#there's your insight into my life

[chessb0r3d]

Analysis so bad you don't even know what it's talking about anymore.

[sameboot]

Simon petrikov coping FAIL compilation

[thebirdandhersong]

in my you're on your own kid era again (I never left)

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

有兩件事你永遠不必去追逐：真正的朋友和真愛。

Two things you have never to chase : True friends and True love.

-Mandy Hale-

I have something to say . . . (我有話想說 . . .)

我們都知道在這世上喜歡一個人又不犯法，即使你已有家室：老婆、先生和孩子。重點是在道德和良心允許的範籌內，行使正當友誼的權利。並且你得知道如何挑選正直且成熟的對象，既不會干擾你的婚姻生活，而能給予彼此成長和助力。不過，我相信能遇到這樣條件之人，少之又少。lol (如果你深入接觸的人比你堆的沙子還多，那可不是開玩笑。XD)

We all know that it is not illegal to like someone in this world, even if you already have a family: wife, husband and children. The focus is on exercising the right to legitimate friendship within the limits permitted by morality and conscience. And you have to know how to choose an "upright and mature friends" who will not interfere with your married life, but can give each other growth and help. However, I believe that there are very few people who can meet such conditions. lol (It's no joke if you have deep contact with more people than you have piled sand. XD)

And, in addition (並且，此外)

Recently, there have been a few good friends who have interacted with me on Tumblr for more than a year, or even longer. I am not entirely aware of your other sideblogs, especially young guys asking to see my photos, and of course they're not asking for photos of me wearing clothes… ha! Absolutely impossible. 🙄😅 In fact, my personal social experienced has made me a very tolerant old woman. It's not saying this myself. You have to actually get along with me to know that because they are similar in age to my son and daughter, so I cherish their friendship even more, especially the beautiful life still longer for them. The Chinese call it: "忘年之交" (the mean similar that : get on like a house on fire "see eye to eye with someone", when your friendship between different generations. also much older than my age friends as same meanings. )

Again, I don't set to make many friends on Tumblr here, and there're very few people I interact with. The number of people we sent private messages to was probably less than the number of times I go to a bar to drink in a month. lol The posts I share here are almost like writing a diary every day and records of my recent study of various majors. It is not for popularity, nor does it want to attract attention. Of course, except for the posts showing my leather art creations, the craftsmanship is my Most of the motivation to stay alive and rest of life.

Usually I don't have ideas about personal photos gonna send to you via private message for "friendship", it with "lover" very different to me. Just like now, when you randomly see a post by me and can put a smiling on your face, this is a beautiful friendship. If you happen to see it, it's fine when you don't like it. You don't need to use too much emotions. if that way Oftenly one party will be hurt, and time will tell everything about the feelings you hold in your heart, whether you believe it or not.

Sincerely, above.

I wish you a happy family, a loving couple, a prosperous career, good health and peace!

Your another mom & an old Sis Lan~*

《最近有幾個好朋友在Tumblr上和我互動了一年多，甚至更長。我不太了解你其他的次要博客，尤其是年輕人要求看我的照片，當然他們不是要我穿衣服的照片……哈！絕對不可能。🙄😅 其實，我的個人社會經歷它造就我成為一個包容性很強的老女人，這話不是我自己說的，你得實際和我相處過就知道；正因你們的年紀和我的兒子和女兒相仿，所以我更珍惜你們的友誼，中國人稱之為:『忘年之交』。(當兩者年紀差距甚大，但心靈和思想可以相契者。)

再說一次，我並不想在 Tumblr 上交很多朋友，彼此有互動者很少，曾經私訊者應當比一個月去酒吧喝酒次數還要少。 lol 我在這裡的貼文分��幾乎像每天寫日記和近日研讀各類專業科目的記錄，不是為了人氣，也沒要吸引人注意，當然若是展示我的皮革藝術創作的作品貼文除外，工藝是我活下去的大部分的動力和生活的全部。

我沒有照片可以私訊傳給你們，就像現在若是你隨機性看到，能夠博君一笑，這便是美好的友情；你若剛巧看到不喜歡也很好，你不需要動用太多的情感。那樣往往有一方會受傷；放在心上的感情，時間會說明一切，無論你信不信。此致，以上。

