i not a big poetry person

1. Last year the doctor told me that this kind of sadness is inherited. That they have discovered that sometimes it skips a generation. That the darkness inside me did not grow from nowhere it came from somewhere. I thought to myself, that there is a reason why I have always thought my heart was an attic where I hid pieces of myself. Pieces no one ever wanted.

2. The first boy I ever chose to show this sadness to decided to take it from my attic heart and planted it inside my soul instead. It was easy for him. My soul was a garden I showed him too soon. And he decided that meant he was allowed to take anything he wanted to.

3. Every man who has dared to love me since, has stared at this dark ivy covered soul like it is a haunted house, and I have never tried to explain the thing I have always known. Because men do not have to learn how to open their own selves and lock themselves up again. They are taught to be themselves and the world will accept them better that way. We are taught to break our bodies to be loved. We are taught to confuse sex and love.

4. I knew a girl whose father left her and she took all of her love for him and ate it to comfort herself. People joked how she lived in the kitchen. No one saw her tears when she ate.

5. A friend once told me that she locked herself inside the closet when her parents fought because her father beat her mother and she wished herself into the wood, just so she knew what it was like to be an inanimate object that couldn’t hear or feel anything.

6. My mother told me, that it is the way of the world for girls to grow into women by locking secrets inside themselves. Till now I still imagine every woman I have ever met as a big beautiful house. Full of secret rooms, hiding places, once filled with innocent laughter and joy. Now slightly sad and forgotten because of all those lost places inside them full of secrets.

—  Nikita Gill, The House Inside Her
HC: Victor is a Nerd

Screenshots were provided by @kukapanda with permission for me to use!


Ok so you know how in Ep. 1 we get a glimpse of Victor’s apartment.

In the blu ray version, they changed how his apartment looks. It’s still very stylish but it is much more cozy as well.

AND LOOK AT THE SHIT TON OF BOOKS HE HAS. 

THAT’S A LOT OF BOOKS. 

I strongly support the headcanon that although Victor is forgetful and can be very ditzy, he loves learning, is super book-smart, and very well-read. 

Victor’s the type of person to hold all the Weird Facts and blurt them out at the most random times.

Victor also genuinely likes receiving books as presents.

Victor’s the one to drag Yuuri into bookshops and he never leaves one empty-handed.

Victor’s the type of person to murmur deep poetry into Yuuri’s ears when he kisses him. 

Victor is the biggest nerd.

i’m twenty five now, shit, that means i have to stop fucking around, that means i need to find out how to deal with all this blood, men, the stretch marks on my shoulders, the absolute mortality of my parents. this is the first true poem i’ve written in months and i’ve got all these words buzz buzz buzzing around inside of me, they were right, i just had to give it time and meanwhile i keep missing dentist’s appointments, keep fattening myself up on sugar and boys with big eyes and big lashes and i haven’t grown out of girlhood yet because my nails break and i cry, my hair falls out and i cry, my tits are too big and i cry and i am growing into my mother and we cry at all the same things. she told me she was sorry for the years my dad wove my heavy hair into braids but i’m so sorry i’m so sorry i’m so sorry dad for never accepting or claiming my blackness because even now as a grown ass black woman, dark alleys and shadowy street corners still scare the fuck out of me. i see black boys running and black girls crying and vice versa and both and this fence right here i built myself, this distance i created myself. the punchline is that my dad spent so many hours braiding my hair that i never learned how to do it myself, the punchline is that we are still nursing our black tender heads. this poem will not absolve me of all my sins or even scrub me clean but i am turning the faucet on, i am picking up the sponge, i am attacking my cuticles with unprecedented ferocity. meanwhile my blackness sticks its head out of the window and howls.
—  Kristina Haynes, “Small Poem About Big Things”

I was rereading the comic right before Jack and Shitty’s last game and Shitty says that if they win he gets a lifetime supply of Jack Zimmermann hugs. Well, obviously they lost. But, I was thinking about everything and… here you go.


Tater leaves the Christmas celebration after a slice of pie, bowing out by saying he needs to Skype with his mother. It gives the apartment the odd, after-Christmas feeling where nothing feels quite real. 

But it’s nice, just Jack and Bitty and Shitty in the kitchen, similar to how it was in the Haus. 

