Sam Wolfe Connelly at Roq La Rue Gallery

Artist onTumblr

On March 5, Seattle’s Roq La Rue Gallery will present two solo shows from artists with distinct aesthetic sensibilities. Sam Wolfe Connelly (who was featured in HF Vol. 32) continues his exploration of the subtly sinister with a new series of drawings and paintings called “And Here I Lay.” Often set in  empty houses in remote locales, his work takes on the quality of a mysterious shadow one sees in the corner of one’s eye. It has an ambiance of foreboding that can’t be easily explained.



1. a short allegorical story designed to illustrate or teach some truth, religious principle, or moral lesson.

2. a statement or comment that conveys a meaning indirectly by the use of comparison, analogy, or the like.

Etymology: Middle English parabil < Late Latin parabola, “comparison, parable, word” < Greek parabolḗ, “comparison”, equivalent to para-, “beside, alongside of, by, beyond”+ bolḗ, “a throwing”.

[Christian Schloe - Fable]

anonymous asked:

Tell us your story.

I think I’m finally ready to answer this question. Let me start with how things were going before it happened.

My life was great. I mean, I’ve been unhappy with myself for a huge part of my life, but besides that, everything was going great. I just graduated with a high score, I was dating a great person (I thought) and I was planning on studying aboard. Lukas was my biggest support. He was my very best friend. There was no “Elisabeth”, or “Lukas”, there only was “Elisabeth and Lukas”. We were always toghether. Everyone knew how special our relationship as twins was. And I think every twin will understand. You have to know that it wasn’t so easy all the time. I can say that i’m a well known person in my city. People gossip about me all the time. And you wouldn’t see it if you saw me, but if affected my life deeply. I can’t even write how much I hate myself because of those people. It has always been this way and there’s no way back anymore I think. So me leaving high school, meant a new beginning for me. I was so so ready for it. It was so important for me. And then it happened.

On the night of 22 and 23 July 2014, I received a message from my twinbrother. “Elisabeth, I will kill myself tonight. Don’t make the same mistake." I was on a party. I was on a damn party when I received this. And I knew that I couldn’t do anything. I’m crying so hard right now because you have no idea how I felt that moment. I knew my life was over and I couldn’t do anything. I was too far away. So I called the police and an ambulance but I didn’t knew where he was so I sent them to my house. Meanwhile I called my dad (he wasn’t home) and told him that Lukas was planning to kill himself. But I knew, I knew I was too late. Twins feel it. I knew I fucking knew. My dad called the neighbours + my older brother. After, he jumped into his car. My mom was on vacation, so I couldn’t reach her. 10 minutes later the cops called and told me that he wasn’t at our place. I shouted that they had to search in every forest in the neigbourhood. By the time that I was driving home, an ambulance passed our car. I can still hear the sirenes. When I came home, it was my brother who had found him. They were rescue breathing him, but I knew there was no hope. This is a phonecall i’ll never forget: 

"No. Please no."
"They found him daddy."
"No. No. No."
*no sound*
"Daddy will be home soon."

By the time my dad got home, they stopped rescue breathing. We were 10 minutes too late. 10 minutes. I want to bang my head against a wall every time I think about it. And I remember it so clearly. My dad got out the car and the only thing he said was: “We have to be strong.” Then he collapsed. And I shouted. For God sake I shouted so loud I thought my lungs were going to collapse. My dad held me in his arms a very long time (I think). It all went black for me. My dad kept following me around the house because he was so scared I would kill myself. I’m not sure if that was what I wanted at the time, but I know it is now. And I don’t know if you know how it feels when something is too painful that your whole body hurts. That’s how I’m feeling since that day. I didn’t eat anything for 3 days straight.  I can’t even tell you how I felt when I had to tell his friends. I knew they were feeling it too. I know they’re feeling it every day. And eventhough it hurted so much, I couldn’t cry. I still can’t. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me.After this happened: the guy I loved left me without any respect for his ex girlfriend and is now telling everyone that he never loved me; my studies aboard were cancelled and I wake up every day trying to convince myself not to end my life. I lost him. I lost everything.  