祝福你們的家庭美滿、夫婦相親相愛和事業精進、健康平安! 》

well said 👇 Truth. I agree. 5 5 5 🙌 xoxo

"Friendship often ends in love. But love in friendship; never. "

-C. C. Colton-

PS. It was then dating with my friend at coffee shop across street of my studio in Chinese new year 2010. 😱 OMG! 14 years ago lol I dyed my hair color was popular in Asian at the time. and later I never dye hair color. Because it is meaningless, whether for fashion or to comfort yourself, hair colored does not prove your ability, but your brain do. 🤓

If I dye my hair again, it might be for fun, or perhaps I get to remarry/get carried away by impulse and he's dying hairs also, both do same for funs. I guess so. hahaha 🤸🤸‍♀️🤸‍♂️

[eyrieofsynapses]

good evening, all. it is May the 25th. our lilacs are blooming, just as the ones at the Watch House did. and I am thinking about remembrance of the fallen, and GNU, and the love in commemoration.

y'know, I read Night Watch… oh, maybe a year ago and some months ago. and the lilac symbolism, the remembrance of the Watch, has always struck me with the depth of the emotion of it, the tangibility of it in the flowers. but I wasn't aware that today was the day until I saw commemorative posts, all that gorgeous artwork and more, on my dash.

I was also not aware, until now, that fans commemorated the day not only because of the book reference, but in support of Terry Pratchett and of those with Alzheimer's. which knocked me over a bit because of course, of course the group that would use GNU to honor him would do that. and… I've been thinking about GNU a lot, lately, and this caught me again.

I read Going Postal a bit ago, and reread it recently. both times, the parts about GNU made me tear up. this idea of the names, the memories, the lives of the clacks workers who dedicated themselves to ensuring that people heard each other's voices—all those names spoken again and again and again by that which they poured their souls into, winging along in the air as they could not, an eternal reminder that they were loved—how could that not touch a person's heart?

when I found out that fans online used it to memorialize him, I damn well cried. hell, I still tear up just thinking about it. do you know, there's a code for an HTTP header "X-Clacks-Overhead: GNU Terry Pratchett" written by Reddit users to put in webpages, where it goes unseen by the average user? and in 2015, when Netcraft took a survey, there were eighty-four thousand websites using it? it's eight years later—how many thousands upon thousands of websites have this now, do you think? how many little cables of light has his name flown along, now? how many times?

that alone is absurdly and unimaginably lovely in its own right, but… there's something else to it. there's something about remembering with the lilac sprigs every year, just as Vimes and those who were there remembered their dead. something about how, when we take up our lilac sprigs, we carry a little piece of the characters in our hearts, too. I kept trying to put my finger on why that makes me tear up the way it does. the conclusion I came to is this:

what greater way to honor a writer is there, but to honor them the way they did the characters they poured their heart and soul into? what better way to say we know you and you are not forgotten and your work and words and gifts to the world are held in our hearts forever than to remember them by their own words, their own vision? how else could we say you embodied all the good you believed in and wished to see in the world, but to memorialize them after the little pieces of their soul they wrapped in ink and put upon the page?

it is a knowing of the writer, to remember them in their way. it is not a worn-out faceless platitude, but a reminder that their work has been read and will continue to be, that the characters and world they loved enough to bring to life last just as their name does. such remembrance is warm and loving and delights in their memory even as it grieves.

and now Pratchett's name has been written in his tradition, over and over and over, across the vast plane of the Internet, where it will—with any luck—continue to fly for generations to come.

there is no way to truly express the beauty of that… but perhaps we can catch a glimpse of it in the lilacs, both ours and the Watch's.

[inamindfarfaraway]

I love that we're getting focus on Chris Rodriguez early in the TV show, so that we have time to get invested in him before he a) betrays the camp and b) is driven so insane that only Dionysus can cure him. Knowing him beforehand will also make his relationship with Clarrisse, friendship and romance, feel more interesting.

What other cool, fun, not-heartbreaking characters will the show give more attention and depth? Silena Beauregarde? Charlie Beckendorf? Micheal Yew? Castor and Pollux? I can't wait!

[hanzajesthanza]

Bez krwi nie ma wampira. Jest to substancja, która decyduje o jego istnieniu, podobnie jak o istnieniu człowieka. Without blood there is no vampire. It is this substance which determines his existence, just as it does the existence of a human.

Maria Janion. "6. Krew i ciało," in Wampir: Biografia symboliczna. ("6. Blood and body," in Vampire: A Symbolic Biography.)

