trite

Somos como rompecabezas. Si le entregas a alguien una pieza de tu ser, cuando se vaya una parte de ti se ira con el, desde entonces te lo aseguro no volverás a ser el mismo, no estarás completo.

-Yo por ejemplo, estoy incompleta

speaking of which: using the word “violence” to describe property damage is intellectually dishonest at worst and just ignorant at best. you know what insurance is, right? you know insurance is real and exists? you know human lives and rights are objectively more important than property, which can be replaced?

come on. these discussions are exhausting. they’re circular, trite and based on you entirely misunderstanding how the world works on any level. or worse having a totally bizarre sense of empathy for a window or a sign

The more I thought about my life up to then, the more I hated myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a few good memories—I did. A handful of happy experiences. But, if you added them up, the shameful, painful memories far outnumbered the others. When I thought of how I’d been living, how I’d been approaching life, it was all so trite, so miserably pointless. Unimaginative middle-class rubbish, and I wanted to gather it all up and stuff it away in some drawer. Or else light it on fire and watch it go up in smoke (though what kind of smoke it would emit I had no idea).
—  Haruki Murakami, “Yesterday

we’re about to get feminist for a minute, but here’s my advice of the day: let female villains be villains.

go ahead, make them awful, make them ugly, make them horrible human beings. make them bloodthirsty, make them greedy, make them abusive, make them vile, but don’t ever make them anything less than a villain, because it’s the idea of men that women are too pure to achieve true villainy. your classic villains are all men. your classic antiheroes are almost always men. your mainstream culture can’t envision a woman that can be anything more than a blank slate for a man to impress his opinion upon; their flaws must be nothing, their weakness must be zilch, and, therefore, their personality must taste like stale bread.

female heroes have to either be wonder woman or black widow - too pure for this world, or sexpot slayers from someone’s wild wet dream. the female villains, though, the female villains can’t be truly evil; poison ivy has to save orphans, harley quinn has to exist in a liminal space where she’s good but still technically a villain. i don’t want to see poison ivy go through a trite redemption arc when i don’t even see her evil in the first place. what the hell does she need to be redeemed from, the narrative squawking, “bad guy over here!” without ever once proving it? no. that’s bullshit. that’s total bullshit. get me a villainous woman i can actually be scared of

Sometimes, things don’t go as planned. More times than not, everyone gets through the year and makes it out safely. But every once in a while, there’s a sickness, or a fight, or a harebrained scheme to save the world gone sideways, and one of them doesn’t make it through the year.

They mourn for their fallen. They know they’ll see them again, in a few months, as if they’d never died, but it’s always tough for a while after. Sometimes the people they encounter in these other worlds are startled by how quickly they move on with life. They tell them they’ll see their brother or sister again one day. Most take it as trite, something you say to console yourself in the face of death. But Taako tells them, “No really, it’s not goodbye, it’s just TTYL!”

Whenever one of them dies before the year’s end, Lucretia opens another notebook, and begins to write.

She writes them letters. She doesn’t write to them every day. Just when there’s a brilliant success, or a devastating failure, or a joke that would have made them laugh, a beautiful tree they would have climbed, or a rock that looked so goddamn much like Barry’s face that they had to take it with them. There are doodles and anecdotes. “I wish you could have seen her.” “We needed you today. You would’ve known just what to say.” She records these postcards for them, from the months they missed. And when they’ve finally settled down in their new home for the year, she quietly hands them over.

STOP SENDING THREATS OR OTHER NEGATIVE STUFF TO THE THREE MEN (BRENDAN CARR, MIKE O'REILLY, and AJIT PAI) OF THE FCC WHO ARE LIKELY TO VOTE YES TO REPEALING NN

It is NOT helping our fucking case for Net Neutrality. Brendan Carr is currently retweeting comments that say for example “I hope you get food poisoning” and making a JOKE of us who desperately want to keep Net Neutrality.

THREATENING THEM with PHYSICAL VIOLENCE or saying that you HOPE THEY DIE is NOT going to SWAY THEM to OUR SIDE, you dumb FUCKS.

STOP IT NOW!

If you want to make threats, threaten with your VOTES. Threaten through the POLITICAL SYSTEM. Not through trite and meaningless threats to their physical health.

5

                  if you’re looking for the fireflies, they’ve all left. i’m dead, or i will be soon. got me some time to reflect… i dedicated my life to this cause, now i won’t get to see whether we make it or not. here was a group willing to do whatever it took to save us from this plague when the government was willing to retreat to ghettos, i couldn’t just give up on our country, give up on humanity. god, that sounds trite… anyway… still trying to save the world… good luck with that.

Shit my wife has said to the cat, part 7

- No, I love you, I really do. I know that you’re a remarkable cat, capable of great acts of evil.

- Look up there in the stars! You belong there! We’ll send you up there, but you’ll die because there’s no air.

- You’re an uncommon thug, but you still get house arrest between the hours of 8 and 8.

- Hearken the wayfarer from the North! He brings news of the black spring! ‘Twas a long winter, yet to break. NOOOOooooo stop playing with my nose tissue, wayfarer!

