this is my home life

I don’t know why, but for the past few days I’ve felt this craving, this burning temptation of finding you. The feeling that someone is destined to be mine, someone who’ll know my mind so intimately and make me feel at home. With every passing day, you grow into my mind, reaching every cervix and leaving nothing for me. I haven’t held you but I can feel you everywhere in my bones. I haven’t seen you but your melody echoes through my hollow words, making them whole again. You seriously have no idea and neither do I, that when we meet our sparks will fly into the colossal valley of darkness and light it up with the song of our love once again. They call us crazy and that we are. But imagine us together, and I think that’s what god thought. We haven’t met yet, but my whole world is chanting only your name. So let’s get prepared because I know you hear me too. I think it’s finally time for the song that’s me and you.
—  Is it you that I hear?
Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy's Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

by James Wright

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year’s horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.

I feel like I’m always going to be on the outskirts of anarchism/radical politics in general just because I don’t know the jargon, theories, and am foreign to the culture around it. I’m not even uneducated; I’ve been lucky to go to school as long as I have (thanks full scholarship), but sometimes I see posts on here and I feel my body contorting into a giant question mark. I think I agree with your spirit, but I can’t be sure, because I only recognize about 50% of those words. I just dislike people harming and exploiting each other, disliked seeing that all my life, disliked watching how my home has been fucked near irreparably in the name of profit, and think we can do better as a whole. I grew up with a very particular vocabulary and I think it’s impossible for me to change that now. There are so many people back home who have a sort of anarchist spirit, but if I started spouting some of these words, they’d just get pissed off. I’m not saying it’s bad that there is an academic side to anarchism; it’s good that there are people who can have those conversations, but overall I just feel like there is a permanent divide that I’ll never be able to cross, and that I’ll never really “belong” with other anarchists. There’s just a whole culture around it that I’m alien to. 

i guess i’ve been experiencing dissociation for a long time without realizing thats what i was doing? I always would listen to people talk about it and be like “whoa that sounds really scary” but I never really put two and two together. this is like when i found out i had depression years late. i thought i was just fucked up and dumb

like thats the awful thing, for so long i thought that i was probably overreacting, i’m just “a lazy and distracted person who is WRONG and BAD” because my home life for 10 years led me to fully believe i was just a crying brat who was an extreme burden to care for, so i never sought help for what were actual problems people have and i lost so much time to episodes where i thought this was how i was going to be for the rest of my life

im just scared for discovering the next thing about myself that people have been getting help with while i just thought i was stupid and ignoring it. its terrifying to know that i’ve probably spent almost 2 decades working through all the shit my brain does and thinking its completely normal and that i’m just a worse human than most.

in short don’t tell your kids they need to suck it up, they need to get better on their own, they need to quit being such a freak and a mistake. recognize when they are calling for help and connect them with professionals and give them years of triumph instead of years of failure please please please

anonymous asked:

I do not agree. Fanwriters have no life, that is why they write. And believe me from what I have seen. They cannot write. I have read books better then that. Actual authors.

Oh little non-a-bon. Is this directed at me personally or at all fan writers in general? I don’t usually respond to hate nons, but you’re not my usual little friend, are you? No, you’re special.

First of all, speaking for myself, I have a life. A very busy one. I have a hubs, two young children and I work 60 hours a week. And that’s just on the clock. That doesn’t count when I go to my patients homes on MY TIME, you know, time from that life I don’t have? to help them with things they can’t do on their own, like putting in the damn air conditioner. I have parents, and other family that require my time. Somehow, in between all this craziness, I manage to not have a life, in your eyes. Oh, yes. It’s at eleven at night, when I manage to get a few paragraphs done. Or on my lunch break. Or the weekend, when I actually am caught up on the damn laundry. But even if I didn’t have all this going on, if I really didn’t “have a life” as you so charmingly put it, it wouldn’t matter. For some people, this is how they live, how they experience the world because they can’t in the
“Normal way” that some of us are lucky enough to experience. Don’t you ever discount that.

We don’t write for you. We don’t write to be published, and I’ve read some really shitty published writers, so your argument is invalid. We write for us. We write to express ourselves. We write to share with each other the ideas that we have. We write because we love something so much and there is no story about it. They say necessity is the mother of all invention. We invent these stories because there is no published book of them.

Creativity is a basic human need. We are weaving our thoughts into words to share with others. I have read some amazing stories on here. You are a bad judge of quality, little non-a-bon. Instead of being a decent human being and encouraging someone when they have obviously poured their heart into something, you seek to poison their experience here and try to tear them down. No.

So. Go read your published writers. Keep your hate away. It is not welcome on my blog. If you follow me, please unfollow me, because I don’t need anyone like you in my life. And neither do these other lovely souls. Go fuck your self and have a lovely day.

Mr. Steal your lil’ sis

Eirika pls come home

Listen I am so here for platonic “I love you"s. I don’t care if you think "I love you” is some sacred phrase to only utter to one person in your life, i don’t care if you think it makes me look overbearing. I say “I love you” to my friends every time I say goodbye because I want them to know 100% without a doubt that I care for them and love them and am there for them so so much.


He had his own blaster out and fired a cluster of tight shots above her head. Jyn could only guess one of the rebels had been aiming the explosive her way. Cassian had shot one of Saw’s rebels to save her life.


“Tell that to the one who killed our men.”
Jyn looked to Cassian. In her mind’s eye, she saw him fire his blaster in the plaza, felt the grenade explode over her head. She remembered the cold, guiltless sensation that had passed over her then; shame found her now, gripped her heart, and she tore through it with anger.