“Bits,” Jack says, exasperated. “You just cooked an entire Christmas dinner. By yourself. No, don’t say I helped, we all know a kindergartner could have helped just as much. Let me and Shitty do the dishes.”

Bitty sighs but relents, retreating to the living room. 

“You two are so good for each other it hurts,” Shitty says, shaking his head. “Honestly. Hosting Christmas dinner together. Bitty here for the holidays.”

“It’s great,” Jack says, barely catching a lovesick sigh before it escapes. “I’ve never… I don’t even know how to put it. But I’ve never. Any of this.”

“The great Jack Zimmermann, finally spilling deets,” Shitty says, elbowing him playfully where he’s drying dishes. “’I’ve never any of this’. Such detail. Such poetry.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jack gets out around a laugh. “Because you’re so generous with information about you and Lardo.”

“Look at us, all grown up and in secret, clandestine relationships. We’ve grown up so fast,” Shitty says, wiping away a fake tear. 

“Oh - that reminds me. I have something for you.” Jack wipes his soapy hands off and heads for the hall closet. 

“Hey! I thought -”

“It’s really small. Not a big thing.”

“This is coming from the person who bought his teammate an oven just because -”

“No, this is actually a small thing. It probably cost a dollar. Rounding up. And it can be for your birthday if you don’t want it to be a Christmas present.” Jack reenters the room with a tiny gift bag, which Shitty takes. 

“You’re ridiculous, Jack, I don’t know why - holy shit.” Shitty stops midsentence when he opens the gift. 

“Ah, I don’t know if you remember? But our last game -”

“I said that if we won I get a lifetime of Zimmermann hugs.” Shitty stares at the homemade, printed certificate. 

“Right, but we lost. But I know I haven’t been a great friend these past couple of months -” Shitty snorts. “- but you’re not any less important to me now. So. Yeah.”

“So you just gave me an infinite supply of hugs. In writing.” 

“We can get it notarized if you want.”

We can get it note - Good God, Zimmermann, how does Bitty put up with you?” Shitty says it in an exasperated tone, but his voice gets thick and he has to wipe his eyes a little. 

“You’ll have to ask him, because hell if I know.”

“I’m cashing in on one of these,” Shitty says, waving the certificate a little. “Right now.”

Misguided (M)

Originally posted by y-ta

SUMMARY: After a run in with one of Johnny’s fellow frat brothers, you had thought he had just been after one thing. But when, not only Johnny himself, but with the help of your friends, they helped you realize that you had made some very misguided judgments. // “What tastes better than it smells?”

GENRE/WARNINGS: Fraternity/College!AU // It’s honestly mostly fluff with smut thrown in at the end. This is part of a collab with @versigny and a bunch of other writers. You can read the prologue here.

WORDS: 14.5k.

A/N: I died 3x over writing this. That is all.

Keep reading

loving girls doesnt feel wrong
it feels as natural as the breeze that carries her laughter
i see her eyes light up from across the room
i dont know why they did that, but i want to

i hear her talk about her art,
i wonder what inspires her
does she know that she inspires me?

she has a little bit of a lisp
i think its really cute
i hope noone has ever made her feel like its not

what does she think of me?
how could i talk to her, when i have so much riding on this
when i would only have one shot
when i dont know how to begin

i wonder what she thinks about
or if she stays up late at night, wondering if anybody out there thinks of her
i wonder what she would do if she knew i was

—  she leaves wednesday

I’ve seen a lot of positivity posts for new artists on tumblr. And, that’s important, but I don’t see a lot for new writers.

So, here’s to the new writers and authors.

Here’s to that kid writing fanfiction in their room, hoping to God nobody finds their work because it’s for their eyes only. You go. Write what makes you happy. You’ll be glad you did, even if you’re cringing at it a decade from now, you’ll be happy you did it.

Here’s to the girl writing online about her favorite boy band or artist. You go, girl. Work those writing skills. You’re learning with every imaginary interaction.

Here’s to the person in their 50s deciding they want to start on some realistic fiction. Go and do it. It’s never too late to start. I’ll bet you’ve got some awesome ideas.

Here’s to the person that randomly got inspiration one day and is just now trying their hand at poetry. You’re improving with every poem. Whether you just want to write a haiku, or you’re aiming to write an epic poem to rival the odyssey, you can do it. Your imagination is big enough, I promise.

