stream of conciousness

"All the jpegs, mpegs, YouTube rips, Wikipedia quotes, and bits from blogs etc that keep gathering together over time until in the end you realize it’s a theme, or a pattern and you’ve been almost unconsciously saving this stuff, because its you. You’ve been assembling yourself out of all this waste – the spoils that are out there on the net.”
~ Sunday, July 27 ~
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But I tried, didn’t I? Goddamnit, at least I did that.
— McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

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~ Friday, July 25 ~
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It takes two to tango.

It takes two to tango.


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~ Thursday, July 24 ~
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(Source: sky-side)


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reblogged via sovietpropaganda
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reblogged via banksystreetart
~ Wednesday, July 23 ~
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連日ドラッグ禍ニュースが喧しいが、この流れは理性や克己心に訴えても止まらんよ。散々ガキの頃から値踏みされて、十代前半で既にB級品選別済み。死ぬまで他人の邪魔にならずに生きやがれと半ジャンク扱いで社会に吐き出された連中には、明日の夢すらストレス。代わりにドラッグを食うことを覚える。

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reblogged via golorih
~ Sunday, July 20 ~
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It’s all up to me now…

I feel like all my life I’ve run away from my problems and I’m getting sick of it. I need to do something about it soon or else this will continue for the rest of my life. I am in charge of my own life, so if I want something to change, I have to change it. There’s no other way.


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When people stop writing, it’s one of two things - they are either really fucking happy or broken beyond repair.
— Ming D. Liu  (via jasfuckinq)

(Source: mingdliu.com)


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reblogged via sicknesssadismandsadness
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彼が知識の量で守ろうとしているものは、肥大した自意識と、本人は「孤高」のつもりでいるが、本当はコンプレックスでいっぱいの自己愛に他ならなかった。

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reblogged via golorih
~ Friday, July 18 ~
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You must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame;
How could you rise anew if you have not first become ashes?
— Friederich Neitzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

(Source: moreofamore)


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reblogged via theren
~ Thursday, July 17 ~
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悟っても超人になれる訳ではない。

悟った人も、死ぬし病気にもなる。

そんなら、悟ったって何にもならないじゃないか、と つっこまれて、
ブッダ(悟った人)は、こう答えた。

「二の矢を受けず」

一の矢は、誰にも(悟ろうが悟るまいが) 降り掛かる死や病やその他の災難である。
ニの矢は、これに対して、「一の矢」について悩み苦しむことである。

死や病は避けられな い。
しかし死や病(という苦しみ)について悩み苦しむという二次の災難(二の矢)は避けられる。


ブッダ(悟った人)は、 こんな風に答えた。

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reblogged via golorih
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The worst pain in the world is shame. I spend a lot of time trying to not do anything bad to anyone, but you can’t live your life and not hurt people. Pretty recently, I did something that I’m really not proud of, and it shocked me. I thought, “I’m a really fucking bad person.” But I realized that something good came out of it because now I have to be a lot less judgmental of others. Everything can make you a more compassionate person if you use it that way.
— Fiona Apple

(Source: middle-cyclone)


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reblogged via theren
~ Wednesday, July 16 ~
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So I guess this is where I tell you what I learned - my conclusion, right? Well, my conclusion is: Hate is baggage. Life’s too short to be pissed off all the time. It’s just not worth it. Derek says it’s always good to end a paper with a quote. He says someone else has already said it best. So if you can’t top it, steal from them and go out strong. So I picked a guy I thought you’d like. ‘We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.’

So I guess this is where I tell you what I learned - my conclusion, right? Well, my conclusion is: Hate is baggage. Life’s too short to be pissed off all the time. It’s just not worth it. Derek says it’s always good to end a paper with a quote. He says someone else has already said it best. So if you can’t top it, steal from them and go out strong. So I picked a guy I thought you’d like. ‘We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.’


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reblogged via theren
~ Tuesday, July 15 ~
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Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have - life itself.
— Walter Anderson

(Source: lambtime)


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reblogged via theren
~ Monday, July 14 ~
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The Cookie Thief

A woman was waiting at an airport one night,

With several long hours before her flight.
She hunted for a book in the airport shops.
Bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop.

She was engrossed in her book but happened to see,
That the man sitting beside her, as bold as could be.
Grabbed a cookie or two from the bag in between,
Which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene.

So she munched the cookies and watched the clock,
As the gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock.
She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by,
Thinking, “If I wasn’t so nice, I would blacken his eye.”

With each cookie she took, he took one too,
When only one was left, she wondered what he would do.
With a smile on his face, and a nervous laugh,
He took the last cookie and broke it in half.

He offered her half, as he ate the other,
She snatched it from him and thought… oooh, brother.
This guy has some nerve and he’s also rude,
Why he didn’t even show any gratitude!

She had never known when she had been so galled,
And sighed with relief when her flight was called.
She gathered her belongings and headed to the gate,
Refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate.

She boarded the plane, and sank in her seat,
Then she sought her book, which was almost complete.
As she reached in her baggage, she gasped with surprise,
There was her bag of cookies, in front of her eyes.

If mine are here, she moaned in despair,
The others were his, and he tried to share.
Too late to apologize, she realized with grief,
That she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief.


by Valerie Cox

(Source: theangrytherapist)


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reblogged via theren
~ Sunday, July 13 ~
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The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner by Randall Jarrell
From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner by Randall Jarrell

From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,

And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.

Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,

I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.

When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

(Source: Wikipedia)

Tags: history poetry
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