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 28 / 31 * ON THE RADIO 」

October 8, 1984

How he was convinced to undergo this massive undertaking wasn’t the question. Emmett knows exactly how it happened. Left to his own devices, things had begun piling up and now that their newest side-project was underway, the so-called mega-powered amplifier, they would need to clear away more space before the garage became even more of a tripping hazard than it already was.

The more appropriate question he needs to ask is why he is attempting this in the first place when he knows he will commit to the task for two hours, perhaps slightly longer than that if he’s focused, before his attention is called elsewhere and the task abandoned for the three-hundredth time over the years.

Then the why swings the front door open excitedly, shouts ‘Hey Doc, I’m here!’ and Emmett slides a two-tiered box of two-plus decade-old paperwork to the side of the couch in what has become the designated garbage pile.

“Hey, uh, Doc, you home?”

“Over here, Marty.” Marty follows the sound of his voice over to the couch. “I figured I’d try and clear up some room now that we’re going to be building your amplifier in here over the next few months.”

Marty looks around, noticing the additional layers of paperwork and other seemingly random things strewn across the floor, and frowns slightly. “If it’s too much trouble, we don’t have to do it. You’re working on your other thing, that thing you won’t tell me about a—”

“Marty, I wouldn’t’ve agreed to build it with you in the first place if I didn’t want to. Or if I thought I couldn’t juggle both projects.” After a second, Marty smiles, a visible weight lifting from his shoulders. Emmett stands, passing him a stack of old, yellowed papers that he accepts without question.

“I thought you had a research project you were supposed to be doing.”

“I do. Actually that’s—hey where do you want me to put these?” Emmett gestures to the discard pile and Marty curiously flips through a couple of the documents before dropping the whole pile on top of the box. “That’s why I came. Earlier than I thought I would, anyway. Doc, you ever heard of The War of the Worlds?”

“The book or the radio adaptation?”

“Both, I guess. But mostly the radio adaptation. It was a book first?”

“It was. Written by H.G. Wells. Do you remember me telling you about his other book The Time Machine?”

Marty presses his lips together. “Mmm, yeah, kind of. This guy turns a sled into a time machine and then goes to the future, right? And a lot of things aren’t great there. Didn’t you say they stole his time machine?”

“That’s a quick explanation of it, but essentially, yes. He wrote a lot of plausible science regarding the time-travel into his novel, which I quite liked, and the idea of his time machine—” Emmett stops, waving a hand to get himself back on-track. “Anyway, you were asking me about War of the Worlds. What do you want to know about it?”

Marty flops onto the couch and starts digging through his backpack, producing a crinkled, horribly yellowed newspaper. The tagline reads ‘WAR’ ON THE AIRWAVES: RADIO PLAY STIRS TERROR ACROSS NATION and Marty grins up at Emmett from behind the page. Emmett’s brows fly up as he accepts the proffered paper, unfolding it to read the rest of the front-page news article.

Halloween hoax turns deadly!

Thousands of radio listeners were seized by panic during a dramatization of H.G. Wells’ The War of the Worlds performed by Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the Air between 8:15 and 9:30 o’clock last night, believing Martian invaders had come down to attack the Earth.

Households all across the country were disrupted, radio waves jammed due to volume, mass hysteria caused people to flee their homes en masse to escape—

“I was going to write my paper about the invention of radio and how it changed our lives, so I went to the library. Mom and Dad, well, they weren’t so helpful and this is before they were born anyway.” October 31, 1938—Emmett hums. No, his parents were likely just born around that time, far too young to remember it.  

“Almost everything I’ve found about this radio play just talks about how Orson Welles caused so much chaos and panic on Halloween back in ’38. To the point where he had to publicly apologise for freaking people out. Any chance you remember that, Doc? That you were listening to it? I’d kinda like to hear it from someone I trust.”

The memories have adopted that fuzzy quality that time often brings to them, their integrity broken down at the edges to where they are still recognisable, but the smaller details have since faded, been sacrificed to time.

Emmett remembers being eighteen, lounging in the most comfortable chair he had, tuned into CBS, eagerly awaiting the radio adaptation of Wells’ novel. He remembers hanging on their every word, devouring the reports as if they were the real deal, scientific papers published by one of his heroes.