Lukas was 18 years old and hang himself. He had alcohol in his blood and they call it an accidental suicide. It means that your head gets in a sort of tunnel and you don’t realise what you’re doing. Later, we found a goodbye letter in his back pocket. He wrote it when he was already drunk. It was almost unreadable. But it told us (besides that he loved me and my mom and dad) that most of the time he had to wear a mask. He was done pretending he was happy. 

And that’s exactly how a lot of teenagers are feeling right this moment. They can’t breathe, they can’t show themselves. You know why? Because our society won’t let them. Our society tells us that we have to be happy, that we have to be pretty; otherwise we’re freaks. But are we? I mean: be fair: have you ever thought about killing yourself? I think a lot of people have. And I think a lot of people are capable of doing it. And I think too many people have already done it. Tell me: would you walk away if someone told you he feels miserable? Would you? Tell them. Telll everyone you love that it’s okay to feel not okay. Tell them you love them, no matter what. Make them feel comfortable. Hold them, for God sake, hold them till they can’t breathe. Because before you know, they’re gone. Before you even realise, it’s the very last time you see them. 

I have feelings for you and I have no other way to put it. I know I’m not the most outstanding, but I want you to know it now.
(read 3/12/11)

We’re writing poetry in English now, and I think you’ve inspired me to write a few good ones.
(read 4/4/12)

No I don’t send nudes. Lol.
(read 9/10/12)

I can’t believe you’re going to bed so early. It’s only 5 am, stay up with me.
(read 6/21/13)

(read 6/22/13)

We should end this. I’m tired of your constant reckless behavior and blatant disregard of my existence.
(read 11/21/13)

I’m sorry, I can’t play your games anymore. Please don’t message me again.
(read 5/13/14)

Are you not going to show up or what?
(read 12/18/14)

I need to talk to you. It’s important.
(read 1/12/15)

I miss you.
(read 4:42 pm)

—  |”No message is also a message”|Collection of messages I sent with no reply | (Morsus Engel) |

the other day a fuckboy in science class was talking about how he hated feminism so i asked him if he thinks men and women should have equal rights and he was like ‘yeah, i guess’ and i said ‘that means you’re a feminist’ and he was just so distraught

Who was your first love?
They were my first love.
A question, a statement that will follow you until you die.
Choose wisely on who it will be.
Remember their name.
You will speak it for years on end.
They will remain with you for your entire life.
Because no matter how hard you scrub their touch off of your skin, you will remember their hands.
You will never un-see the first eyes you compared to crystal blue oceans,
And you’ll always remember the voice that took the place of your favorite song.
How could you forget the first time you spoke those sacred three words, and forced your parents advice out of your head? Knowing if you didn’t say them now, you might never get the feeling again.
Don’t discard your first love. Don’t regret the choice you made.
Because during the time, you didn’t plan on them being your “first”
You thought in the future, if someone would ask “Who was your first love?”
The person holding you would answer, “I was.”
—  But First Doesn’t Always Mean Best - (thezoneimin) //a.w.//
Prestige Class: Pirate-Lord | "Redemption."

He could still remember the fresh scent of blood drawn by those that fell by his own hands.

Insomnia was a pesky visitor who often reared its ugly headwhen plagued with cumbersome thoughts that kept him from sweet rest. Over the last few weeks since the triumphant return to Azeroth from the uncharted and savage lands of Draenor, the realization of just how far he had come along since his time spent abroad hit him when the world greeted him with kindness rather than disdain on his return. Two hundred years ago, just the sight of hisface alone was enough to cue the whispers from who knew and silent looks fromothers who heard. There was a reason for his helmet. The reason he hid his face. One simply did not waltz into a city as a wanted man without concealing himself first. For years, this practiced method had kept him a free man, but now it seemed that his recent ‘change’ had unintentionally given him something he did not expect. A new chance at life.

A chance to start over.

Keep reading


Letters from Hatay, Turkey. 

Of all the things I’ve seen here in eastern Turkey, among countless Syrian refugees, bearing witness to stories of incredible grief, horror, pain and luck, the most startling has been the smiles—hundreds of them—unsolicited, unapologetic.

