i'd read these

Woke up to youtube playing Mr. Rogers this morning. I haven’t watched his show since I was in middle school but I couldn’t bring myself to turn off the video. Actually let a few more play while I went about my morning routine. It was just a peaceful and warm feeling, y’know, listening to his stories and coming away appreciating the show in a way I didn’t as a child. I might just make a habit of watching him after I wake up because it made starting the day a little easier.

I’m tossing this under a read more because it includes a lot of discussion about alter formation (specifically fictional introjects) in our system, so take care reading if that may bother you.  This is only reflective of us, and our experiences, and we don’t expect or think the same of other systems and how their members form.  Just babbling some of the things I’ve been thinking about.

Keep reading

The last 48 hours have been insanely awesome as a person who loves both BTS and IKON but they could not be more different. BTS is a YSL suit. IKON are a scuffed pair of Air Jordans. BTS is like the Ferrari 458. IKON is more like a Nissan GTR. They’re both supercars but in completely different leagues, made for completely different demographics. Maybe this comes across as rude but there are (many many many) days where I totally prefer Jordans and a GTR. 

3

Concept:
Les Misérables (1862) but if Lemony Snicket was the author

Example:
to Enjolras–darling, dearest, dead.

Chapter One

If you’re seeking a story whose tragic beginning is followed by a less-tragic middle and an inevitably uplifting denouement, this book should be avoided at all costs. The approximately six hundred and fifty-five thousand words that are about to follow contain the tales of several bright and brave young people who each meet an unfortunate end and several less-bright, less-young people, including myself, who unfortunately survive to recount the events. “Unfortunate” is a word which here means “luckless” and “miserable”, the latter definition having been used for the title of this novel, designed to dissuade you, the misguided reader, from continuing past the cover page.

There are other techniques I have employed in this book that are designed to stop you from yourself becoming miserable by reading this story in its entirety. Firstly, the physical novel, which as you may notice shares the same dimensions and weight as a standard housing brick, for the utmost inconvenience. Secondly, I have included several hundred pages of information which are both uninteresting and have little bearing on the grander story in the meager hope that you will come to your senses and place this novel back on your shelf or better, in a lit fireplace, where I solemnly believe it belongs. 

For example, the use of candlesticks. The word “candlestick” is derived from the purpose of the item itself, that is an object, most often metal, commonly silver, in which one can stick a candle. Many dictionaries define “candlestick” as  “an often ornamental holder for securing a candle or candles”. “Candleholder” is another, less commonly used word for “candlestick”. Candlesticks come in a variety of forms and sizes, and can contain a variety of numbers of candles often demarcated by their names-a “trikirion” contains three candles and a “menorah” contains seven. If you have had the fortitude-a word which here means “strength of mind”-to make it this far through this dull paragraph, it may be of some note to say that the candlesticks with which we concern ourselves in this story are single candlesticks, that may each contain one candle. 

Thirdly, not only have I named the main character in a redundant manner-Jean Valjean-I have decided to tell you here that Jean Valjean perishes on the final page of this novel. That is my story’s conclusion.

With all this information in mind, and having the ending already known, I now give you my final warning and pleading suggestion to forget about this book. Put it down. Hide it away. Bury it in a cemetery late at night with the assistance of a man named Fauchelevant. Forget it ever existed. For now the story must begin.

It begins in a town called Digne, on a grey and dreary night under the roof of a very kind but elderly and poor man, the bishop of the town, whose name was Myriel.

2

I’m not a big one on—I don’t know what to call it—getting all glamorous. I don’t really worry about my looks, and I don’t worry about getting old. Exterior beauty doesn’t mean a lot to me. I mean, sure I like to look nice—sometimes. This is going to contradict all the pictures with the interview, because I’m very glammed out. I’m a total hypocrite.

Important OMGCP information!!!

I live in samwell. like, obviously not actually, but my town is exactly where samwell is on the map. i have noticed some things that people don’t rlly know are real things, so i decided to make a list
- andover is a real school. most ppl i know refer to it as phillips, but there’s also exeter which is also phillips so ????? it’s a hella nice private boarding school in andover.
- stop n shop is a supermarket and there are So Many of them it makes sense that there’s murder stop n shop and smelly stop n shop
- it’s honestly not that weird that nursey is always surrounded by leaves like as a person who is a Mess when there r leaves on the ground there r leaves on my body bc they stick to ur hair and ur clothes like mad
- probably everyone thinks the haus is haunted bc legit everywhere around here has at least one place where ppl swear there r ghosts - okay that’s it for now small town ppl feel free to add shit if u want bye

I'm a hopeless romantic

You hold your paint brushes
like a heart holds a soul.
Each fine hair on the handle
somehow makes you whole.

Green and yellow and blue and grey
midday,
your name stretches across my lips like a two-syllable Irish dancer
And wiggles between my teeth.
your name splatters upon every canvas,
in the ashes of every ashtray.
Hey,
Can I see the insides of your soul?

Two orders:
A black coffee and a mocha with whipped cream.
A dream,
I asked for chocolate sprinkles
to match the freckles on your nose.
You make me feel like coffee tastes.
like wiggling toes
and hand-me-down clothes.
without control-
can I see the insides of your soul?

Gazing at your face directly in the sun
may be the best thing that I’ve ever done,
because your watermelon wedge smile
makes my body tingle.
makes my heart concave
and I thought I was brave
until you made me stand on stilts.

And:
the hopeless romantic has hope.
may the mystery of your soul be a legend-
finger cuts and hand soap.
I’ll pack away your supplies,
whilst packing away mine:
your paint brushes and my storyline.
You won’t answer,
so ill play our song.
I’ll call-
and you won’t respond.
And I’ll hope that the next time my heart runs away with me,
next time,
there will be someone willing to come along.