i-wrote-this-but-didn't-proofread

Crazy pure internet for March 2013

1.  I try not to be but who knows what kind of hateful shit they mixed into my late capitalism baby food when I was but a real 90s kid, now I can’t remember anything but some plastic collectibles where my idiot emotions should be.  I want to love everyone but the road that brought me here was strewn with garbage and germs, who knows what I picked up on the way.  Please be my cleansing fire.

2.  This is a fly love song.  This is a fly in the ointment song.

3.  If I’m understanding correctly you are a guy and the front of the underwear would be my face, with your dick providing an elephant nose?  Not interested.  If my face had to be on someone’s underwear I would want it printed on the inside, facing in, because I am very shy.

4.  Ten, of course.

5.  I love Jodorowsky’s work, especially El Topo, Holy Mountain and the Incal…  But I made the mistake of reading the “The Spiritual Journey of Alejandro Jodorowsky”.  It’s some spiritually hateful and wrongheaded 1970s shit of the worst order.  I can’t help but see EST and Gerhard and all of that 1970s birth re-enactment and violent militaristic self-abnegation and airtight psycho-analytic roleplaying as the broken mirror of incorrect spiritual assumptions pursuing and catching incorrect answers.  The revolution of ‘68 forcing academics away from the world into deeper and more baroque exegesis, the erecting of barriers, the cognescenti defining their new theory existence by divesting themselves of human language.  While outside the psychedelic questers stopped thinking of political change, or even of a cosmos but turned inward.  Men with mustaches and emotions in hotel conference halls acting out war screams and their childhood primal existence, seeing that political change could only happen once you moved to California and focused on enemas.

And this is where the Jodorowsky book comes in.  His spiritual journey is macho horseshit about sport-fucking mysterious women and undergoing fraternity-hazing-ritual-style endurance challenges.  He finds himself studying under a Zen Buddhist monk in some strange version of Zen where there are correct answers and the only way to prove you are a man(?) is to meditate dangerously close to physical death in some evel knievel zen stunt.  Later he fucks a beautiful amazon voodoo woman who wears a green merkin and owns a panther.  Then the zen monk saves the poor Mexican farmers from starvation with soy beans, and Jodorowsky inherits all of Mexican psychic history by eating a Witch’s children(?)(psychedelic mushrooms kept in honey).  There is a tragedy to facing the mysterious, the infinite, the unknown and the unknowable, and to come back with an explanation that reads like the Dungeons & Dragons monster manual.  Anyway, the funniest part of the whole book, because of it’s icky 1970s touchy feely psychoanalytic cum spiritual idiocy is when Jodorowsky is forcibly dragged to a hotel room and (kind of) raped by the bastard daughter of G.I. Gurdjieff; this scene culminates in Gurdjeff’s daughter forcing air through her vagina and making it sing to Jodorowsky. She explains that this is a lost art that all women once knew and this is how mothers soothed their babies and wives soothed their husbands… And Jodorowsky breaks into tears and has a religious experience; this woman’s singing (farting, kind of?) pussy cures Jodorowsky of his childhood resentments towards his own mother. (I’m serious, this happens, read the book).

That said I still love Jodorowsky’s work.  I don’t give a shit about the author.  I think Mishima Yukio was an idiot, and I am glad he took his idiot life, but I love his work.  Art is better than the artist.

Rooftop Picnics

Nine/Rose, all ages

High School AU, pure fluff tbh

1552 words

Dedicated to asthewheelwills and fleurdeneuf who love high school!nine as much as I do, if not more. Hope y’all enjoy!

Rose broke into a grin when she saw John leaning against her locker. His back was to her so she quietly snuck up behind him, rose up on her tiptoes so her lips would be right next to his ear when she spoke.

“What’s up, Doc?”

He spun around so quickly she thought he was going to fall. “Very funny, Rose,” he said dryly, glaring down at his blonde friend who was doubled over with the force of her laughter. “Thought I told you to stop calling me ‘Doc.’”

“Since when have I ever listened to you?” she teased, tongue touching the corner of her smile. “Now shift, I need to get in my locker.”

John obligingly took a step back and watched her fight with the combination lock before it swung open and she started piling her books into her backpack.

“So why are you lurking at my locker anyways?” Rose glanced up and gave him a once over, “You know, besides trying to look all impressive in your new leather jacket for any girl that happens to pass by?”

John tugged on the lapels of the aforementioned jacket. “I’ll have you know that I’m very impressive, Rose Tyler.”