What reason have these people to smile? Yet, in the darkened cement rooms of their derelict homes, once cow stables, in abandoned villages near crop fields (where they can sometimes find a day’s work, sometimes not) and far from social consciousness, they smile. On a playground of a temporary school, traumatized to silence from seeing corpses limp in the streets of their ravaged homeland, they smile. Having fled their shelled neighborhoods with nothing but the clothes on their backs and sometimes each other, they smile. In an insecure semi-reality, they smile.

Images and caption by Selin Thomas. Turkey, 2014. 

Read the full story by Pulitzer Center student fellow Selin Thomas here. 


Today I joined an astral projection group and someone shared an interesting experience that I now want to share with you all: “Sylvan Muldoon had a “dream” where he was standing in front of his piano, and pushed the metronome. It started moving. He woke a few minutes later, and a minute after awakening, his metronome started. What that means to me is, he projected into the near future, started his metronome, then while awake, perceived his future, Etheric Body, starting the metronome.”

If this did happen, then the etheric body is able to transcend time and space and has an actual influence on the physical realm! Clearly, I am very stoked about this.


Witches Of Moonlight Falls (Season 4): Part 8}

🔮 - A Third Eye -

Eyes are everything, but when a magical eye lets you see into the past or the future it becomes magical. 


The moon wasn’t full though it’s power grows stronger as the clock strikes midnight, the witching hour! No black cats or crows are around so it’s completely safe to cast a spell. However Beatrice, Belinda and Bianca know that darkness can arrive unannounced.

The sisters chanted and the spell was cast *.*.*.*.*.* The memory spell could have terrible side effects but the witches are willing to take the risk to fill in their blank memories. The ancestor of the Crumplebottom sisters sits with them at the table, witch trails victim, Bathilda was burnt at the stake. Once the spell has given the charmed ones what they need Bathilda will disappear and be returned to the year 1693.

Belinda: “It’s working!”

Bianca: “Yeah, but my head r-really hurts…”

Beatrice: "The pain is commendable we must do it! The spell is giving us a third eye that’ll give us our answers!"

As the witches gain a new eye they all start bracing it’s arrival, but their vision is completely blurred a mysterious blue mist surrounds them and is sure to show them some ominous signs. 

The third eye lets the caster see whats missing in their life, what they must do next or the spell could show them past events that may or may not come back to haunt them. The Crumplebottom sisters will be shown the path they must take next, they know something is missing and this spell is the only way to reveal it. The sisters must hurry, they are unaware that the Black Widow is targeting them… But What will the three witches foresee or remember?

Forbes - Why It’s Time To Take A New Look At Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy

Echoing the classic Rodney Dangerfield line, psychoanalytic psychotherapy gets no respect. Considered the gold standard of treatment for much of the 20th-century, it was exiled to the desert when it did not live up to its own over-inflated claims. This method of treatment is now ignored by those not specifically studying it. And when it is mentioned, with some notable exceptions, it is often caricatured as a wasteful antediluvian method of treatment without empirical support rooted in discredited theories. But it may be time for this cultural neglect to end. Policy makers, health-care purchasers and individuals seeking care for problems in living might want to take a new look at psychoanalytic psychotherapy. In fact, I hope to convince you the time is right to bring it back from the desert.

As a practicing psychoanalyst for more than two decades who has also been in psychoanalytic treatment (twice as a matter of fact) I could approach the topic confessionally, from either side. But I won’t. After all, confessional anecdotes only go so far. Plus, I want to focus on several developments that support taking a new look.

One development making now an especially good time for the new look is the chaos roiling mental health-care delivery systems . There are provider shortages in the face of growing demand for mental health care. The TLA therapies (CBT, ACT, DBT, MBT, EFT, etc.) battle for supremacy against each other and medication to be the top of the line EBT (Empirically Based Therapy).  Meanwhile managed-care companies face lawsuits alleging duplicitous rationing of care for profit while op-ed pieces illustrate managed-care malfeasance. All this while tele-(mental)-heath and technologically-mediated treatments promise revolutions in care so far unrealized. With mental health-care in such a state of messy uncertainty there is really nothing to lose from reconsidering psychoanalytic psychotherapy, and much to gain.

