head-collision

Every ounce of prayer and love we have needs to go out to our dear friend @julioadrian.d. After losing two members of his family in a head on collision caused by a drunk driver, Julio and his mother are in critical condition. @chriskerksieck will be leaving a Go Fund Me link in his bio. Let’s gather around Julio as a community and be an anchor for him in this time of heartbreak and loss.

Additionally, @chriskerksieck will be donating 20% of any funds from web development projects directly to Julio and his family to help in this difficult time. You can contact him directly at hello@chriskerksieck.com

Garde-thought #28

Earlier today I narrowly avoided a head-on collision, luckily their brakes and my brakes worked. Had it occurred the last post on Gardevoir-282 would have been a late-night thought about chickens. Well, it wouldn’t be the last post ever because it would probably be converted into a cats-wearing-hats and kitty-piles reblog site. 

There was a weird night about ten years ago when my family should have been in a head-on collision, but the car that was coming at us in our lane eerily vanished right as we were all screaming and covering our faces. I brought it up to my mom the other day, asking if she remembered it, and she cheerfully said, “Why yes I do! Sometimes I think we all died that night and this is our afterlife! :)” It really put a damper on my day.

i get in a head-on collision with someone, i’m jerked forward so hard that my head is torn off. it flies through both windshield and lands in the other person’s lap. i look up and say “Heh, crash much?” moments before dying

5 metaphors for what i felt while loving you

• meeting you was the eye of a storm
// calm and foreboding

• kissing you was being high for the first time // always chasing that feeling

• trying to leave you was standing at the top of a building // never finding the courage to jump

• realizing that all of it is just temporary was a car crash // head on collision

• losing you for the last time was waking up // then being disappointed that you’re still alive

April 13: Daytrip to Montreal with Katie, Stacia, & Jenn

1. After we crossed the border but before getting to the city, we went to change from the right lane to the left. There was a car in Katie’s blind spot so she swerved back into ours, hit a patch of sand and the car slid wildly, heading off the road into the ditch. She pulled back to the left and control of the car was lost, inertia took over, and we slid even wilder, swinging a full 180º cutting into the far lane and the path of an oncoming white car traveling at interstate speed. It was like a movie. Everything was moving at superspeed and at a standstill, the thoughts in my head racing from bracing for impact, to how imminent a head on collision was, to how close death was stepping towards us. But was also hyper aware, my senses reading the situation before my consciousness, noting that we were out of danger as the car was slowing down and we were back in our lane. We stood still, turned the opposite way on the road, car stalled out, with highway traffic coming towards us. It slowed down, and other people put their hazards on to send the message backwards. We started up and pulled over to the side of the road. The driver of the white car we didn’t hit pulled over to make sure we were alright, and the first words of his mouth were spoken with utter disbelief: “How are you not dead? I mean seriously, how are you not dead?” None of us had an answer. But I guess it wasn’t yet our time to leave. We must have known this––when we were spinning, no through the speakers “…to be simple again, just be simple again.”  

2. The woman behind the patisserie counter, who looked like a curvy and tatted up Marion Cotillard in a baker smock, gave me pretty eyes and extra smiles. As she handed me my croissants with a Ciao Bello we think she thought I was a swarthy Italian gentleman. If a pretty French girl who bakes pastries wants to mistake me for being Italian, I’ll happily embrace such.

3. While I didn’t get anything at the Drawn & Quarterly Bookstore, my fingers touched the spines and pages of many beautiful books.

4. When I was 21, I read a small article listing Mingus on Piano as one of Mos Def’s favorite albums. I got it immediately and fell in love with it. Whenever I have had a record player, I have always looked out for it, in spite of knowing that it was out of print, so any chance of coming across it would be an expensive discovery. At the record store next door to D & Q, there it was sitting on the wall. Turns out, they just reprinted it, finally. I got it, as well as a used copy of Pedro the Lion’s Winners Never Quit, another favorite from my college days. The sun was shining. Lit’rally.

