Sometimes, I cry so hard I can feel it in my ribs. / I feel like the real me is backed into a corner inside me
— Ama Asantewa Diaka, from "Saturday Evening WhatsApp Message," Woman, Eat Me Whole
It all comes back. Perhaps it is difficult to see the value in having one’s self back in that kind of mood, but I do see it; I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up announced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were. I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be; one of them, a seventeen-year-old, presents little threat, although it would be of some interest to me to know again what it feels like to sit on a river levee drinking vodka-and-orange juice and listening to Les Paul and Mary Ford and their echoes sing “How High the Moon” on the car radio. (You see I still have the scenes, but I no longer perceive myself among those present, no longer could even improvise the dialogue.) The other one, a twenty-three-year-old, bothers me more. She was always a good deal of trouble, and I suspect she will reappear when I least want to see her, skirts too long, shy to the point of aggravation, always the injured party, full of recriminations and little hurts and stories I do not want to hear again, at once saddening me and angering me with her vulnerability and ignorance, an apparition all the more insistent for being so long banished.
Joan Didion · “On Keeping a Notebook.” Slouching Towards Bethlehem (1968)
i heard that guy doesn't have a library card let's kill him
we could glow pink in the night in my room together if you wanted to
It all comes back. Perhaps it is difficult to see the value in having one’s self back in that kind of mood, but I do see it; I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up announced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were. I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be; one of them, a seventeen-year-old, presents little threat, although it would be of some interest to me to know again what it feels like to sit on a river levee drinking vodka-and-orange juice and listening to Les Paul and Mary Ford and their echoes sing “How High the Moon” on the car radio. (You see I still have the scenes, but I no longer perceive myself among those present, no longer could even improvise the dialogue.) The other one, a twenty-three-year-old, bothers me more. She was always a good deal of trouble, and I suspect she will reappear when I least want to see her, skirts too long, shy to the point of aggravation, always the injured party, full of recriminations and little hurts and stories I do not want to hear again, at once saddening me and angering me with her vulnerability and ignorance, an apparition all the more insistent for being so long banished.
Joan Didion · “On Keeping a Notebook.” Slouching Towards Bethlehem (1968)
the 5 love languages are:
- Sharing a blunt
- All forms of cooking
- Being incredibly stupid on purpose
- Collaborative hating
- Ignoring things
CAME OUT OF MY DADS PRINTER AT WORK TODAY..........
[image description: a picture of a printed message on a piece of paper. before the message is a picture of pope john paul II smiling and with his hands raised in the air. below it reads:
Hi,
if you're reading this message, it's highly likely that your printer is exposed to the public internet via port forwarding. This means that *anyone* on the internet with some technical knowledge can send print jobs to your printer - or worse, try to exploit it and use it as a part of a global botnet.
If you didn't intend for this, please look into disabling UPnP (Universal Plug and Play) on your router, or remove the port forwarding rule for the port 9100.
~ a friendly catgirl hacker :3
end ID.]