Here’s to the college student writing that short story feverishly when they should be writing a paper. Work your creative muscles. You’ve got them, no matter how much you try to convince yourself you don’t.

Take those burning ideas in your head and write them out. You will make some mistakes. We all make a lot of mistakes. We never stop making mistakes.

Remember: you are creative enough, your first draft doesn’t have to be perfect, grammar is a bitch, so don’t beat yourself up if you mess it up sometimes, and make sure to have as much fun as you can.

Today I called myself a lesbian out loud for the first time in my life

I’ve done everything possible to avoid describing myself with that word. Used every shortcut imaginable

Stuck my head in the ground like a flamingo and changed the subject like a politician every time someone asked

I’ve said I like girls. Worn it proudly across my chest like a badge of honor, but in an ambiguous way because I don’t want you to say I’m shoving it in your face

I’ve called myself sapphic, prioritized women, talked about my crushes on girls – but never in detail because I’ve been so afraid to come off as a wolf starving for the poor innocent herd of lambs at the local farm

I’ve had sex with girls, but often with boys present to make it socially acceptable to touch and taste and get lost in the wonderland that is another woman

I’ve written poetry describing pure, virtuous, chaste and sexless love between two women, but never about the desire to touch, the eye that wanders for a little too long to be accidental, the feeling of just right as her hands pull on my hair

I’ve called myself a lesbian on screen. Written that word down so many times that I barely think about it any more. I’m unapologetic until I’m not

Until I stutter out another excuse as to why I don’t want to be with the boy with the kind eyes and the shy smile who cannot take a god damn hint

Until I’m the only girl in the room and I’m aware that the only lesbians the majority of these men have seen are in porn and that “I’m a lesbian” doesn’t mean “stay away” to them, it means “try harder”

Until my grandfather participates in a conversation with someone else at a family dinner about how he’s tired of having The Gays shoved in his face by the media, even though he’s met my ex girlfriend

Until I hear yet another tasteless and homophobic joke at the dinner table from yet another person that I have to cross out from my very short list of people I know I can trust

Until a female friend of mine wraps her arms around me in a tight hug and I’m not out to her and I can’t help but feel guilty about how good I think she smells

And am I really unapologetic if I’m only unapologetic when it feels safe to be?

So when I described myself as a lesbian today, I stuttered through it even though I wanted to sound casual and calm and act like it was no big deal. Like every single person I’ve heard use it as an insult and spit it out like it’s stale food weren’t running through my head at that very moment

Like I am unashamed of every single girl who’s made my heart pick of speed, of every time I’ve caught myself staring at one of them for a little too long and wondered what her lips taste like

