incidental

A volte, dai ragionamenti di certa gente, riesco a capire perfettamente la dinamica dell’incidente che hanno avuto da piccoli.
—  Vita

emilysthetic asked:

There was a guy found dead with his head in a bowl of frosted flakes. The police thought it was a cereal killer.

Love it. Incidentally, if I had to, that’s how I’d want to go.

(“I understand Rin being a monkey, but I don’t understand Seitaro balding.”)

I just happened to see this tweet, so… Rin calls Seitaro “early-baldy” simply due to the grade-schooler-like line of thought of “Wakasugi” becoming “Wakahage.” (laughs)

Rin: “What the hell’s your name?”
Seitaro: “Wakasugi.”
Rin: “Then I’m callin’ you Wakahage from now on!!”
Seitaro: “Fine, then you’re Yamamonkey.” *contemptuous stare*
I wonder if they ever had an exchange like that. Incidentally, all four are in the same class together. Their selection was probably history. Which would explain why Seitaroth said he wanted to research the mermaid legend.

— 

Uri

(Yes, she called him Seitaroth.)

In every man’s memories there are such things as he will reveal not to everyone, but perhaps only to friends. There are also such as he will reveal not even to friends, but only to himself, and that in secret. Then, finally, there are such as a man is afraid to reveal even to himself, and every decent man will have accumulated quite a few things of this sort. That is, one might even say: the more decent a man is, the more of them he will have. At least I myself have only recently resolved to recall some of my former adventures, which till now I have always avoided, even with a certain uneasiness. Now, however, when I not only recall them but am even resolved to write them down, now I want precisely to make a test: is it possible to be perfectly candid with oneself and not be afraid of the whole truth? I will observe incidentally: Heine insists that faithful autobiographies are almost impossible, and that a man is sure to tell a pack of lies about himself.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, from Notes from Underground (Everyman’s Library, 2004)

youtube

SYL 115: Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Groans

Or: The Importance of Acting Choices, With Side Commentary on Why Sierra Boggess > Emmy Rossum

(Incidentally, an excellent source for further reading on this subject is “How Star Wars Conquered the Universe” by Chris Taylor.  A particularly interesting factoid is that—at least in the case of Ep. I—the script was kept so tightly under wraps that nobody had access to more than a few pages of it at a time, including the cast.  So not only were they acting with little/no reference of where they were or who they were talking to, they had very little reference to what precisely they were doing and why.  Not a recipe conductive to a natural performance.)

Moreover, the swamping of economic treatises with mathematics has not only tended to drive away the layman, but has diverted attention from fundamentals to points of analytical interest, and incidentally thereby led to some actual corruption or unjustifiable weakening of basic tenets.  It cannot be argued, of course, that the mathematical method, building on valid and complete hypotheses, can lead to anything but correct results.  Neither can it be contended that this method has not proved, indirectly, of immense value in the development and refinement of the logical framework of the science.  But its intricacies appear to have caused some of those practicing it to lose their continuous intimacy with certain broad unquestionable elements of reality which ought always to dominate in applied theory.  Whilst not actually inducing generalizations from special cases, some economists seem to have given undue stress to curiosa in a manner that has tended to distort their judgment and weaken the authority of economists generally.  And they appear frequently to have shown a lack of judgment or an unregarded hastiness in framing generalizations from unrealistic premises.
10

Kuplenko FDA Fine Art Drawing an Investigation FA4001

Trying to represent my mother

She is of the earth and loves all things that are to do with nature. Through investigation and using an original sketch and then a similar drawing using dots (pixelating the image) I have used different backgrounds to see what effect that this has on the original drawing and if it brings anything to it.

Some of the grounds are large paintings that I have made from my imagination but always with her in mind.

I have investigated ink and water also and the incidental and abstract marks that are made, again I have used these as grounds.

 I am trying to capture the fragility of her, although robust and with a tongue as sharp as a knife she is at an age when I realise that I wont have much more time with her.

 I am trying to keep her in a drawing, I haven’t been kind in my portrait but age isn’t kind, every worry, every joy, all tings re captured in her face, a map of her life.

 I have used maps as grounds, colour, ink, even photographs and other drawings to make layers, these are to represent the layers of her life.

I want the drawings, images to capture what she is always saying to me, we are born in the dirt and we die in the dirt, we are all made of stars, whatever wealth, or success, hardship etc we all end up the same as we began. 

Quando avevo quattordici anni giocavo a calcio, era la mia vita.
Credevo di farne il mio lavoro, volevo solo giocare, non mi interessava di nulla.
Lo stesso anno feci un provino per la Roma, fu’ la prima volta che mio Padre mi venne a vedere e credo che quello resta il più bel ricordo che ho.
Mi presero a quel provino ma mio Padre, per uno strano motivo a me sconosciuto ancora oggi non mi mandò, credo che il rapporto con mio Padre si sia rotto in quel preciso istante, con due lettere e una parola.
Dieci giorni dopo, non so come e non so perché, non ricordo nulla di come andò.
Ma feci un incidente, uno di quelli dove ti salvi e se non credi a Dio, inizi a farlo.
In quell’incidente mi sono rotto la tibia, il perone, e il crociato.
Forse ho perso il treno della mia vita, forse il male è radicato in me da quel preciso istante.
Non ho più toccato un pallone, neanche per giocare con i miei cugini.
Avevo un sogno e il mio sogno se ne era andato.
Non era una persona.
Era l’unica cosa che sapevo fare e che volevo fare.
In questi anni ho dato tanti dispiaceri ai miei, la malattia, la rabbia, le urla, lasciare l’università e tante altre cose.
Mia Madre mi regalò un libro, il piccolo principe.
Quell’anno mia Madre fece la cosa più grande dopo avermi dato la vita, me la salvo’.
Iniziai a divorare libri, quasi ogni settimana ero in libreria a farmi una cultura, degli amici, delle persone che sapevano cosa mi stava capitando.
Be’ io un sogno adesso c’è l’ho, sarò un gran scrittore e vi lascerò parlare male di me.
Fra vent’anni i vostri figli compreranno i miei libri e io continuerò a essere migliore di voi.
Questa non è una promessa, ma una certezza.

