sound is a colour

capslockconfessions  asked:

firefly red- what gives you purpose?

firefly red: what gives you purpose?

the idea that in whatever minute capacity, either now or later in life, I’ll be able to make this world a little easier for others to exist within (could this sound more pretentious? oops)

crayola crayon colour asks

things to pay attention to
  • the tiny specks of colour in their eyes
  • the bass and background sounds in a song
  • starlight on a cloudy night
  • how someone looks when they think nobody can see them
  • the mannerisms of a stranger
  • real meanings behind spoken words
  • subtle facial expressions which last a second
  • the underlying flavours in food
  • emotions that a friend is trying to hide
  • little lights in a sleeping city
  • flowers growing through cracks in the pavement
  • the mixed colour palette in a piece of art
  • the melody of someone’s voice

it’s so weird hearing americans talk about Target© as some kind of semi-religious holy space of reasonably priced goods and services, bc in it’s short, fever-dream existence up here in the frozen north it was… Not Good. 

in my experience with the three (3) i went to in the surrounding area it was. uh. you know when you step into a place and there’s nothing immediately noticeably wrong but you can just Feel that this is a Bad Space? like the kind of space where if you catch a glimpse of your mother walking down an aisle and turning a corner you know it’s a demonic trick and if you follow her it’ll lead you down a path to a dark space you can’t return from?

or you go in with your friend who’s right next to you but you get a text from them saying “hey i’m in the shoe aisle, you should come here” and you know it’s a trap from the devil? like other things:

  • only half of the dim, washed out, often flickering fluorescent lights were lit at any given time, usually only every-other set, leaving these valleys of darkness that made entire aisles inaccessible for fear of shadow people latching on to your soul like a dark passenger. 
  • entire sections were just Empty. empty shelves with no product, never any employees filling them up, no boxes waiting to be unpacked, no signs saying what should be there.
  • no employees at all actually? wandering around the store even though the parking lots were full and you walked in with a group of 20 or so felt so lonely. you could walk the whole place and it was dead silent and the only other “people” around always were several aisles away with their back turned, unmoving. there was always only one cashier and there was never anyone in her line.
  • there was never any music on or announcements played? another place that does this are all the dollar trees in my area and it gives me anxiety. i feel like i’m being hunted, like i have to hold my breath and listen for the footsteps of beasts in other aisles. 
  • the fitting rooms had a strange, dark energy to them. it felt like if you ever used them, whatever universe you closed the door on would not be the same one you stepped out into when you were done. the washrooms also contained this same dark energy.
  • passing the employees-only doors felt like wandering too close to a bears den. the glass windows never showed anything going on back there, no racks of product, no employees milling around. it was just pitch black, complete darkness. a hungry void.
  • leaving a target was the same disorienting feeling as leaving a dark theatre and exiting into the light. sound and colour and feeling rush back in. you feel like you can breathe again. a weight is lifted from your shoulders. you can’t remember any of the time you spent inside the target.

it is my sincere belief that the targets in canada never existed. the storefronts were put up, yes, but the stores themselves were vast empty caverns filled with dark dreams and sinister interlopers attracted to the malignant leftover energies from zellers. passing through the automatic doors was meant to teleport us to the nearest american location, but something went wrong and we entered an unnatural zone halfway between the upside down and whatever it was that happened in the langoliers. 

i believe the balls outside target are carefully crafted and powerfully attuned magical artifacts that keep up the illusion known as Target©, but were incorrectly spaced in canada due to a mixup between the metric and imperial systems of measurement, and that is why the brief twilight zone episode that was canadian target collapsed virtually overnight.

being multilingual like...

What people think it’s like:

  • *speaks multiple languages fluently on command*
  • *is very sophisticated*

What it’s actually like:

  • constantly speaking to people in the wrong language
  • managing to squeeze 3 or 4 languages into one sentence without noticing
  • gradually forgetting your first and second language, while not speaking anything fluently anymore. not even your first language is safe
  • Grammar? What grammar? Which grammar??!!
  • being permanently confused
  • can’t even order bread at a Danish bakery after 2 years of language training
  • cry and curse yourself for moving somewhere where they don’t speak English or your first language. but mostly cry. and weep
6

they think they’re running this town, but this town will shut down without us. ten thousand kids in the square, ten thousand fists in the air!

newsies icons requested by @elsbels25

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10

Van Gogh Alive – The Experience

Venture into an exciting new world; forego all preconceived ideas of traditional museum visits, dispel all notions of tiptoeing through silent art galleries to view masterpieces from afar, change how you engage with art. Vitalise your senses and challenge your beliefs in a completely unique, stimulating Van Gogh exhibition experience.

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i still remember the way your skin felt against mine; soft but still rough. remember how my pale skin was the perfect contrast to your tanned one.
i remember the way you used to lightly trace my face with your fingertips, never applying to much pressure as if you were too scared of hurting me.
i remember how soft your hair felt and how it  annoyed you when i constantly ran my fingers through it, even if you had just styled it.
i remember your voice, still. it was deep and smooth, always calming me when i was feeling anxious or sad. it is, to this day, my favourite sound.
i remember the colour of your eyes and how it still resembles my favourite chocolate. remember, how i got lost in them the first time i ever spoke to you, and how it changed my outlook on brown eyes that i always found boring and not the least special.

i wonder for how much longer i will remember all these little things.
i wonder when skin will become just skin again,
when your touch will become just one of many i’ve felt in my life.
wonder, when the softness of your hair will be long forgotten,
when your voice will turn into just another sound,
and your brown eyes will resemble just another pair of boring, brown eyes.
i wonder if i’ll ever forget and if i do, just know that it was not on purpose. if i could keep remembering them accurately for the rest of my life, then i would.