Like it might be one day

—  Confession of an unapologetic lesbian, Charlie W
THE OUTLAW’S HANDBOOK: A Guide to Staying Wild Against All Odds
1. Learn, god damn it, and never stop learning. Develop an insatiable hunger for knowledge, different perspectives, for facts and figures but also for piece of beauty that touch some great unnamed force inside of you. (More on that later.) Learn to loathe the idea that you’re being deceived, learn to love the sensation of your assumptions being torn into tiny little pieces. Everything from here on out is pointless if your mind is in chains; besides, a stupid rebel is as good as dead. Pay attention; wildness does not equal thoughtless and impulsive. Question. Think. Wonder. Read. Devour everything they’ve ever told you and tear it all apart looking for the truth.
2. Discover the core of your being and recognize it for the beauty that it is. In all likelihood some part of it will make life more difficult for you, but if you can’t embrace it anyway, you are already a corpse walking. Sometimes, late at night, or maybe just during a passing daytime moment, you will realize that how you act is not who you truly are. This is terrifying; your authentic self has the capability to decimate your ability to coast along through life doing as you’re told and being who you’re expected to be. If you let it have its way with you it can tear you to pieces, rip away everything you thought you knew about the world.
3. Let it.
4. Listen, “normal” is just another word for “coward” there isn’t a  soul on this planet who truly is who they’re told they should be. Wherever you’re born, you’re assigned a role and you playact as best you can -those who forget their lines are pariahs. Those who point out the script are revolutionaries. Those who follow it to a letter have lost their humanity. But remember, no one really belongs there. Everybody is weird. You are not alone.
5. When you’re ready, come out of hiding. You can do it little by little if you want. Disagree, talk back, be strange. Make your own costume, write your own dialogue, throw in some improv. If you’re not being heckled, you’re not doing it right.
6. Embrace the stares, the awkward silence, the nervous laughter of people around you -the dead walking, they who sleep without dreaming, who live their lives in perpetual fear of an imaginary threat but will call you the lunatic- no matter how painful it may be. Eventually you will become something that they can’t control no matter how much they whisper and scorn.
7. Run. Listen to that quiet insistent hum in the back of your mind that you’ve been repressing for so long you forgot it was there, and run away from all of this. Get out into the wilderness, run through the hills, get scratched up, get dirty. If you climb a tall hill and look down at the ground around you, the sight is yours. If you fall down and scrape your knee, the blood, the pain is yours. No one told you you may leave your tracks in the mud or drip your sweat on the thirsty ground or scream into the trees with no one around the hear you. You have to only answer to yourself and the laws of nature for all that you do. Out here you understand: you can do anything your body and mind allows.
8. When you’re ready, return to us. Come back to civilization, the land of do-as-you’re-told. Know that, despite what we all say, you own yourself here as much as you do by yourself in the woods. People will tell you you don’t -that just for existing, you owe them work, taxes, obedience. You must fit yourself into the mold they’ve assigned you, squeeze and force yourself smaller, larger, or thinner; cut off the pieces that don’t fit, build fake prosthetics to fill in the spaces your soul won’t -and if at the end you feel more constructed than human, well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it? How dare you exist as a being your own shape and size and form when they need you to be only one thing, one easily-manageable and predictable worker, voter and taxpayer who believes what they’re told and never steps out of line, has their lines memorized to a T and is petrified they’ll be found out for the parts of them that are only a mask.
9. It’s too late. You know better now; you’ve tasted freedom, and you can never go back. You can never wear your mask as well as someone whose skin has never met fresh air. You can never say your lines as well as someone who is still terrified of being wrong. You will never belong to anyone but yourself, ever again, no matter what they say.
10. And oh, they will say so much. They will call you criminal, degenerate, loser, trash, waste of space. They will hate you for  being living evidence that all the sacrifices they’ve made in the name of winning this vicious little game were not, in the end, necessary. The confined cannot abide the existence of the free; they will hunt you to the ends of the earth.
11. Run, again. Run because you have to, because it’s your only option, because that’s what you’ve become: a lone renegade fleeing from the wasteland that civilization has become. Men armed with badges and guns kill the defenseless; the sick and needy are left to suffer because they didn’t buy insurance; people starve while others hoard more than anyone could ever conceivably spend; rich countries refuse to give asylum to immigrants from less fortunate backgrounds; people work their lives away just for the privilege of staying alive; we hate each other for arbitrary reasons and deny that it is happening at all; and all of this, we’re told, is the best way things could ever possibly be. We’re told to celebrate deaths on some other continent, we’re told that history shows we are the best that our species has to offer. It’s all a sick joke and the punchline is that you once thought this was an acceptable way to live. The play you’re in is a vicious one and you can’t stomach your lines anymore. You run and you run and you run.
12. Mourn for the death of who you once were. So what if you sometimes had a stabbing, longing feeling that there was something monumental and vital out there that you had lost, that you desperately needed back? So what if you always had a vague sense that something was missing, that you were stunted in some way? At least you felt content. At least you felt safe. Now you can never feel safe in this world again.
13. Get angry at us, at all of us. Even if we weren’t the ones running the show, we went along with it, didn’t we? We let it happen, didn’t we? All of the horror and hatred, the violence and poverty and evil in the world -we just sat by and let it happen. It’s a world gone mad, you decide, a world full of selfish assholes who want nothing more than to sit around and eat fast food and watch the damn TV. Well, fine. Let us have our ivory towers. You want no part of it, no part of us.
14.
15.
16.
17. Remember when you used to be so afraid of the dark? Of outside, of the unknown? Remember when to be Other was a fate worse than death? It’s hard to imagine feeling that way now. It’s like the whole world happened to a different person -you aren’t the same you who sat around and idly and killed time, always preparing, always waiting for something that never quite arrived. You’re different now.
18. Breathe in deeply and smell the pine trees, the smoke of a campfire, the night sky. You look up into a starry night, an endless and beautiful universe full of endless and beautiful wonders. Maybe even other living, breathing, thinking beings, somewhere out there, waiting for a chance to say hello. It really is, you decide, a beautiful world.
19. Forgive us. We’re all just doing our best, doing what we were taught was right. We all feel that same aching longing that you once did. We just need a little help to learn what it means -a little help from someone who’s been there, someone who has had the courage to disagree with what the world told them they were.
20. When you’re ready, come back home. We miss you, we need you. Come back home.
— 

Run boy run! This race is a prophecy
Run boy run! Break out from society
(x)

For Set, Loki, and Dionysus.

