manic depressive dream girl

LEGION Recap: 1x01

Last spring when I was getting mildly sloshed off cheap French rosés and falling in love with the X-Men, I did not know it was because my compass heart had swung unerringly to the superhero franchise that, in its infinite batshit whimsy, would see fit to produce an eight-episode kaleidoscopic mutant concept piece less than one year later, as if the surrealist inventive fuckery inherent in the X-Men universe had just been waiting for me, DTF.

And then Legion had to wait for me a bit more, as historically I’ve only ever managed to watch one TV show at a time. Why? BECAUSE I DO NOTHING BY HALVES, SON. And presently I am still lost in space with my beloved golden-hearts on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.

But then I saw a gifset of what looked like Jemaine Clement in a pale suit on some sort of Mylar-draped soundstage, and that was fucking it. I could feel a give in my ribs as I was pulled toward my true north, to Legion, to the show seemingly made out of scraps and spangles fished out of my own head.

So let’s do it. Let’s do two shows at once. Let’s see what my capacity for sustained enthusiasm actually is. Let’s open up all the valves, let’s set fire to tears, LET’S GO.

Legion - Season 1, ‘Chapter 1’

Wooouuuld you like this show to begin with a deeply stylized growing-up montage set to “Happy Jack” by The Who, hyper-slo-mo snapshots all centered in frame, quaint and retro until our boy hits age of onset and begins screaming it into a distorted symmetrical Wes Anderson nightmare? Hohoho, would I.

I WOULD.

Troubled kid grows into troubled man, until his big haunted eyes see no more hope, and he tries to hang himself with an electrical cord, which sparks like synapses (!!! guys) into a sparkling candle on a cupcake — his birthday. Thirty-odd complete revolutions around the sun for David, the last five spent inside this mental institution, which outfits its patients in burnt orange track jackets with yellow stripes, because THE SIXTIES, groovy.

Dan Stevens does a pretty passable American accent, it turns out. His most amazing transformation is still when he left his second chin in Downton Abbey and suddenly looked like his own hot evil twin, but this is good too.

Keep reading

I’M SO SICK OF BEING SOMEBODY’S MANIC-PIXIE-DREAM-GIRL. I AM MY OWN PERSON. AND THEN THE NOVELTY OF ME WEARS OFF AND YOU’RE FINALLY A WHOLE PERSON AND I AM NOTHING.
FUCK YOU
I AM MY OWN PERSON AND I REFUSE TO BE MADE INTO THE SUPPORTING CHARACTER, I AM THE MAIN CHARACTER IN MY OWN LIFE. DON’T KNOW HOW TO BE A WHOLE PERSON? FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELF AND STOP USING ME AND DUMPING ME BECAUSE THE EXCITEMENT OF ME HAS NOW WORN OFF AND I’VE SERVED MY PURPOSE.
YOU DO NOT GET TO USE ME
GO AND FUCK YOURSELF

Brain brain go away, don't come back 'til 8:30.

I think this illness is harder for creative people. I’m not saying that it’s not hard for every sufferer, but artists train themselves to see huge bursts of nervous energy and a rapid flow of intense thoughts as a good thing. For example, I tend to forget that I need sleep and balance if I’m ever going to bring all these great ideas to fruition.

This feels appropriate right now:

why settle for being the depressed manic pixie dream girl when i can be the depressed manic pixie dream girl and her depressed-but-hasn’t-admitted-it-to-himself-yet cis white male love interest?

“But Dallas White! I don’t want a boyfriend, how will I read all of these books and listen to the Stokes with a love life???”

“Ginger. Babe. Look at my cheek bones. Smell my cigarette. Date me.”