—  e.s. // all the little things about you that i wish i could remember forever.
  • Aries midheaven: I wanna be a star that dissolves across the sky
  • crackling like fireworks from heaven
  • Taurus midheaven: I wanna soak into the walls of a flower
  • i want to taste cosmic milkshakes on my tongue
  • Gemini midheaven: I want to be a trickster pixie
  • changing fairy lights at the speed of light, getting tangled in words in the sun
  • Cancer midheaven: I want to become the moon
  • eyes like lunar kaleidoscopes, hanging a home off lunar lamps
  • Leo midheaven: I want to turn into the sun
  • i want to rise and shine, I want to be holy and radiant
  • Virgo midheaven: I want to disappear into a shadow, and forget who I am
  • the shadow that secretly holds the world together, existing as godly forever
  • Libra midheaven: I want to dissolve into the sound, colour and light
  • I want to cradle the scales of justice in my hand, making judgments from the Soul. Righteous and gleaming
  • Scorpio midheaven: I want to dive into a cauldron, soak myself in sorcery
  • I want to vanish, create magic, and become a mystery
  • Sagittarius midheaven: i want to break through the paint that holds the sky together, i want sun to fill my cheeks with laughter, i want to create a life of meaning
  • Capricorn midheaven: I want to keep walking, elevated and inspired, to keep walking into the vault of heaven, I want to knot constellations and climb to the stars
  • Aquarius midheaven: I want to become air, a floating pocket of fizzling ideas, I want humanity to breathe the cool air in my lungs, its filled with love
  • Pisces midheaven: I want to become a mermaid, swimming toward the heaven under a wax lyrical, spiritual devotion, I want to be
  • everything

“The only thing we can perceive are our perceptions. In other words, consciousness is the matrix upon which the cosmos is apprehended. Color, sound, temperature, and the like exist only as perceptions in our head, not as absolute essences. In the broadest sense, we cannot be sure of an outside universe at all.”

I think Lardo lets Tango watch her mix paint because she once noticed him watching paint-mixing stim vids on his phone.

Like, one day she is walking through the Haus and everything is quiet, which is weird. Then, she notices Tango just chilling on the couch. Then she really confused because it’s quiet and Tango is there and usually you can’t have one with the other. So, she goes over and peeks over his shoulder and he’s scrolling through a paint-mixing stim account on instagram, taking the time to watch the entire video before moving on. There’s the faint sound of the pallet knife sometimes if the colours really attract his attention and he taps to turn on the sound, but, other than that, everything about him is silent.

That’s when Lardo gets an idea. She isn’t busy right now, so she runs up and gets a couple of her tubes of cheap paints (acrylic, oil, some pigmenting, a giant tube of white paint, some paint thinner, ect.), a couple pallet knives, and some glitter. She comes back down and taps on Tango’s head. “Follow me, taddy,” she says, nodding to the door.

Of course he follows, Lardo is mama duck, but that doesn’t mean he does it without question. With slipping his phone in his pocket, the inquiries start a-coming. “Where are we going? What’s in that bag? When did you get home? Am I in trouble? I thought we were allowed to be there if the door was unlocked?? What’s that clanking coming from your bag? How was your day? Where are we going??”

Lardo is a master at letting him just ask without giving real answers (and, frankly, he’s thankful that she doesn’t yell at him like Holster does), and soon their at Lardo’s super secret art studio. At this point, Tango’s been here before and has stopped asking the “Where are we going?” because he recognized the area. But he still had so many questions, even up to the moment Lardo put a small red blob next to a larger light blue one on top of a big smear of white.

When she started mixing, he went absolutely quiet and fixed his eyes on Lardo’s hands, listening to the scrape of the triangular knife on the sheet of plastic she uses as her pallet.

They do this for hours, Lardo even letting him paint a bit on a spare gessoed canvas she uses to swatch the colours on to see what they look like. He isn’t really the best artist but he does get the shape of a multicoloured rubber duck with shades on. It’s mostly purples and blues and greys because those are the colours he said he liked seeing being mixed the most.

He eventually starts buying her the bulk cheap acrylics from A.C. Moore. They spend their Thursday and Sunday afternoons mixing paints.

Lardo puts the piece they made up in her senior art show. “Takes Two to Tony” is the title of the piece (only the hockey players get it, theater kids think it’s about the Tonys and spend too much time trying to figure out what a messy, tecnicolour duck with sunglasses has to do with the relevant plays and musicals of 2016).

It’s the most commented on piece in the guestbook and someone even asks if they could buy it and leaves their number (Lardo never calls them).

Tango is quiet when he looks at it because it reminds him of his mama duck and how she figured out what made him the happiest and used it to help him.

When Lardo graduates, she finds Tango at the ceremony and hugs him, slipping the key to the studio into his hand. “It’s all yours now, Tang. I’ll see you there.” He goes and there is all the paints he got her, the piece of hard plastic pallet, and the painting. It’s now hanging from a rafter, the light from the dusty skylight filtering in and making the metalics and glitters they used on it shimmer. Tango is so happy, he cries.

They still meet every Thursday and Sunday afternoon there.

Tango’s started his own paint-mixing stim account on Instagram and a “mama-duck-lardsy” always comments, saying things like “that blue can be used as a highlight on the duck” or “good job with the pigmenting, who’s your teacher? ;)”.

4

“We need to clear up a rumour spread by certain Mr. Noel Gallagher who claims that your first lightsaber fight as Obi Wan Kenobi was actually with him. Can you confirm or deny this rumour?”