• theycallmemos:

    my favorite thing about Looper.

    It’s crazy how this is only the first gif of this kid in THIS scene that I’ve come across so far. There can never be enough gifs made of this cute creepy kid… this one being my absolute favorite (gave me serious chills first time I saw it!) But once again, thank you Tumblr for indulging my uhmm sinister taste.

  • "

    If it hurts you, if not being who you want to be kills you inside, just close your eyes and remember

    “Somewhere else, I’m something else.
    Somewhere else, I’m something else.”

    And soon you will be here.
    Soon, you will be you.

  • "If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery—isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you’re going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It’s the only good fight there is."
    Charles Bukowski, Factotum
  • Just finished watching episode 10 of season 2, and oh my god these two! I love how they have so much history together even if it’s not exactly of the romantic kind (or there could’ve been a romantic angle, you know, during the other time, the writer is such a tease!). I’m excited to see where their story picks up come January, but personally I’m hoping they continue establishing the history Donna and Harvey share together because I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more to be explored like again, the other time, and that dinner party. 

    DARVEY ♥

    (Source: msclaras)

  • "I believe that there are people who think as I do, who have thought as I do, who will think as I do. There are those who will live, unconscious of me, but continuing my attitude, so to speak, as I continue, unknowingly, the similar attitude of those before me. How much of my brain is willfully my own? How much is not a rubber stamp of what I have read and heard and lived? Sure, I make a sort of synthesis of what I come across, but that is all that differentiates me from another person? - - - That I have banged into and assimilated various things? That my environment and a chance combination of genes got me where I am?"
    Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
  • explore-blog:

A statistical reality check on the soul mate myth from XKCD. 


    statistical reality check on the soul mate myth from XKCD. 

    (Source: , via explore-blog)

  • Hey
    Do you hear, do you hear
    That sound
    It’s the sound of the lost gone found
    It’s the sound of a mute gone loud
    It’s the sound of a new start

    A Fine Frenzy - Now is the Start

  • "there is a beauty to be found in a well-made whole, a body itself; then there is the beauty of a part in the whole, which is the beauty of a thing that elegantly serves its purpose. When it comes to writing stories or novels, sentences are parts, not wholes. They need to be both fair and fit. They can’t be treated as bodies themselves."
  • The Beatings of a Second Heart

    This post over at The Rumpus came to me less than a year ago at a time when I had almost given up on a dream, no, THE dream, and since then I have constantly returned to it to anchor me through the massive waves of doubts and indecision that almost always seem to accompany any ambitious pursuit. It is thanks to this piece that I have come to name that, which has troubled me on so many sleepless nights. That relentless, almost maddening, internal plea to create, to fashion something out of the tangled mess that my thoughts always seem to be in, that, which Cheryl Strayed (the person behind the Dear Sugar columns) refers to here as the second heart. 

    I sat like that too. Thinking of only one thing. One thing that was actually two things pressed together, like the back-to-back quotes on my chalkboard: how much I missed my mother and how the only way I could bear to live without her was to write a book. Mybook. The one that I’d known was in me since way before I knew people like me could have books inside of them. The one I felt pulsing in my chest like a second heart, formless and unimaginable until my mother died, and there it was, the plot revealed, the story I couldn’t live without telling. My debut.

    Sure it was several months in the making, but just recently, after much time spent traipsing between being overwhelmed with zeal and being paralyzed with fear, I finally got myself to sit still, pen touching paper, in what I can only hope to be the first steps in a dance that will be carried on to great length, with deep thought and candidness of feeling. My every stroke keeping in time with the second heart and its beating.

    The fear still persists though, presenting itself in short bouts of doubt and writer’s envy, things that can, and had in the past, all too easily stopped me on my tracks. But there is no escaping the second heart, as Ms. Strayed clearly points out – there is no other way but to meet its call with courage, willingness to put in work, and complete surrender.

    But I was wrong. The second heart inside me beat ever stronger, but nothing miraculously became a book. As my 30th birthday approached, I realized that if I truly wanted to write the story I had to tell, I would have to gather everything within me to make it happen. I would have to sit and think of only one thing longer and harder than I thought possible. I would have to suffer. By which I meanwork.

    At the time, I believed that I’d wasted my twenties by not having come out of them with a finished book and I bitterly lambasted myself for that. I thought a lot of the same things about myself that you do, Elissa Bassist. That I was lazy and lame. That even though I had the story in me, I didn’t have it in me to see it to fruition, to actually get it out of my body and onto the page, to write, as you say, with “intelligence and heart and lengthiness.” But I’d finally reached a point where the prospect of not writing a book was more awful than the one of writing a book that sucked. And so at last, I got to serious work on the book.

    I’d finally been able to give it because I’d let go of all the grandiose ideas I’d once had about myself and my writing—so talented! so young!I’d stopped being grandiose. I’d lowered myself to the notion that the absolute only thing that mattered was getting that extra beating heart out of my chest. Which meant I had to write my book. My very possibly mediocre book. My very possibly never-going-to-be-published book. My absolutely no-where-in-league-with-the-writers-I’d-admired-so-much-that-I-practically-memorized-their-sentences book. It was only then, when I humbly surrendered, that I was able to do the work I needed to do.

    My work is far from complete, and I know that for as long as it takes me to finish my book I may also have to keep on returning to this post, if only to soothe me, shake me, remind me. In that same vein, I share this with everyone, regardless of whether it is writing he/she seeks to do or something else, but who like me also happens to be plagued by the urgings of a second heart. 

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