“I am said to be a revolutionist in my sympathies, by birth, by breeding and by principle. I am always on the side of the revolutionists, because there never was a revolution unless there were some oppressive and intolerable conditions against which to revolute.” Mark Twain, in the New York Tribune, April 15, 1906, comments in defense of the Russian writer Maxim Gorky.
kind of like one of those swinging ship rides, only one side is “ROMO” and the other side is “TOTAL ARO” and you don’t really know when the ship is going to swing, just that it does it quite a lot, but when it does, you just kind of end up screaming and clinging on for dear life…. you know?
The weirdest thing is when you’re up on that “ROMO” side it’s kind of hard to remember what it’s like to be on your “ARO” side. You’re like “oh, cool, this is nice. There is probably never a time when I truly do not want to hold Chris Evans’s hand. I WOULD PROBABLY ALWAYS BE UP FOR A LITTLE SMOOCHING ON SCARLETT JOHANSSON.”
And then, suddenly and without warning after an indefinite amount of time, the ship swings, and you white-knuckle the sides of the boat and you shriek until your lungs hurt and you end up, comfortably, on the other side.
And then, SUDDENLY, you cannot, for the life of you, remember what romantic attraction is even like. “Eurgh,” you think, “dear god. I have no desire to hold hands with any cuties. I cannot fathom romantic attraction in the slightest. Still wanna go to Disney World with Tom Hardy but only as friends. No romo. I am the least romantic being to walk this earth. I am so aro that it would be physically impossible to date me. I AM UNDATEABLE.”
And so you’re super comfy in your neat little aro headspace and you’re just getting really used to it, you’ve brought a pillow and everything, YOU’VE ORDERED PIZZA TO BE DELIVERED THERE, EVEN, when the ship swings again and you’re back to screaming and clinging to the sides of the boat because even though you cognitively know that this happens, a lot, it’s still a fucking shock because every time you end up at one end of the goddamn swing your brain, despite your strongest urgings, thinks AH YES. PERFECTION, THIS IS WHERE I SHALL ALWAYS REMAIN.
…Well, that’s how I experience being aroflux. Your mileage may vary.
“I am not immersed in self-admiration. When I am listening to Vivaldi or Japanese music or making spaghetti at three in the morning and realize that I don’t have the proper sauce for it, fame is of no use. The other way to put it is that I don’t have a talent for narcissism. Or, to put it yet another way, the mirror is not my best friend.” Saul Leiter, 2009
I can paint and draw. … Only two things are certain. 1) I have never painted a self-portrait. I am less interested in myself as a subject for painting than I am in other people, above all women. But other subjects interest me even more. I am convinced that I am not particularly interesting as a person. There is nothing special about me. I am a painter who paints day after day from morning until night. Figures and landscapes, portraits less often. 2) I have the gift of neither the spoken nor the written word, especially if I have to say something about myself or my work. …. Whoever wants to know something about me — as an artist, the only notable thing — ought to look carefully at my pictures and try to see in them what I am and what I want to do.
Candace _ Undatable (2x04) A Stray Dog Walks Into a Bar
“Okay, I took Mo to the dog shelter to make sure that he didn’t belong to anyone, and he didn’t, but they said that I couldn’t adopt him until I had an interview. And, I mean, look at these questions. ‘Do you have a yard?’ Who am I… Rihanna? They’re never gonna let me adopt him.
“I am a gun. A wildy 45 semiautomatic. I am a god. I kill people. I was never made for hunting, just to kill humans when someone needs to die, I kill them. There was this bald guy once. He was gay and arrogant and superficial and had a false sense of power. I blew off half his head with one shot. I am god. He died.
I am purity. Darkness. Romanticism. Professionalism. Existence. Complacence. Power. Pain. Everything is black. I am everything.”
- Dylan Klebold in an undated piece of writing on a page of notebook paper. Edit: since placed among Eric’s belongings, the assumption was that this was written by Eric, but the handwriting says otherwise. Sorry for the mistake.
Hey Mollyhall, you alive? You doin ok? How are you feeling?
hello ma petite poubelle! i am doin a-okay. i have been a lil absent from posting Original Content™ on this blog because Real Life has been demanding a lot of my time and attention, and also i’ve been completely unable to do anything but listen to sam hunt’s “between the pines” with tiny water breaks for episodes of the vampire diaries, which is the most perfect trash garbage show in the world and i’m so???? furious???? that i haven’t watched it before now.
ANYWAY as u can see i have a lot of pop culture catching up to do, as well as spending a lot of time staring at my ceiling and wondering which vampire diaries character i would be (bonnie if i had my way but, realistically, probably matt.) and which song from “between the pines” would be my theme song (house party).
thanks for checking in!!! how are all of you beautiful moonbirds?
the weird thing about being liked on the internet is that it does not transfer over to real life i am truly over here wholly undateable and alone in my room like 90% of the time. the highlight of my day was when my roommates cat made the lil brrrrp sound at me