ie,
i am THIS CLOSE to writing some AMAZING fanfiction and/or deliberately fantasizing about living the downton abbey life before sleep in the hope of inducing dreams
Mrs. Patmore, O’Brien, Edith and Thomas.
DAMN, O’BRIEN!
oh, my god.
the second season of downton abbey was so, so satisfying. and ugh i have so many EMOTIONS
(Source: iamsosorry, via transliterators)
hey, before i forget (and leave for new york for nine days without my computer) i had two notable dreams this week.
1. family and i were in sweden for christmas and went to the supermarket with swedish sister caroline, trying to find all these foods and she would. not. help. us. refused to speak swedish and/or to translate anything for us. very telling. had this face like “what do you want, dumbass” the whole time. ugh.
2. had a dream that will arnett and amy poehler were driving me to this big comedy fesitval in swizterland, in their fancy sports car. they had gotten a babysitter for their kids but it turned out that amy actually had a kid my age from a previous marriage. anyway the whole drive to the festival i thought we were going skiing, but will kept driving WAY TOO FAST like, i closed my eyes and was like “so this is how i die, oh well, i guess it’s okay because if i die, then they die too and that’s a good way to get my name in the paper.” and also he was definitely driving the car but i was sitting to his left and amy was on his right, so he was kind of in the middle. it was a really tiny sports car and if i’d been lucid dreaming we would have had a threesome, but i wasn’t, so his leg was just pushing on mine. oh and i remember thinking, “i wish he was bill hader, he’s waaaaay funnier” so i guess if i’d been lucid dreaming it would have been bill and not will.oh and when we got to the fesitval it was just a big confusing hotel that we kept getting lost in the end.
"I couldn’t live with myself any longer. And in this a question arose without an answer: who is the ‘I’ that cannot live with the self? What is the self? I felt drawn into a void. I didn’t know at the time that what really happened was the mind-made self, with its heaviness, its problems, that lives between the unsatisfying past and the fearful future, collapsed. It dissolved."
Eckhart Tolle (via Ego Death)
Reading that quote was extremely helpful.
there’s this very specific noise that the apartment makes during an earthquake; the walls creak into each other and the windows sound like they’re settling into their woodwork and may be about to pop out. sometimes the apartment just makes that noise on its own though and it’s really disconcerting.
i just cut the shit out of my thumb making dinner! it really hurts.
kim jong il is dead!
Taken with instagram
reblogging this because, ugh, look how swedish everyone in this picture is!, and ugh, i want to be there so badly, not just now but also forever and it makes me very very sad to wonder if i will ever be able to make that happen
there are very few things more satisfying to me than a Sol LeWitt wall drawing
Basta 2006 by Richard Roth
Oh, hey. This is really beautiful.
That whole absorbing light thing at its best.
For example, why do I have nearly two thousand liked posts saved up? I just want to re-blog them but feel so self-conscious about even that.
(via cfmc)
Agnes Martin - Untitled
Something about feeling able to look through and past the page into some greater deep; as though we were brighter animals. A cold desert, bad eyesight. Mute and also inbetween.
I have been trying for a long time to push out of this silence and just noticed that the biggest part of that is pushing out of the constant shame I have for the things I am creating, or trying to create. Resistance to the saving and presentation of thoughts. I have been trying to make smaller the things I grew in school, because in the silencing I thought I saw some kind of desirable softness; and part of me will always want that softness, and will always want to wake up shame-free, guilt-free, with no words to regret. But I am regretting more and more of my words and my actions, all of the few that there are now, all of them except for the running which pushes me into myself and compresses me down to this hard ball of honest muscle and breath. So anyway, I’m going to write about this, and it is not going to be pleasant, and I am not going to feel good about it, not for a long time.
The other night I found myself trying to have a conversation with someone I barely know, a get-to-know-you conversation, and my belly felt hot and my neck so tense. I was missing all of my marks and sounding so pointless, so lost and sad. And I thought, I barely recognize this. Who am I and why am I speaking this way, so stunted, so jilted and weird. I love a horizon, love a horizon I can’t touch. Going to start barreling through to it, though, full tilt. Expect many more of these horribly written nonsense posts. Expect longform and freeform and insufferable.
(via rerereview)
James Turrell
Something about the flattening of space; and about being consumed, and disoriented.
