How To: Survive Real Life.

Steven Johnson (via unicornology)

suicideblonde:

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

 This is so cute.

A list of things I’ve done while sick with chicken pox.

• Watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Twice.
• Watch True Blood season finale. Twice.
• Did research for my Psychology 2010 class.
• Wrote a paper for Psychology 2010, based on two articles: Childhood experience, interpersonal development, and reproductive strategy: An evolutionary theory of socialization., and Effects of harsh and unpredictable environments in adolescence on development of life history strategies: A longitudinal test of an evolutionary model. Might devote a whole post to this subject in the future.
• Watched Death Proof.
• Watched A Midsummer’s Night Sex Comedy. Woody Allen is awesome.

 All in all, this is what I’ve done.

 -Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask) (1972)

suicideblonde:

Kate Winslet in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

 My favorite movie of all time.

Can the world get any brighter, shinier, clearer? I’d like to shed some light into the dark cracks and crevasses where shadows lie. I want to take a flash light and show them that there is nothing to fear. I tried to make a playlist of the saddest songs I know, none seemed sad enough. I guess that’s okay. I miss you. Not physically though. No, I miss the comfort of you in my head, the solid mass that you were. Whatever you were to me, I miss the certainty. I’m thirsty. But I’m always thirsty when I wake up, maybe the air in my room is too dry. I’ve got that feeling coming back to me again. I felt its presence so strongly last night, I wanted to tell it to go away; instead I cried. By morning that feeling disappeared again, but it left an aftertaste. I’d like to listen to a life changing song. I haven’t heard one in a while. I’d like to listen to a song that makes me fly, or one that explains some unknown, hidden part of my life to me. Sometimes I want to write that song. I wonder why I’m not more proactive. If I want to write a song, I should, musical talent be damned. I wonder how I can change this. I wonder how I can change a lot of things, like

It’s funny that I paused right there. There are so many things I want to change that the thought of listing them is overwhelming, I have to leave it blank. I did think of my room though, what can I change in my room. Nothing, I don’t think. It’s not obstinance, It’s fear. A fear that changing one thing will upset my state of mind, make me a different person. A while ago, and by that I mean years ago, the truth hit me that it’s not my geographic location that makes me scared. It’s me. It’s my own self doubt, my own insecurities. I’m trying really hard to fight them all. I’m trying really, really hard to make something of myself, to live, to become a person, a real person, alive. I’m trying to connect with other real live people. It’s interesting I guess. Everything is an experience. I’ve met lots of people; I don’t think I know them very well. They don’t know me very well either; I don’t let people get to know me. I’m trying to not be layered. I’m trying, I guess, to just be simple, be simply me, whoever that is. I’m trying to do things on impulse, whatever the first thought that comes to mind is, I’ll do it ‘cause I want to be natural. I don’t want to lie about myself anymore. I want a lot of things. I don’t want to pretend. Whatever I am, I am! I’ll just be. It’s hard to connect with people when you try to be yourself because so many people are not themselves. The fortress I’ve built in my brain is strange but so comfortable, hostile but safe, oh so very safe.

I love these moods, these in between moods, where everything flows in a straight line, or wades, or floats like dandelion fluff through the air, through my brain, slowly so I can catch it the first time around. It’s moods like this that allow me to do anything, to fully realize the potential of all moments, like in movies when they slow everything down so you can understand. The moments don’t last forever, but moods like this remind me that I can make them. I can make my own moments. I want peace within myself, I mean, I want to stop fighting whatever I have. It’s only me right now. There is me and my mirror, a truth teller, it’s hard to look at. But I’ve left room open for you. For you. You have a place tucked away in the deepest corner, in the tiniest matchbox. There is always a place for you.

I want to empty the contents of my heart. I want to pour out the letters that mean nothing alone, and put them together in ways that make sense. Words that explain something, anything. Maybe how much you meant to me. I love being in love. I love making room for someone else to settle down for a while. I don’t think they’ll ever stay, but I try to be good, not hazardous, not intruding, not overbearing, not the terrible things I can become when I’m close to what I want. But it can be such a good feeling. I love to feel so passionately about something, anything, someone, somebody, just anybody, another real person. I love how alive it makes me, how the world can’t get brighter, shinier, clearer.