For an hour, he had suspended his disbelief, allowed himself to be dragged into the reimagined world created by Welles and his troupe, and thought about fondly once it had ended, to the point where he’d pulled out the novel to reread.

“I was a little older than you when that broadcast happened and yes, as a matter of fact, I was tuned in.” Marty’s eyes light up and he leans in, eagerly awaiting the story. “This was forty-six years ago so I don’t remember every single detail about the broadcast, but I remember being impressed by the effort put into it. Welles and his troupe did a great job of making it sound very realistic despite the outlandish material he was working with.”

“How’d he do that?”

“He performed it like it was a news bulletin happening in real-time. So he had fake accounts from scientists, from government officials, from ordinary people at Grovers Mill—the novel happens largely in London, but for the play, they moved the invasion here, focusing on New Jersey and New York instead—who were watching the Martians come down, witnessing the destruction, talking like everyday people. In that manner, it was very convincing. I remember being glued to my radio, even appreciating all the changes they had made.”

Marty’s expression turns thoughtful. He can see the gears turning in the boy's head, but what he could possibly be thinking in the moment is a mystery. “So you weren’t afraid at all?”

Emmett chuckles. “No. And not just because I’d been listening the entire time and knew it was just a play. These newspaper articles”—he holds up the one Marty passed to him, indicating the clearly polarising title—“aren’t indicative of what actually happened.”

Marty pinches his brows together and Emmett continues. “For one, nobody, at least not that I saw in California, ever ran out of their houses screaming. It was only ever in the newspapers that that happened. I doubt most people even tuned into the radio show—back then, science fiction wasn’t widely popular amongst people yet, not like it is nowadays—and one look outside would have told people immediately that this was not real. Besides, the Mercury Theatre was scheduled to be performing War of the Worlds at that time; it wasn’t a secret.”

Marty’s expression falls slightly and Emmett finds himself wishing the reality of it could have been far more interesting to match up with the stories perpetuated in the news. He passes the paper back to Marty.

“Then where’d all these stories come from? Do you think he expected this to happen?”

“I think that’s the million-dollar-question, isn’t it? Orson Welles was a very talented man of the theatre; I think he had a vision in mind with that play and he knew exactly what he was doing. However, I believe he didn’t expect the media to use his performance as a stepping-stone the way they did.” Or, maybe, he expected exactly that.

They may never know the truth.

“But if I had to guess, it was the newspapers' way of trying to stay relevant. Around that time, most people owned radios and it became the primary source of news and entertainment. Newspapers were starting to become a medium of the past. Not unlike now, how video is replacing radio as the prime source of media entertainment.”

“Video killed the radio star!” Suddenly, Marty stuffs the paper back into his bag and hops off the couch, startling Emmett. “Not gonna lie, Doc, I was hoping you’d have some crazy story to tell about the panic, but I think you’ve given me exactly what I was looking for!”

In his haste, Marty nearly trips over the couch as he tries to vault it, searching for the quickest way to the door.

“Oh, Doc! Do you mind if I use you as one of my sources for this paper?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

[orgasming-caterpillar]

Hate when people base my character's entire personality off of a single aspect. You think that just cuz he's the son of the High King means he should be the top? Just cuz he's the crown prince means he cant be a bottom??? What is this, fucking 14th century? Well I mean yeah it is but that doesn't mean there aren't kinky little faggots who like being mistreated

[gu6chan]

This manga fucked me up royally and i havent stopped thinking about it for like 2 years please read innocents shounen juujigun

[soft-puppy-boyfriend]

At the anger stage of realising I have childhood trauma

[museaway]

when you watch something new and feel it sink into your brain like, ahh, yes this one is going to mess me up for years

[unproduciblesmackdown]

(genderly) chill as hell if i was only ever glimpsed / detected like this

[vamptastic]

romancing astarion has thus far made me exponentially less attracted to him. can we go back to you serving face in the background and contributing the occasional quip while i go do my hero things? i can't listen to the pickup lines i cant. they're bad they're not good they're bad. and i don't know if hes doing this on purpose as some kind of sick and twisted test of faith or he thinks he is a master casanova. also if astarion can't lift a backpack full of plate armor he sure as hell cannot lift up my entire PC. sorry.

[lighthouseshepard]

feels like. most of the past few months have just been me waiting in drs offices alone hoping for answers or a solution that will stick. and it sucks