Good news and bad news.

Bad news: Mom reverted to American driving and we were in a head-on collision.

Good news: some bruises and scrapes, but nothing serious.

Don’t worry, Melissa, my fingers are ok.

Conversations on Consumption

Dear Flame,

Is it worth it?
On a scale of bloody hangnails to head on collisions how will you ruin me?

I went shopping today.
I needed tweezers to pick out the shards
From my most recent explosion.
I bought:
Lace, bright red lipstick, black nail polish, cinnamon gum, wide rimmed sunglasses, dark chocolate, sharpie markers, menthol cigarettes, cherry jellybeans
I stole:
Hydrogen peroxide, chewable vitamins, an ace bandage, Vaseline, ibuprofen

I forgot the tweezers.

Can you give me a timeline?
How long have I got?
Do I need to pay next month’s rent?
I’ll cancel my hair appointment.

When I tell you to “bite me” I’m not being petulant.
Sink your teeth in.
I want to feel the sting of your brand.
Mark me so that you can’t deny it.
I’m yours.

Always,
Moth

-Anonymous
4/29/15 12:47 pm

anonymous asked:

22, 36, 37

22: Nicknames people call you?
my name is eric so its not very easily nicknamed but some of my columbiner friends call me reb because theyre so original. also i dont know if it counts as a nickname as it is still my name but a lot of people just call me by my surname instead of my first name, so that too.

36: Any bad habits?
i frequently forget to eat, and i guess you could count self harm as a bad habit even if i dont necessarily see it as one. also reckless spending, oops.

37: Ever had a near death experience?
ive tried to kill myself twice, though one time was significantly worse than the other. i also once nearly got into a head on collision that i still have no idea how i managed to avoid. i also once nearly starved to death, and one time when a friend was messing around with a gun it went off and only just missed me. so yeah there have been a few lol

The smile has curved upon his lips
A moment before you
Open your mouth
And suddenly there is no air.
And he bends down and ties
Your shoelaces together.
Double knots.
And even as you clutch at his arms
His back
He smiles again, one swift kick,
And you are on your knees.
It’s with a kiss that
He shoves your face into the ground.
Gravel and blood.
The asphalt carving patterns
Into your cheeks
As he carves his name
Onto your conscience.
His fingers glow like embers.
Harmless to the eyes.
Burning to the touch.
And you begin to wonder
How someone could hate
And love at such extremes.
And he leaves you.
Limbs limp.
Shattered like a windshield after
A head on collision.
No survivors.
Only the memory.
—  he loved you like a car crash ( her–balaclava )

I hate when people justify a wrong doing with another type of wrong doing Like someone screams black lives matter but someone else says black on black crime is current Or a drunk driver kills a family in a head on collision and the news says the son of the driver was a convicted felon Or my daughter gets kicked at school and her teacher says she’s tardy a lot Or a little boy dies in a drive by shooting and his grandmothers first cousins uncle being a murderer ends up somehow being obamas fault the child got shot (Excuse my language but unfollow me of it’s an issue) Fuck the bullshit excuses and 

allow yourself to see that WRONG IS WRONG no matter what criminal African decent racist idiot ignorant gay anorexic drug dealing HUMAN it happens to as soon as we see that the teachings of love are the only way we will coexist the sooner we will begin to heal each other but the extinction of superficial bullshit must start with us “change the world with you first” love&light #iteachlove #itisallinlove #love #rwyoga #nakedsoulyoga #nakedyogajunky #yogaofcolor #iaspiretobeaninspiration #letmeteachyou #stoptheignorance #worldpeace #obama #humanlivesmatter #blacklivesmatter #alllivesmatter #blackgirlsrockyoga #commonsense #loveistheanswer #acknowledgetheproblem #wearetheissue #wearethesolution #ebonyfitness #thisismyworld #superdopeyogi #chakra #omshanti

I’m upset that I can’t even really say today was a bad day- it was just incredibly stressful.

