Am I chasing ghosts?
The one that I had left behind
Searching every new face
That age old familiarity
That thoughtless bond, older than us
Will I ever find such a ghost again,
Or am I meant to be seeking, this life time
One that will quench the thirst
While calming and enraging the fire inside my bones
As his hand ghosting over my scars
A voice that I may pretend is his
Finally hearing my words from his lips
Or am I forever chasing the wind?
Ghosting hands on my waist
Shuddering like a flower in the breeze
When it hits my neck
Just a breeze stroking desperate flesh
Dressmaking in Paris, 1907.
Song, Allen Ginsberg
“Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission, there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.”
— Vincent Van Gogh
I am exceptionally lucky in that my parents never hit me, grounded me, confiscated my things, banned me from my hobbies or threatened any of these actions to make me behave as a kid. as an adult it has made me realise how very very long a road most people have to traverse before they can take a statement like 'no rule that must be enforced by threat is legitimate' seriously.
every time i ask people if they do any new years resolutions its all ooooo i dont like making them bc i fail or ohhhhh no i couldnt keep up wiht that and then when they ask me and i tell them about Pasta Quest (i am eating as many different pasta shapes as possible in the space of a year) or when i did Fruit Adventures (every time i saw a fruit i had never eaten before id get one and eat it and read the wikipedia article about it) theyre like hang on i forgot you can make Fun Ones i want a fun one
Shoutout to people with Functional Neurological Disorder
Shoutout to people with functional tics
Shoutout to people who have dystonia
Shoutout to people with Psychogenic non-epileptic seizures
Shoutout to people with paralysis and or weakness
Shoutout to people with tremors
Shoutout to people who shut down/unresponsive episodes
Shoutout to people who have walking difficulties
Shoutout to people who have numbness
Shoutout to people who have speech problems
Shoutout to people with vision problems
Shoutout to people with hearing problems
Shoutout to people with memory loss
Shoutout to everyone with FND
Mr Darcy is so fucking unsubtle all of the time I truly don't understand how Elizabeth doesn't get it. Someone mentions Elizabeth likes books? Darcy immediately goes into a rant about how he wants a wife that reads. Elizabeth says she wants to live close to her family? Darcy is bending over backwards to figure out how far is too far, would she mind it if she could easily travel back at forth, would she miss the people or the places. My girl he's so down bad, he's just autistic.
The people who say shit like "I don't dream about labour" when asked about their dream job make me sad. It's not their fault and it's an obvious conclusion to come to in the environment that we live in, but they really do seem to make no difference between work, and being exploited. You do want to work, it is inherent human nature to want to do things, you just don't want to slave for shit wages while making profit for someone else.
If art wasn't an option and I didn't have to worry about being profitable, I know what I would be doing: Keep a little shop selling secondhand-thirdhand buttons and buckles.
Thrift shops and secondhand stores could dump (or sell, whatever) their unsold and unwanted goods to me, and I could spend all day going through the heaps and picking them apart, plucking the still-perfectly-good buttons, zippers and buckles out of discarded things with threadbare fabrics and sell them.
Probably also making those little trinket storage boxes out of hollowed-out books. By hollowing out books that nobody wanted or read.