listener - wooden heart
down on the shelf by the mirror where you see yourself whole
and it makes you shiver
Tags:
mewithoutyou
can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all
make me blue forever
like an island sky
Tags:
milk thistle
And though I know that my actions are impossible to justify
They seem adequate to fill up my time
But if I could talk to myself like I was someone else
Well then maybe I could take your advice
And I wouldn’t act like such an asshole all the time
Tags:
going for the gold
(Source: midnightdoublefeature)
sorry for not having a read more thing, meant to post this 2 months ago
Using only pictures (taken by you or someone you know), answer the following questions about 2011:
What was your new years like?
What was Fourth of July like?
only pictures of it are lost on my old phone..imagine an excess of tequila
What was your birthday like?
What was halloween like?
What was Christmas like?
Where did most of your money go this year?
not pictured: food, film, apartment rent,
What was one of your favorite days this year?
What was one of your least favorite days this year?
What was one of the biggest events?
Who influenced you the most?
(confession: i did not take this picture)
Who is someone new that you met?
Who is someone that you lost?
What is something scary that happened to you?
Where did you go on vacation this year?
Post a picture from 2011 that makes you laugh.
Post a picture from 2011 that makes you smile.
Post a picture from 2011 that makes you sad.
What is something that will always remind you of 2011?
I understand, all right. The hopeless dream of being - not seeming, but being. At every waking moment, alert. The gulf between what you are with others and what you are alone. The vertigo and the constant hunger to be exposed, to be seen through, perhaps even wiped out. Every inflection and every gesture a lie, every smile a grimace. Suicide? No, too vulgar. But you can refuse to move, refuse to talk, so that you don’t have to lie. You can shut yourself in. Then you needn’t play any parts or make wrong gestures. Or so you thought. But reality is diabolical. Your hiding place isn’t watertight. Life trickles in from the outside, and you’re forced to react. No one asks if it is true or false, if you’re genuine or just a sham. Such things matter only in the theatre, and hardly there either. I understand why you don’t speak, why you don’t move, why you’ve created a part for yourself out of apathy. I understand. I admire. You should go on with this part until it is played out, until it loses interest for you. Then you can leave it, just as you’ve left your other parts one by one.
Tags:
ingmar bergman
persona
We must make an idol of our fear, and call it God.
Antonius Block // The Seventh Seal (via dominus)
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