Do we think the building might be collapsing? or When suspicions turn rabid.

It is still ever so surprising to feel the swing inside, and so difficult to recognise the individual that is then presented to myself and to others.

Not talking about the distance I feel from the past selves, but the dynamic distance from the current selves itself is scary? interesting? odd? mostly just unfathomable.

It is so futile then to have a certain idea of the self, and foolish to try and even attempt that pursuit. But what am I if not foolish, the yearning for certainty while preaching the power of letting go, is hypocritical, yes. But, surely it is necessary to be a hypocrite to live? In a realisation of relativity and discarding absolution, accepting the hypocrite within us, within me, will help in being kinder to one self.

It is adamant that I attempt to be swallowed by chaos in my mind and around. Else, the unfair inner needs resists any fairness to myself.

What this pretentiously means, is that I heavily require to change my approach to things, knowing this, still, its difficult, almost impossible? to do so. I don’t even want to do it, really, kinda, I think.

But I do really badly desire this mythic state.

Ahh, well.

The terror of putting pen on paper

If you ever see me running, screaming and bawling, it probably isn't me, because out of the many things I haven't done in a long time, running seems to be the clearest distant-foggy-memory, 'clear' because it's oddly painful for how irrelevant (right?) it should be. But, in this carefully crafted hypothetical which serves to qualify the intensity of an emotion (you guess, joy, right?), that is indeed me. I am quite puzzled about whether to assume that this is common or not, and thus accordingly speak in an "Oh hello goofers, don't we hate it when this happens, alrighty" tone or in "I hereby exist in the swallow of loneliness, scratching through a thin veil of unpierceable clouds" this. ummmu hmmmmmm huhhhhhhhhhhhhhh So, imagine this, you fancy yourself a creative (the jury is still out), but the act of creation seems revolting. "What if I am not able to finish it" "I barely finish anything, I won't do this either" "I need the perfect situation to begin" "Oh, I only need the exact and precise tools and resources to begin" "I must be in a creative and positive mindset, so as to use my magnificent brain and create to my best potential" "It's so easy, what is the point of doing it" "Isn't it a grand ol deal, a massive feat, a giant process to add something of your own (no matter how derivative) to something sometimes non-existent, or something with an existence different than of your creations?" This is what I want to explore I suppose, sorry for the impression that this was going to be about the ruts in/during the act of creation, I can say some things about it, but for me to be actually saying something, I would have to create, and that, is still in the works. In an extension of and in specificity, I fear writing things down, physically. Writing (typing) digitally, no problem (And... I lie, some problem, but that's a different one, not doing a thorough mental analysis today). It feels like hearing that horrible sound of thermocol rubbing against each other, or a metal piece screeching against a chalk board. There seems to be a visceral physical reaction, my body, 'my?' body?, unwilling to ruin the beauty of a void, that is this blank page that tortures me. It's as if, the sheer idea of not perfectly putting down these odd marks which dictate our written language, is disgusting. How can I allow for the words to not be in symmetry with the line above or for them to not be aligned as I imagined, how can there be no way to erase and reverse and add things exactly where they fit, how can there be no space for mistakes existing only as a phantom. How can there be a record of mistakes, an archive of imperfections? The fear must be from here? The pretentious apathy masking a shivering anger when deviating from the thought, from imperfections of the body. I want to be perfect, and I want to not start towards perfection for it is easier.

A recent cartoon for New Scientist

this fucks

In a moment of weakness, I meowed for him in vc

hello tumblr! I’m dash, a 22 year old literature graduate who loves making art and stories! 🐈‍⬛🦷👾

meet sunkat

hey netizens! i'm not sure how many people are aware, but youtube's been slowly rolling out a new anti-adblock policy that can't be bypassed with the usual software like uBlock Origin and Pi-Hole out of the gate

BUT, if you're a uBlock Origin user (or use an adblocker with a similar cosmetics modifier), you can add these commands in the uBlock dashboard (under My Filters) to get rid of it!

youtube.com##+js(set, yt.config_.openPopupConfig.supportedPopups.adBlockMessageViewModel, false) youtube.com##+js(set, Object.prototype.adBlocksFound, 0) youtube.com##+js(set, ytplayer.config.args.raw_player_response.adPlacements, []) youtube.com##+js(set, Object.prototype.hasAllowedInstreamAd, true)

reblog to help keep the internet less annoying and to tell corporations that try shit like this to go fuck themselves <3