Do you remember the summer I always sat on your lap
Nodding out on my porch, we fell in love way too fast
You lit a cigarette and I saw your eyes flicker in the heat
When your pupils were pins they were most beautiful to me 
When your eyes got big, the world stood still 
We stopped chasing dragons and September brought chills
I only knew how to love you when we were running and hiding  
If our lips were moving it meant we were lying 
Except all the times you put your lips on me
You weren’t lying then because those lies were my dreams.
I gave you a needle and put you to sleep
But before it could kill us, we killed off the dream
That’s when we decided to say we were clean
But then I woke up all alone and that killed me.

I remember missing summer when it was still in full swing
It felt gone as it happened cause we were slowly dying 
Thats why I held you tight with my arms around your neck 
I could feel a rhythm dead like winter that was beating through your chest 
Our love was built off of travelling time
Every flick and sizzle was our speed of light
When the fire stopped burning, we were empty inside
We planted a garden in ashes, it couldn’t grow at the time 
We loved in illusions and expected to survive
Our love was built off of ways to die.
I gave you a needle and put you to sleep
You believed in dope and you believed in me 
Dreams were reality when you were there with me
So since I’ve been awake I don’t know what I should believe

I gave you a needle and I put you to sleep
Nothing is a lie if the lies are your dreams
Nothing’s an illusion if you’re always asleep
So since I’ve been clean i don’t know what to believe
I wouldn’t have gone crazy if you just stayed with me
I wouldn’t have gone crazy if I still lived in a dream

—  My summer of love and heroin and how codependency ruined me as much as the drug

anonymous asked:

Why aren't you as enthusiastic about literature as you used to be?

I mean, I’m dedicating my life to being a librarian, and I write or perform new stuff at least once a month, so I’m definitely still big into literature and poetry.

I just don’t think it’s fun or okay to make fun of people for their grammar anymore, and I’m not interested in romanticising my mental illness and abuse anymore, which unfortunately makes me ill-suited for a lot of communities that supposedly celebrate writing. It’s mostly that, if we’re being honest. There’s just nothing fulfilling or interesting about constantly trying to prove that I’m the smartest, most tortured person in any given room.

I was actually just talking to my friend Deacon about how I have no idea how I’m going to date now that I don’t get off on cutting my childhood trauma into neat little lines. Like, how do you tell a potential partner that you tried to kill yourself, if not on stage? How do you get people to accept those awful parts of yourself, if you aren’t trying to make them beautiful? I don’t know the answer, but I know that I’m a better person when I’m focused on making people laugh. And if that means I lose street cred with people who treat the fact that they read The Catcher in the Rye in AP English the same way Reddit dudebros treat their interest in Rick and Morty, that’s fine by me.

I can’t just sit here and rot and call it art. I have more important things to say. I have more important things to be.

wingsfreedom  asked:

How do we know the difference between ISFJ, ISFP and INFP? My type is lost between these three.

Look at how your process new things.

ISFJ: When I encounter a new situation, person, or idea, I internally scan my memory banks and personal experiences to see if any of this feels familiar to me, so I can use that as a basis for comparison and know how to interact with this new idea, person, or situation. I then reach out to others to form a sense of emotional closeness in order to better navigate the situation and get things done through this emotional network. I enjoy analyzing new information as I discover it and like to place it into an internal framework, category, or box, to help me understand a range of situations, people, and things, so that next time I encounter something similar, I will know how to respond.

ISFP: When I encounter a new person, situation, or idea, I first decide if I have any personal interest in them or if what the situation provides aligns with what I believe is right. I form a judgment on the new information and, if it does not conflict with my beliefs, I am happy to engage with it / the person. I enjoy soaking in information, observing, and taking action. I am good at seeing an opportunity to act, or to make something happen. Sometimes, I like to think about my ideal future and how I might make my dreams into reality. I rely on my instincts and like to learn hands-on. I’m not afraid to get physically involved.