But there are obstacles. A frequent canard used to justify ignoring psychoanalytic psychotherapy is that there is no research documenting its effectiveness. Simply put, this is false. That’s right, the “talking cure” works at least as well as anything else and probably better for some. While much more needs to be done, and needs to be done against a funding headwind focussed on medications and short-term approaches, there is a lot of specifically psychoanalytic research available.

For example, a 2013 randomized control trial demonstrated the efficacy of psychoanalytic psychotherapy for treating panic disorder. A 2010 meta-analytic review of available outcome studies showed that “empirical evidence supports the efficacy” of psychoanalytic psychotherapy. It further showed that the magnitude of change in psychoanalytic psychotherapy is “as large as those reported for other therapies that have been actively promoted as ‘empirically supported’ and ‘evidence based’.”

Because psychoanalytic psychotherapy adapts technique to the unique individuality of each patient, it can seem to some like all art and no science. “Where’s the manual!” goes the cry. The fact is that psychoanalytic psychotherapists typically rely on research to guide the moment-to-moment decisions of a clinical encounter, especially infant development research and increasingly neuroscience. If CBT, as a way to illustrate, can be thought of as someone expertly playing sheet music, psychoanalytic psychotherapy is more like well-structured improvisational jazz.

Another canard is that psychoanalysis is just a bunch of yadda-yadda-yadda, just talk. True, it is. But talk changes brains. In fact, a recent review of psychotherapy and brain function described three patterns of change in brain function: “psychotherapy results in either a normalisation of abnormal patterns of activity, the recruitment of additional areas which did not show altered activation prior to treatment, or a combination of the two.” More specifically, a neuro-imaging study of long term psychoanalytic psychotherapy with depressed patients documented clinically-relevant “neurobiological changes in circuits implicated in emotional reactivity and control” after the treatment was concluded.

Apparently, not only does it work but when psychoanalytic talking works, brains change.

Of course, psychoanalysis is not for everyone. Nothing is. It should be one treatment choice among many. One reason psychoanalysis is ignored today is because for much of the 20th-century it presented itself as the gold standard, even as a kind of universal appendectomygood for whatever it is that might be ailing anyone and everyone. Gladly, such therapeutic arrogance has largely left the field.

And there are other changes internal to psychoanalysis warranting a new look at this form of treatment. How treatment takes place has undergone a fundamental change since the mid-20th century psychoanalytic heyday. No longer does a psychoanalyst try to be a blank screen on which patients  project their experience where it can then be examined uncontaminated by the person of the analyst. Instead, psychoanalysts today recognize that, like every relationship, there are always two people present influencing each other in unique individual ways. There are no blank screens. The person of the analyst is always present in some way.  Rather than cultivating emotional absence, being a psychoanalyst requires a much more difficult radical acceptance of who one is and how one may or may not be influencing the treatment. Treatment is then a meeting of two people who are both always inevitably present. But, unlike other relationships, these two meet for the sole purpose of helping one of them explore and accept the patient’s history and possibilities, however painful, dirty, nasty, loving, glorious and even boring that person’s emotional truth may be.

So, if I’m not trafficking in the old Freudian caricatures of silent bearded white men purveying absurd  theories of secret sexuality, what is psychoanalytic psychotherapy? What actually happens in this treatment I think deserves a new look—and more respect? There are three parts:

It’s a method of treatment that works by helping people understand how they unconsciously create problematic patterns of thinking, feeling, acting, and relating.

Unconsciously created problems (including the various problems in living that for purposes of diagnosis are called symptoms) usually recreate patterns, problems and solutions from early intimate relationships. Like never forgetting how to ride a bike, we never forget how we were first loved. Those relationship procedures remain. But by putting words to those implicit relationship procedures people become able to make freer choices and have new experiences.

The moment to moment relationship between therapist and patient is a [pick your metaphor] laboratory/playground/theater for experiencing and understanding those early relationship procedures. Living through those moments together in the treatment allows for an immediate, non-abstract awareness. It is a deep knowing, one with transformative power.

In other words, psychoanalytic psychotherapy takes subjectivity seriously as an object of inquiry and a path to change. It starts simply with your unique experience of being you and creates conditions for a relationship to grow in which the multiple meanings of your experience are explored. And with the knowledge gained, a deep knowledge, comes freedom to make better choices.

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