Cause I mean, we didn’t get VIP+ tickets but we still got VIP

And then driving home we were almost in a head on collision that was only avoided because ohnoko was able to whip over fast enough to not hit this fucking asshole.

But in the end we’re still okay so we can’t even really say that our day was bad yet we both feel horrible.

the dangers of radiation

Today marks the anniversary, and with the anniversary comes a higher expense. As the days between visits vanish without any signification or cause to count the numbers on a calendar, the last person I arrived as is lost and the situation forgotten.

These last twenty months have been a supernova explosion of raging energy and shattered fragments and head-on collisions of the fullest force. The doctor takes measurements of my gravitational collapse, as my core churns into a black hole. After six months, the therapy didn’t take, and I departed from the weekly sessions after I was turned into a zoo exhibit; I was sick of being sick and sick of pretending my life through that imitated environment. After eight months, my mind still refuses to slip into unconsciousness and drift into sleep without copious amounts of alcohol, and here is a toast to my beginning as a lifetime alcoholic. After thirteen months of nightly prescribed sedation, I am still filled with that un-measureable and undefined dark matter— just like my mental dis-health you can’t see it and you can’t touch it, but surely as I exist, it does too.

The receptionist remains unrestrained and presumptuous about the diagnosis of each person in the waiting room. We waited, all of us, anxiously. When was my last visit? Three months? Four? My arrival is greeted with the audacity of “Virginia! I got you, girl.” Which took her a moment before looking at my file and realizing I was named after the goddess of victory— not the queen of virginity.

The waiting room isn’t sterile. Just plain. It’s the people that decorate the room that are exploding with more complexities than can ever be diagnosed in a patient folder. You can feel their energies like a massive star spitting out radiation and taunting the darkness with solar flares.

Blood pressures and pulses and scales: the only hard-copy measurements that can actually be proven. The rest is all conjecture. The doctor office is a dreary place, littered with lonely picture frames and stacked with all sorts of literature relating to my disconnected mind. Each statement that I make is taken, observed, judged, analyzed. New York? Your see-saw must be teetering towards mania again. New York? Not realistic. You must be delusional again. For a person with disorders and anxieties about be judged and ashamed, psychiatry is the ultimate irony. Even still, I continue to visit. Rather it’s more of a necessity than a choice, but everyone likes to believe that they, at the very least, have control over their own mind.

Yet, here I am. Fifty-two weeks after the first time I visited: I was screaming in the parking lot because of insurance costs and knowing that I was about to pay two-weeks-worth just to have a stranger tell me the diagnosis I already knew.

No one takes the opinion of a crazy person seriously. In the past year, through the immobile days and scratched keys and skyscraper nights, I found comfort in an entity, an idea, a expanse of emptiness that will never give a shit about me. People say the Universe must care, but the Universe is our god and our god is indifferent. The Universe doesn’t care if I live or die or if it rains next Tuesday or if Earth is decimated by meteors. Still here we all are, medicating and judging and aching for happiness. But just as I am an exploding supernova, my gravity and radiation and energy, all expelling from a single point, my life will carry on.

Despite the diagnoses and medications and therapies, this exploding supernova can’t be taken away from me.


t.w.

balderrask asked:

⭐️

My muse is having a nightmare and is reacting physically to it by screaming, send ★ for my muses reaction to being woken up by yours

He was screaming around in Mondasian while his hyperactivity caused him to move around the apartment like crazy{his eyes were still closed). He felt someone (or something, according to the dream or hallucination) pinning him or stopping him from moving. It was only after an accidental head-clash did he wake up, wincing in pain from the head collision and unaware that the past he once thought he forgot after so many years was now transmitted to Balder. “Balder…are you alright? What…happened?” he covered his forehead with his hand, still wincing.