.” And handsome he was - disheveled hair and untrimmed nails aside, he was indeed quite handsome. The girls that he knew said that he had an agreeable combination of features: a proud nose offset by a humble chin, attentive ears with somnolent eyes. Whether this was said mockingly or earnestly, scathingly or lovingly, he did not know.
On any typical Monday, he could be found with his sleeves rolled up and his mind on his work, the underside of his hands dusted with silvery pencil soot. His beloved Ticonderoga, if not on his desk, could likely be found shoved into his hair. As a boy, he had found that his hair held the pencil better than the back of his ear, and proceeded to store it there for years in spite of the occasional jab. This Monday, however, wasn’t typical - his pencil was not on his desk, in his hand, or wedged in his hair. It was on the floor. His sleeves were rolled down, and his mind was cloudy. For whatever reason, he felt a vague and faceless nervousness. He had, for some time, been working on a project that his friends neither understood nor cared about. Despite the loneliness, he had been alright. But tonight, he was filled with a dread that he could not place, a heavy trepidation that was immune to his attempts to expel it. He decided he would deal with it in the morning.
As he leaned back to leave, the Tenured Professor groaned in protest. Samson closed his eyes and stood up.
“Oh, hush now. Professor. Keep an eye out tonight.”
He picked up the pencil, placed it neatly on the desk then proceeded out the room, closing the door to the office behind him. The deadlock clicked, and he was gone.
Marina Abramovic meets Ulay
“Marina Abramovic and Ulay started an intense love story in the 70s, performing art out of the van they lived in. When they felt the relationship had run its course, they decided to walk the Great Wall of China, each from one end, meeting for one last big hug in the middle and never seeing each other again. at her 2010 MoMa retrospective Marina performed ‘The Artist Is Present’ as part of the show, a minute of silence with each stranger who sat in front of her. Ulay arrived without her knowing it and this is what happened.”
“En los años 70, Marina Abramovic mantuvo una intensa historia de amor con Ulay. Pasaron 5 años viviendo en una furgoneta realizando toda clase de performances. En 1988, cuando su relación ya no daba para más, decidieron recorrer la Gran Muralla China, empezando cada uno de un lado, para encontrarse en el medio, abrazarse y no volver a verse nunca más. En 2010 el MoMa de Nueva York dedicó una retrospectiva a su obra. Dentro de la misma, Marina compartía un minuto en silencio con cada extraño que se sentaba frente a ella. Ulay llegó sin que ella lo supiera, y esto fue lo que pasó”in the third gif he’s like “long time, no see.” im crying too much today..
Wonderful.
(via lydialemieux)
(via lavieboemma)
Major Lazer
Get Free
Why do you stand in my way?
You could never understand
You, of feeble mind and crippled ambition
You could never know
-
But I cannot hate you
You do not know
You do not see
Not yet
-
Time, irretrievable and unforgiving
The fiercest disciplinarian
Do you not know that you are, even now, dying?
Your cells in mutiny
Your pulse, the morbid metronome that confirms that you have wasted yet another day?
The state of life - fragile and finite
Modest in form but untethered in all else
And yet you sit, stale and immobile
-
I see you
-
I see how you measure yourself
With numbers and borrowed metersticks,
By the approval of lesser minds and colder souls
Act, I beg of you
Move, dance, for your own sake
Embrace thirst, if it is the thirst of ambition
Embrace vulnerability, if it is the vulnerability of freedom
Whether for joy, love, or revenge
Run, chase, pursue - ceaselessly
Fight to understand what it means
To possess life
-
I understand love
I have felt the tender touch
I have endured the bruising absence
I understand love
But I will not pause for it
-
I understand failure
I have withered from embarrassment
I have hidden in shame
I understand failure
But I will not pause for it
To pause is to lose
-
So,
I walk in search of the satisfaction of a lesson learned, a mission complete.
I will fail my way to success.
Walk with me,
Or step aside.
(via lavieboemma)
(via jaaaaaaaanet)
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