corporate modern

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Hello! Sorry I’ve been inactive for the past week – I’ve been coming home tired and feeling sluggish and I don’t know why ;;v;; I think I should try getting some proper sleep this weekend (usually I only get 3-5 hours a night) ;;v;;

I’ve received recent asks about the Zen Feels Train – please know that it will be updated after the holidays ^o^ Thank you for your interest ♥ I’m also working on some holiday artworks that I hope to finish before the month ends :D ((It’s super fun I hope you guys will like it ^__^))

I’m sorry for letting the messages pile up – I’m trying my best replying privately to some and I’m compiling the others for posting • v •;;; Feel free to resend your ask && tell me if you want a reply right away! I really appreciate all your messages and I’d like to thank you all for taking the time to brighten up my day ♥ ♥ ♥ Please give me a bit more time! Thank you!

Modern Fantasy Things: Subways
  • subways that run on magic
  • ghosts and vampire conductors
  • goblins at toll booths licking metro cards to see if they have money on them
  • dwarves dug the original tunnels and are always digging new ones
  • elves riding completely still, unaffected by all the bumps and turns
  • hobbits, dwarves, and other smaller beings complaining about the lower railings always filling up first
  • underwater sections for merpeople
  • centaurs letting their friends sit on their backs when it’s crowded
  • rails under seats for gnomes, brownies, etc.
  • pixies and fairies sitting on high railings
  • witches bringing on cauldrons
  • runes/charms scrawled on seats and advertisements
  • florescent crystals and gems are the light
  • a train car possessed by the ghost of a dragon, never late but always smells like something is burning
  • train cars that levitate
  • train cars that arent corporeal

i thought of angels
choking on their halos

(get them drunk on rose water)

fallen angels who rip the feathers from their backs and devour them hungrily, scrambling for every last shred of their former lives and trying to cram it back into their bodies, panicking when grace starts to bleed from cuts in their skin, slurping it from their veins, desperately trying to force themselves back into what they once were. all the band-aids in the world won’t hold divinity into your bones.

minlace ‘la la land’ au

just stick with me here folks

  • struggling actress renée minkowski. goes to so many auditions, uprooted her entire life to move to LA, and she’s getting … nothing. no callbacks, no responses, no luck
  • passionate but equally struggling musician isabel lovelace. she has an obnoxious love for jazz the revolutionary protest music of the 1960s. her goal is to start a band that makes the music she wants to make, with the political messages she wants to get across, but nobody will sign her on for a contract when her music is so aggressively attacking the modern corporate america
  • they keep meeting. it’s always such bizarre situations — renée walks into the restaurant isabel just got fired from and she shoves past her and leaves. next, they’re at some party together and isabel is playing cheap music with a makeshift band while renée tries to small talk her way into getting casting directors to look at her twice
  • but every time they meet, they… hate each other. they annoy each other. they just don’t get on.
  • “let me walk you to your car,” isabel suggests, when the sun’s about to set and they’ve bickered enough to impress a married couple. renée can’t exactly say no, but she’s still annoyed, and the entire time she’s trying to find her car they just keep arguing.
  • imagine ‘a lovely night’ with them 
  • isabel: “this could never be, you’re not the type for me, and there’s not a spark in sight; what a waste of a lovely night
    renée: “you say there’s nothing here, well let’s make something clear, i think i’ll be the one to make that call”
    isabel: “it’s your call”
    renée: “i know you look so cute in your polyester suit—”
    isabel: “it’s wool!”
    renée: “you’re right, i’d never fall for you at all!”

Keep reading

Much of [Henry VIII’s] good fortune he owed to his father. In the quarter-century between his victory at Bosworth and his death in 1509, Henry VII had made the English Crown more secure and powerful than it had been in generations. He had filled the royal treasury with gold and accustomed his subjects to the benefits of peace. He is today a remote and elusive figure, a king about whom most people know almost nothing, and he appears to have been much the same in his own time. Though his life before Bosworth had been studded with moments of high drama and hairsbreadth escapes, little of the excitement had been of his choosing. Mainly his early years had been spent waiting. Even what we know of his part in the fight that won him the crown suggests that it could have been played by a deaf mute, a mannequin. Henry was attacked, Henry was defended, Henry was crowned—every episode finds him in a passive role. 


And yet something tremendous was achieved, and the achievement was Henry’s. None of it would have been possible if, even in his youth, there had not been something about him—something not quite explainable at a distance of five centuries—that won the support and even the affection of the Duke of Brittany, the ruling family of France, and one after another of the older, more experienced men who had fled England after Richard III became king. Nor could he have succeeded if, whenever enemies appeared to be closing in on him, he had not had the courage and resourcefulness to outwit them. However colorless he may seem to us, however much the contemporary chronicles fail to make him a fully three-dimensional figure, the one thing that always comes through is his unfailing competence. In temperament he appears to have been more like a modern corporate executive of remarkably high caliber—coolly savvy, demanding but amiable enough, a good judge of risk and reward—than some swashbuckling medieval warrior-king. He always had himself firmly under control, and he seems always to have been somewhat inscrutable.

—  The Tudors: The Complete Story of England’s Most Notorious Dynasty (G.J. Meyer)
Dead Serious

24th May 2017. Wednesday

“Boss is very busy, I am sorry I can’t give you time today.”, it’s early morning at work and I hear my secretary through my open cabin door.

Busyness. The modern corporate affliction. It’s a status symbol. The busier a person is, the more important it is perceived he is. The more the wait period the better you think the restaurant will be. An empty doctors waiting area will make you question how good the doctor really is.

We miss eating lunch on time, we miss talking to friends, don’t take phone calls from family, miss the sunset because we are doing something ‘important’. Something so important that we can make life wait. Something that precedes even our joy.

Watch the faces of these important people. People who are in positions of power. There is a constipated seriousness you will find on most. Their minds pre-occupied with important matters.

The ego loves importance. There is nothing greater for it than attention and importance. That what I do is very important feeds my self importance which in turn delights my ego.

Today, as per Bertrand Russel I qualify to take a holiday. “If you are beginning to think what you are doing is very important, you need to take a holiday.”

We are all inconsequential. A bubble of surf that got pushed up from the ocean waves, it will float for a while on the wind and ultimately dissolve back into the ocean.

As the Joker asks Batman, “Why so serious ?”. Let your hair down and be a little playful. Do things that are not important. Be a little frivolous, a little irresponsible, a little stupid. Break your image. Prick your ego bubble. One moment, I will be gone and then nothing is going to matter and no one is going to miss. Life, it goes on.

A man who can’t see the ridiculousness of it all. A man who can’t laugh at himself, at his plight, at his follies and at his failures, at his pretenses, at his exaggerated sense of importance and at his ego has not learnt to live at all. Men who are dead serious need to be underground, in wooden caskets.

The trick to do your work as if your life depends on it and to live as if nothing matters is the trapeze artist balance on this tightrope of life.