INFP: When I encounter a new person, situation, or idea, I first decide if I have any personal interest in them or if what the situation provides aligns with what I believe is right. I form a judgment on the new information and, if it does not conflict with my beliefs, I am happy to engage with it / the person. I like to indulge many different possibilities and ideas, and sometimes lose my connection to reality because I find what is inside my mind far more fun. I often read between the lines and assign people motives, or guess what is going on with them. I tend to change my mind often about what I want from life or what profession I might pursue, and am often distracted by newer and better ideas. I like to discuss things (philosophy, poetry, psychology, science, etc) more than do them and tend to be a little nostalgic. I’m not a big fan of change.

And since I know someone else will ask me if I do not include it:

INFJ: When I encounter a new situation, person, or idea, I try and see how this fits into a larger framework within my mind for understanding people / society / the big picture. I do not always absorb this information if I cannot see how it might help me to further my goals, but I find most things interesting enough to listen for awhile. I prefer to visualize the future in my mind. I often feel I have drawn the right conclusions about situations, people’s motives, or future events and find it difficult to change my mind once it is made up. I reach out to others to form a sense of emotional closeness in order to achieve my goals. I enjoy analyzing new information as I discover it and like to place it into an internal framework, category, or box, to help me understand a range of situations, people, and things, so I can better form accurate intuitive insights.

INTJ: When I encounter a new situation, person, or idea, I try and see how this fits into a larger framework within my mind for understanding people / society / the big picture. I do not always absorb this information if I cannot see how it might help me to further my goals, but I find most things interesting enough to listen for awhile. I prefer to visualize the future in my mind. I often feel I have drawn the right conclusions about situations, people’s motives, or future events and find it difficult to change my mind once it is made up. I counter any and all information with facts and measure my success through results. I want to apply knowledge rather than just theorize about it, and do not often share my feelings.

ISTJ: When I encounter a new situation, person, or idea, I internally scan my memory banks and personal experiences to see if any of this feels familiar to me, so I can use that as a basis for comparison and know how to interact with this new idea, person, or situation. I counter any and all information with facts and measure my success through results. I want to apply knowledge rather than just theorize about it, and do not often share my feelings.

ISTP: When I encounter a new person, situation, or idea, I consult my inner framework of logic to determine if it is consistent, thorough, and rational. I am more interested in consistent, clear, precise logic than results. I form a logical judgment on the new information and if it seems worthy of consideration, I am happy to engage with it. I enjoy soaking in information, observing, and taking action. I am good at seeing an opportunity to act, or to make something happen. Sometimes, I like to think about my ideal future and how I might make my dreams into reality. I rely on my instincts and like to learn hands-on. I’m not afraid to get physically involved.

INTP: When I encounter a new person, situation, or idea, I consult my inner framework of logic to determine if it is consistent, thorough, and rational. I am more interested in consistent, clear, precise logic than results. I form a logical judgment on the new information and if it seems worthy of consideration, I am happy to engage with it. I like to indulge many different possibilities and ideas, and sometimes lose my connection to reality because I find what is inside my mind far more fun. I often read between the lines and assign people motives, or guess what is going on with them. I tend to change my mind often about what I want from life or what profession I might pursue, and am often distracted by newer and better ideas. I like to discuss things (philosophy, poetry, psychology, science, etc) more than do them and tend to be a little nostalgic. I’m not a big fan of change.

- ENFP Mod

Title: Finishing Sentences
Tag List:
@undertakershairline @mewsicalmiss @romananalogicality @rose-gold-roman @thegoldenmink @the-prince-and-the-emo @theawesomestofsauces @jellyjam24 @sabriel-fanboy-83 @the-sanders-sides @amazable01 @milk-withtwosugars @bbcanimefangirl @analogically-prinxiety @asexual-trashbag @calz-craze @gayfagg @gracefullyinsanedancingunicorn @phandemoniumclub @virgils-anxiety @natalie-wheres-the-tampons @hrtnsolofytube @greymane902 @ashrain5 @fandom-screamings @mira-jadeamethyst @cefmua56 @colie7700 @madd-catter @leesacrakon @a-blog-just-for-sanders @doesdanielhowelisgay @viva-la-nordics @just-fic-me-up @justanotherpurplebutterfly @thebeautyofthomas @emo-space-trash @i-prayed-to-you-cas @satisfied-sanders-sides @virgilient @tree4life25 @virgils-hoodie @thebaagelboy @fandomsandanythingelse @holdnarrytight @thelogicalloganipus @virgesanders @coffee-spice @agentflash18 @musicphanpie-b @tashipper21 @the-sides-of-patton