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Im growing

In 3rd grade
Both of my best friends died
My grandma passed one week
And my aunt the next
I learned that people dress in black when they go to a funeral
I learned that parents cry
I learned that sometimes the only way you can fall asleep is in the arms of someone else

In 6th grade
Something was wrong with my foot
So I let some doctors cut me open
To fix it
I had to learn how to walk again
I had to learn how to ask people for help because up until then I was stubborn as hell
I had to learn how to tell people that there was something wrong with me
That I was just born differently
I had to learn that some people won’t hold the doors open
That people don’t have to be kind
I had to learn how to struggle

In 7th grade
I learned how to be thin
I learned that the boy I liked wouldn’t kiss a girl with big thighs
I learned how to lie
I’m not hungry and I ate before
I learned how to stick my fingers down my throat in the bathroom after dinner
And sit and cry on the bathroom floor
I learned that I could make my parents cry
They saw me wilting
My god crafted petals were wilting
Right before their eyes

In 8th grade
I learned that you can fall in love with people you shouldn’t
I learned that you can fall in love
with words
with sweet lies
I learned that my parents are wise because the boy I was bringing home didn’t want me for my pretty eyes
I learned about lust

Freshman year
I learned that you’ll lose friends
You’ll go your separate paths
But the letters taped under my desk
Will always hold our friendship pacts
I learned how to love a boy
And kiss a boy
And love a boy
I learned that he could cry
And could hurt me when I make him mad
I learned that boys will hurt me

Last year
I learned how to break up
I learned how to unfollow
Unfriend and block and delete
A boy off your phone
But you cannot delete your memories
I learned how to rebound
And that I’m not the only fragile heart around
Because he cried on the floor
Like I would a month later
I learned pain
That shouldn’t be endured at 16

Last summer
I learned a wild new love
A flame that caught quickly
Lighting up the nights
I learned passion
And I learned that all fires
Burn out
I learned heart break
And sleepless nights
I learned bad habits
And dependence
I learned how naive I truly am

And I learn
And continue to learn
And mature and grow
My experiences shape me
And mold me into
Everything I’m supposed to be
I’ve learned that I’ll never stop learning


- Jenny d

Sharing.
  • Calum:“I’m cold,” you lie to Cal as you pull your arms into his sweatshirt. “And you clothes are really comfy. Mind sharing what fabric softener you use?” “You don’t have to lie about wanting to wear my clothes,” he laughs. “And you do our laundry, babe. I’d be unfit to answer that question.”
  • Ashton:“Okay, okay,” you swallow what’s left in the glass bottle and set it down. "I wanna share my best joke with you, okay?" you slur. "Just don't tell anyone." Ashton nods slowly and tries to focus on the words dripping from your tongue. "What do you get when Napoleon... Wait, no. French grenades and linoleum? No... What do you get when you throw a grenade in a French bathroom?" "What?" he asks and you burst into a fit of giggles before even trying to say the punchline: Linoleum Blown-Apart.
  • Michael:“Can we just go to Walgreens or something and get one of those two dollar ones?” you plead. You were on vacation with Michael and he had forgotten to pack your toothbrush. You thought it’d be nice to give him responsibility over the toiletries, but it completely backfired. “I love you, but I’m not sharing a toothbrush with you, Mikey.”
  • Luke:After tour, Luke always gets sick. He gets some sort of virus every single time without fail and you take care of him every single time without fail. He makes it up to you, though; Luke manages to share his illness with you and the next few days is spent taking care of you.
reminders

Drabble inspired by this week’s itsamagical100 prompt, mirrors. I swear i tried to make it 100 words for like five minutes and then I just went, “ah, whatever” and wrote 600 words. In my defense, I’ve had this idea for a while, which explains why it’s about something that happened in the middle of last season. (AO3)
CW: scars

Two scars: one for each gunshot wound on her abdomen, separated by a few inches. Skye stares thoughtfully at them in the mirror; Jemma tightens her arms around Skye’s waist, hugging her girlfriend from behind.

It’s late; everyone else in the base must be sleeping, but they can’t. Sleepless nights aren’t so rare for them nowadays. At least they’re not alone.

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reap what you sow || self para

It was eerie, the way such an ugly place could look almost pretty in the lowlight of streetlamps and a curtain of falling snow. There weren’t many North End residents out today; a few slouched shadows melted against doorways, cupping the ends of their smoldering cigarettes with wind-chapped hands and catching the lights of passing cars with glinting eyes. Most just hurried past, hunched into bulky winter coats that rendered them shapeless. Snow drifted down, lazy and thick, inviting nothing but silence on the desolate street.

He sat in the car, headlights dimmed and engine turned off. The dashboard display was a blue-hued beacon in the dark; 7:55 pm it shone at him, bright and remorseless. Minutes ticked by at a crawl. With each, Noah felt himself become more and more rooted in the safety of his car, enveloped in comfortable darkness except for a single slant of streetlight that cut an angle across the passenger seat.

5:56 pm. Punctuality was one of his few virtues, and if he stalled any longer, he’d be breaking one of his own commandments.

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