Mia mamma tre, quattro anni fa ha avuto un incidente abbastanza grave: sola in macchina dopo il turno di mattina, colpo di sonno in autostrada, viva per non so quale miracolo. Ha sempre cercato il lato positivo e motivi per sdrammatizzare, ma a volte è percepibile la sua incertezza, la sua paura nei momenti in cui certe condizioni vanno a quadrare con quelle di quel giorno. Io provo a mettermi nei suoi panni e quasi la sento addosso, la Paura.

“We got married three and a half years after we met, on July 28, 1983. Incidentally, in all these years we never once celebrated our anniversary.  

Even though I never so much as hinted at marriage, we both understood that one day we’d have to decide what to do, either to stay together or part ways.

But VV wouldn’t tolerate it if a girl were to pressure him, or lead onto the topic of marriage in a conversation. Even if we accidentally touched that subject, VV would put a stop to it immediately. He treated such conversations with irony and thought that it’s the man who should make a decision.  

VV proposed in accordance with all the rules, in a classic way: he said that he loved me and suggested that we set our wedding date for July. Everything was done properly.  Even in a somewhat artificial way. I remember the way it went. We were sitting in Volodya’s room, and all of a sudden he says:

-   Well, my little friend, you know me. I have a rather difficult temper. And now, generally speaking, you should perhaps decide which way your life would go.

Everything went ice cold inside of me.  When VV started the conversation in this way, I understood that he decided to break up with me.  But, even at this moment, I said what I thought:  

-   I have decided.  I need you.  

Then, Volodya said,

-    Well, in that case, I am proposing to you.  I love you.  Will you marry me?
-    Yes, - I said.  
-   If you agree, — he concluded – then let’s have our wedding on July 28, in three months.  

This is how we pledged our love to each other.  

I really don’t remember, whether the guests were chanting “Gor’ko!” [during the wedding] [ a Russian tradition; during the wedding reception, when the guests chant “Gor’ko” together the young couple should kiss, to everyone’s delight]. They must have. They should have had… And I don’t remember how we kissed.  

Afterwards, we went to a honeymoon road trip.  Drove all the way to Kiev.  I think we even went to a theater there. Unfortunately, there are no photographs of that period. We had a camera with black-and-white film; I even took a few shots, even though I am not a photographer. That film was never developed, and has been lying around the house for a while so eventually we threw it out. Because of this, we don’t have any photographs from our honeymoon. 

Eventually, we made it to Yalta [a city on the Black Sea shore]. And from Yalta we went straight to Moscow, because VV had some things to do there. And while he was taking care of business, I stayed with our friends.  That’s how our honeymoon trip went.”

- Lyudmila Putina 

GOD, I am both so incapable of being attracted to guys who don’t remind me of John and so automatically attracted to guys who do that it’s ridiculous. It’s practically an instinctual thing that I don’t even consciously realize is happening for a minute at this point. I just read this Onion article (which, incidentally, was really amusing because it perfectly describes yours truly) and I had the “hey that guy’s pretty hot” thought before I realized glasses and hair, no wonder. So basically, all you guys (or it applies to girls to a lesser extent too) out there who wanna get in my pants, now you know how.

i’m trying to pick photos for the trans selfie thing but I feel like they don’t really indicate much about my experience on their own. I was indifferent about gender as a kid. After I hit puberty, it’s been a constant seesaw of rejection and acceptance of being a girl. Back and forth, back and forth, 6 months acceptance, 6 months rejection, on and on. It makes my pics look gender fluid but I’m really not. My gender is more like me trying to figure out how to roleplay being human in a way that feels androgynous but also doesn’t draw attention. I want to dress in a way that doesnt genderize me but then I also want to dress in a way that doesn’t draw attention to the concept of my gender at all, and incidentally those things are almost mutually exclusive.. if I dress in a more boyish way, people notice my ?gender?. If I dress in a girlish way, people don’t notice my gender explicitly but just assume I feel like a girl implicitly. And the seesaw happens when I get tired of one of those feelings. But I’m tired of the seesaw itself. So I’ve been trying to just find the sweetspot right between them…. where I look girlish enough that people don’t see it as weird, but boyish enough that I don’t feel completely fake. So essentially going back to my good ol staple of tomboy but we’ll see how long this lasts before I don’t like that either. Like, why am I so bad at this human thing. The instincts fairy really didn’t see to helping me feel at home in a physical biological body. 

anonymous asked:

This girl who I used to be very close with loves peeps and candy corn. Incidentally we don't talk anymore.

See. Devils work