A/N: so the long awaited not really sequel to this! Sorry for the wait! I’ve just had a lot going on for the past few days and just haven’t had the time to really sit down and write something this heckin long

Virgil stood in the doorway watching Patton for a moment, building up his nerve.  In his hands he held his notebook, turned to the latest page he’d blacked out and written over once again.  The bright purple pen was a tad hard to see on the black nail polish he’d had to use to black out the page, but it was the best he had and Patton didn’t need to read what was underneath that anyway.

Granted, Virgil wasn’t so sure anymore that the moral side needed to read what he was about to present to him.  Maybe he should just leave.  He could try again later.  He could –

“Verge, what’s up?”

Virgil jerked his head up in surprise when he saw Patton standing up, a plastic cup in his hand.  “Umm…” Virgil started, shifting where he stood.  “I just…I wanted to ask if you’d give me some advice…O-on what I wrote! Not, like, life or something! Just…writing advice…”

Patton seemed suspicious, but he shrugged it off and gave a grin, plopping back down on the sofa and patting the seat beside himself. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Virgil peeled himself away from the wall and dragged his feet to Patton’s side, presenting the notebook with one shaky hand.  Patton took off his glasses and held the book up to his face to read.  

Keep reading

I fell in love with you.

I fell in love with you,
Not because of the,
Big romantic dates,
But because you remembered,
My mother’s birthday.

I fell in love with you,
Not because of you were beautiful,
But because you were,
Genuine.

I fell in love with you,
Not because you were perfect,
But because, like me,
You weren’t.

I fell in love with you.
An imperfect person,
Who is and always will be,
Perfect for me.

@21stcenturyhippy​  I’m sorry I Fucked Up you Ask but here:

Does your reading disorder allow you to interact with text in different ways?  What is poetry like?

So I don’t know if I can call my experiences “different” because I can’t speak to other people’s experiences but for me, the big things about whatever is going on my head are that:

  • Text almost never generates any phonetic/sound-related information.
  • Sound doesn’t automatically generate meaning.  I’m an extremely frustrating person to speak to IRL, because I have to have things repeated to me three and five times sometimes before my brain gets off it’s ass and starts deriving meaning from speech.
  • Reading pictorially, or shape-to-context is a like… reading with all the definitions loaded but those definitions are described with images and relationships- to other concepts, past experiences, timelines etc, instead of words.  it’s rather cinematic.

So it affect my perception of certain types of writing:

ACADEMIC:  Auto-loaded contextual definitions make reading jargon-packed papers way easier than I imagine it is if you have to load the text>sound>meaning chain and actually sound out words to derive meaning. 

This: 
Dilophosaurus (/daɪˌloʊfəˈsɔːrəs, -foʊ-/[1]dy-LOAF-o-SAWR-əs) is a genus of theropod dinosaur. It contains a single known species, Dilophosaurus wetherilli, known from fossil remains found in the Kayenta Formation of Arizona. This rock formation has been dated to the early Jurassic Period (Sinemurian age), about 193 million years ago. Dilophosaurus was among the largest carnivores of its time (about 7 meters long) and had a pair of rounded crests on its skull.

Reads as:

SICK-ASS CRESTED DINOSAUR (total fucking gibberish right here i’ve never actually gotten pronunciation guides) is a [one group bigger than species] of [probably carnivorous* bird-walking beastie with hips like {external Image} T.Rex is famed member] [fuckyeah giant-ass repitle/bird prototypical concept**]. It contains a single known [Smallest ‘whole’ taxanomic group]  SICK-ASS CRESTED DINOSAUR sp name i’ll recognise later but never pronounce or spell right, known from fossil remains found in the [AAAAAY I WENT CAMPING HERE IT’S HOT AS BALLS AND FULL OF LIZARDS BUT IT’S REAL STINKING COOL ALSO THAT DINER NEARBY HAD AMAZING MILKSHAKES]. This rock formation has been dated to [that period right after dinosaurs got started for real and Pangea started breaking up***, but right before everything started getting obscenely huge] , about [DETERMINITE TIME IS AN ILLUSION****] . SICK-ASS CRESTED DINO was among the largest carnivores of its time (about as long as the short bus or an orca) and had a pair of organic cadillac fins on its skull. 