- This is objectively ridiculous, Miss Kitty. And if I were in the right state of mind I’d be laughing. But I’m not. Because you’re not fucking funny.

- You’re so lucky she loves you. I have to do things like pay the rent. You get to lay down and get a ‘good boy!’

- You ain’t the sharpest drawer. I mean the sharpest knife. In the drawer. I mean you’re not the sharpest – I wouldn’t want a sharp drawer! I need…. I need to just simmer down.

- I’m going to send photos of your butt to the Russians. Then they’ll post them online and you’ll be so embarrassed.

- (watching a peaceful video of a cat canoeing with its owner) This could be us, Miss Kitty. But you’re a huge bitch.

- I’ll walk at you funny! I’m the crab of your nightmares.

- I hate your face. Goodbye.

- Someday I’m going to throw you into an industrial fan. And then I can quip, “the shit’s finally hit the fan!”

              - (to me) That is a statement of unusual violence. Please specify that I would never throw her into an industrial fan.

              - I’d throw her into a smaller fan, though. Just one that would trim her nails a little bit, give her a haircut.

- Miss Kitty, I’m going to throw you into – what was it last time? An industrial fan? – No, I’m going to throw you into a vat of boiling acid. I’m going to make you into the kitty Joker, beloved by fans and considered trite and overused by true critics.

- You’re on top of me like I’m some kind of exquisite $2 hooker.

- You’re always going to be that 6-year-old who pooped his pants, and I’m never going to let you forget that.

- You were not born to love. You were not made like a larva to grow into love. I’m basically calling you a basic bitch. You’re a basic bitch.

- I know, I know, I’m really intense right now. But you’re made of absolute shit and I love you,

- Have you ever known life without inhibition?

- You’re a frat boy. You chug catnip like beer. Like “omnom nom nom, I’m gonna cause some hazing incidents”

- I’ve got bad news for you, Miss Kitty. Your face looks like a burnt pancake.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Here’s the thing: I will watch/read literally any iteration of the Beauty and the Beast story, no matter how trite or overdone it is. I will take modern day settings, LGBT retellings, sci-fi AUs, extended metaphors, dark and sensuous twists, horrifying fucking cryptid Beasts, refined gentleman in damask smoking jacket Beasts, meek and sweet and mild Belles, Belles who take no shit and kick ass, Belles who speak in sign language and Beasts who look like Abe Sapien fish men, the list goes on and on.

Companies will keep recycling the same old plot and I will eat that shit up like it’s brand new because I am incorrigible

2

“D—date you?” Kei coughs out.

“Yes! Date me! Date me, date me, date me!”

Date you? he wonders. The term seems so trite, casual. Kei doesn’t think it quite fits he and Yamaguchi. He thinks, after everything and all this time, they’re deserving of something entirely new; untouched by millions before them. 

Campefire in Your Chest is ultimately my most favorite tsukkiyama fic. The characterization, narration, and all the little details in between the lines are phenomenal. 

tried that 90′s anime aesthetic. 

LOTR things that still haunt me after all these goddamn years

  • Frodo deliriously crying out for Gandalf after he’s wounded
  • Frodo intially trying to fight Boromir as he tries to run out to Gandalf, then clinging to Boromir for dear life mere moments later
  • “You can’t help me, Sam. Not this time.”
  • Frodo suffering a flashback, and “Mr. Frodo! It’s all right. I’m here” so soon after
  • Frodo begging Sam to help him as he starts to sink under the Ring’s weight
  • Frodo removing his helmet as he gasps for air and struggles to speak
  • watching Frodo crawl up Mount Doom when he is too weak to walk
  • the way it takes Frodo a couple of seconds to respond when Sam asks him what’s wrong and how he looks so deeply distressed when he mentions Weathertop

bonus book things

  • Frodo weeping in despair as he watches the Witch-King and his host leave Minas Morgul
  • when the hobbits are returning home and Frodo begs them to hasten as they approach Weathertop and he doesn’t fucking look at it as they ride past wHAT THE FU-
  • Frodo concealing his illness for Sam’s sake. nOBODY TOUCH ME.
WOMAN WRITES A BOOK OF LOVE POEMS
and it’s old news, typical feminine nonsense, pseudo-emotional bullshit. Glib, trite, tired and hackneyed. I mean did you see the way she just went on and on about whatever she went on and on about? Probably a good read if you’re a teenage girl or into romance novels. Not to say her work doesn’t have merit, it’s just not for everyone. Maybe if she broadened her horizons a little and picked another topic. So she sat and she waited for love and she wrote about it when it came and when it didn’t. So she compared collarbones to clover fields and called herself lucky. It’s not exactly groundbreaking. 

MAN WRITES A BOOK OF LOVE POEMS
and it’s vulnerability at its finest, timeless and honest, something that really hits home. A running faucet of intimacy. A masterpiece of human sensitivity. Inspirational and intensely relatable, really a must-read for anyone with a heart. Such a traditional topic too. Amazing how he captured it with such a fresh voice. Did you see the page where he wrote, "girl, you’re not lucky, I am lucky because I found you"? Look, I won’t say he went out and saved poetry all on his own, but god. He may as well have.
—  Trista Mateer