I would like to understand someone completely. That is a very hard thing to do. I’m always looking beyond what I have, searching for the perfect person. There must be something better because I don’t understand this person. This person is not comfortable. That’s what I say. I say, this person is not for me, their flaws echo too loudly in my head. They are harsh, and foreign, and taste like cigarettes when I wanted rose water. I’d like to open my heart, empty the books I’ve written in there, perfect words to just lie in someone’s hands. Or my books will make a new home in someone else’s heart. I would like to write something beautiful. I wonder if I have already, somewhere. I’d like to tell the truth. I want to rehearse my words, and speak them loud and clear, so that anyone who listens knows that I have something to say, I have something to contribute to the class, there’s a mind here! When I say something that others understand, I find that I don’t understand it myself. I never know what to expect of myself, I don’t know who I’ve become but it is someone. This person, they are kind (sometimes), they are funny (on occasion), they are confident and masculine and

Why did I pause right there? I can’t describe myself. The thing is, this person, this strange, warm person that you see isn’t real to me without you. When it is just me, I feel raw and exposed. I want you here to cover up the raw bruises with band-aids, and to hold me like that night at the party, when we got too drunk. I pulled back. I ran deep into my mind and locked the door and threw away the key, hoping you would leave me alone so that my heart wouldn’t be so exposed, and somehow, someday, I could convince myself I didn’t love you too. You were perfect, and I remember you came to lie next to me later. You were holding me when I woke up to the sound of rain.

I want you here to kiss me, and to whisper stories to me in the dark, and do awful impressions of me, and remind me of the practically perfect moments we had, however cheesy and awful that sounds. I can never hope for anything so ridiculous although it has become almost impossible not to. I’ve held on to an unwavering bright light of hope that

I don’t know what. I don’t know what I’m hoping for, but it’s something good. I’m hoping that there’s a bed for me at home, someone warm to curl up next to, stairs to walk down in the morning and a lot of sunlight outside, a bus that comes on time, and then places, I hope there are places I can go. I hope I have some place to go, a space in time in the crowded world that is just for me. I can get lost in the space in my brain. The static thoughts, the paranoia taking off by itself, the laughter in other rooms right next door, right on the other side of the walls I have crafted. Painstakingly I have built those walls, carefully, stone by stone or brick by brick with my metaphorical hands. It’s all a metaphor in my brain but it’s a crutch. What I have left is the wall, keeping out no one, a wall that has served no purpose except to block my view. I am left to admire what I have built, while people outside laugh. They laugh because they don’t know what is behind the wall, nothing too interesting. It’s been there for too long to create questions anymore.

I want so much. I want to tear down the walls, to shout and scream that this is not what I want. I know that even inside all of the walls and behind the locked doors, there’s no safety there. I don’t let people stand close to me. I have mastered the art of shutting others out, and now that you came along, I want nothing more than to rip down the walls, brick by brick, crushing the mortar beneath my feet. I want my determination to resonate off the walls, blasting them apart. I want to burst through the door, and find that the world can’t get any brighter, shinier, clearer.

After over a month, I’ve returned! Yes, it’s been a while, but I have an excuse. ..or several.

Reason #1: college. Oh, college. College takes time, and energy. Thus, the time I devote to this is now devoted to…COLLEGE!

Reason #2: friends. Friends take time, and energy. Since reaching college, there have been a lot more of them, a lot more of the time. Some of these new people include:

P: ROTC guy. Former pothead. Imagine Alan Troy from Jarhead. Yeah, that’s P. My first memory of him is watching the beginning of Iron Man. When the terrorists kidnap Tony Stark he growled under his breath, “God damn savages…” I adore him.

T: tall, awkward ginger. P’s roommate. He is…interesting. Totally an oddball.

A:Oh, A. A is that girl at the party. You know, the girl who sleeps with everyone, or tries to. Except booze only enhances the effect, brings it to the surface. I also don’t like her very much, but she is usually around, so I have to include her.

 J: A’s roommate. She’s cool. Kind of loud, but cool.

 Reason #3: Chicken pox. Yep. How the hell did an 18 year old college student get the chicken pox? I have no idea. All I know is that when I went to the doctor, she looked at my back and said, “Whoa!” That is not something you want a doctor to say to you. I’ve been sitting around my parent’s house for 4 days. Possibly for another 2 or 3.

So, there you have it. Thos eare my reasons. Take it or leave it.

made-for-each-other:

(via nakedness)

-B.

I love you.

unicornology:

dannybrito:tonytoday:minaxbina

NEED.

 Omgod.

I was just the victim of the cutest prank ever. I am home alone for the weekend (last weekend before moving into the dorms! wooh!) and I am having a quiet evening at home. I was watching some TV when a bagel struck my window. I turned on the light and went outside, and someone had lined up bagels in adorable patterns on the cars in the driveway.

They were on the hoods, the antennae, on the roof of the cars… So, I gathered the bagels and took them inside. There are about two dozen of them.

Then, I went on my porch, and saw a massive pile of bagels sittng in front of the door. I now have a 33 gallon garbage bag filled with bagels.

I immediately was beset by a series of questions.

• Who did it?
• Why bagels?
• Why me?
• Should I eat the bagels?
• Is this a warning?
• Should I be concerned about more sinister things to come?

Maybe it’s a warning that I’ll be killed by something completely adorable and unexpected. Like being run over by a parade float.

Well, I’m covered on breakfast for a while.

tanya502:

I just got done going back through all of my pictures from the Artifex Pereo show.

300 pics that went unused.  :Sigh:

Moving on.