*Therizinichous/dinosaur edward scissorhands is an outlier adn should not have been counted
**We’ll get back to prototypical images in a minute
***Like the beatles.  Laurasia is John and yoko, Gondwana is Paul.
****tho that may be the ADHD speaking

…and it all loads instantaneously. 

So you see why I *like* academic reading.

NARRATIVE (fantasy/history/fanfic etc):  I like my narrative dialogue, history and subjective-experience heavy, with as little objective description as possible.  My brain auto-fills in shittons of information from like, three words and honestly it’s not interesting compared to what’s going on with your characters, internally.

Some environmental context is good, but I like it subjective.  Unless it’ll be particularly important later, I don’t want to know how many turrets or the type of stone the castle is made of, I know what a fucking castle looks like.  

If you want to describe your castle subjectively tho, as in “ Farkle castle had probably been ominous and intimidating once, before the invention of rebar and when archer was still a full-time job, but the addition of carnival-colored washed-up actors and adjacent McDonalds had lessened the effect a great deal”  FUCK YEAH.  Love me that delicious subjective context.

For that matter, auto-fill works so well that dialogue-only stories are some of my favorites because it gets right to the meat of what the hap is fuckening.  and I REALLY like it when the author takes auto-fill and fucks with my perceptions/assumptions.  that’s HILARIOUS.

POETRY:  varies an awful lot by genre.  Poetry that’s written for the purpose of conveying an emotion or about a specific concept or tangible object is an awful lot like reading a conext-heavy piece of narrative.  poetry that’s written for the sake of sound and is meant to be read aloud?  Reading is is to go “Ah, this is a SOUND thing.  No wonder it’s gibberish. I wonder if there’s an audio.”

LISTENING to poetry of both varieties is like looking at a Rothko:

I like my boy Rothko because his work is all about what do these colors look like together and what kind of reaction does it evoke and pretty much nothing else (excpet his own personal feeling but he tended to keep the specifics under wraps) Which is an EXCELLENT way to art.  But spoken poetry, due to the lost sound/meaning connection, is always gonna be like a Rothko.  It’ll be about the composition of the sounds and the feeling they evoke in me personally but RARELY, if ever, will meaning carry through audibly.  The reverse is true in written format:  Meaning appears, and evokes, but the sound and composition is lost.

To give you an idea how bad the disconnect is:  I’d read Howl by Allen Ginsberg dozens of times in middle school, but hadn’t actually heard it preformed until high school when I was driving home from estes park and there was a reading on NPR.  I loved it, intensely, but Absolutely Did Not recognize it as the poem I’d fallen in love with so many years before.  They were completely seperate entities in my mind until I went looking for the recording later.

Sometimes I wonder, what it’s like, to have sounds mean things and shapes mean sounds, and sometimes the divorce makes my life needlessly frustrating, but sometimes being able to separate the two illuminates features of each I’d lose if I went that way automatically.

I think the reason I’ve never truly
gotten over you is because it felt like
there was something there.
I wasn’t being delusional and making
all of it up as we went.
It felt as if the universe had bigger plans
for us but then changed the story board.
It was so abrupt when it ended.
And that leaves a big question:
Did the universe stop it or just press pause?
—  MJG // and will the universe ever decide to continue our story board?

I’ve been thinking a lot about my future.. lots of doubts and insecurities of whether or not what I want to do is right, and if it’ll be successful to live a fulfilling life and a comfortable one. Sometimes, I am so afraid I won’t be the person I want to be. Maybe I am chasing too many rabbits—being a great book publicist, someday becoming a book reviewer, create a life changing project, have my own imprint, and hopefully a NY Times bestseller (and be a bestselling author). These are all big dreams. They seem so unattainable and makes me question if it’s even worth it at the end. What if I fail? But then, some mornings I wake up, proud of all I have done, all I am trying to do, and all I will one day accomplish. I think the passion and desire to make a good difference in people’s lives will make it all worth it in the end.. to slowly, but surely have a good impact and change the world, even if it’s one person at a time.