theatrophyofhumanity - Tumblr blog

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I feel like the night she left me

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Real life Quick Time Event

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This is all so wrong. The wizarding world is kept from the muggle world, to the point where many wizards know little to nothing about in. So you're forcing cultural norms onto a world that, effectively, would have no contact with the other. I don't think it would look all that different

jkr doesnt understand anything about america if she thinks the northern and southern states will share the same wizarding school lollll. like the south would have formed its own school anyways after, if not before or during the civil war?

hell east coast and west coast magic has got to be different (european settlers on the east, mexican/hispanic in the whole new mexico, arizona, cali area). 

not to mention historically black wizarding schools would have absolutely been a thing bc african magic survived thru slavery hello??? not to mention under slavery and jim crow laws i highly doubt black children would have been allowed to study with white students. you could even make the assumption that white slavers forbade them for using their magic at all (african magic = dark magic and all that Fun Racism)

underdeveloped and struggling to thrive native american reservation schools of magic in the dakotas? 

texas has to have its own school on its own school. like its just a given fact. TEXAS WIZARDING SCHOOL QUDDITCH (like texas high school football #texasforever)

and obviously you have the elitist new england schools which everyone assumes is the pinnacle of american magic education lol

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Reading journal entries I wrote when I was 16 (and had never been kissed)

While anticipating any season

I was not currently living in, I realized

the tragedy of survivors who live for the next 

suffering point. 

          Someone once called it art. 

Now everyone 

chokes on their own spit and writes it into their solo album.

They call it “shaking voices” but swap those words

for adjectives that almost

mean something important:

Rain against my gritted teeth. Hats that flew off heads and were never found. My mom’s broken necklace. I killed a cactus and now it haunts me.

An audience will call it beautiful when it is a story that touches their skin

but does not

break it. 

I realized how many places I had never been within my own body,

so, I broke my body and later changed the title to: my scars all disappeared because I did not cut deep enough -

I really just wrote about the things that sounded like 

winter. I told my audience that long sleeve shirts and heavy coats 

were all I needed 

to feel claustrophobic again.

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chica confused by actual chickens

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Random Headcanon: That Federation vessels in Star Trek seem to experience bizarre malfunctions with such overwhelming frequency isn’t just an artefact of the television serial format. Rather, it’s because the Federation as a culture are a bunch of deranged hyper-neophiles, tooling around in ships packed full of beyond-cutting-edge tech they don’t really understand. Endlessly frustrating if you have to fight them, because they can pull an effectively unlimited number of bullshit space-magic countermeasures out of their arses - but they’re as likely as not to give themselves a lethal five-dimensional wedgie in the process. All those rampant holograms and warp core malfunctions and accidentally-traveling-back-in-time incidents? That doesn’t actually happen to anyone else; it’s literally just Federation vessels that go off the rails like that. And they do so on a fairly regular basis.

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Maggie Menu

On the menu for Maggie tonight is puréed sweet potato, puréed brown rice, sprouted organic tofu, chia seeds, and digestive enzymes. Does she look excited? She is!

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Neal Caffrey + personality traits (insp.)

BONUS physical trait:

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A short compilation of Brendon growling :)

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“Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree?“

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the things we did that don’t seem to matter any more

I’d like to meet you somewhere where fog doesn’t mean

coughing, and coughing doesn’t come from lungs. I am a

mess of physiology. You know that. You should know

my body is not a paradise, my body is a

          quiet thing. Not a cage, but something with doors that are

locked from the outside. I am not made of glass, but on my

best of days

                there are broken windows. Today

is a quiet day and my lungs are filled with water vapor.

If I said your name, I would choke on the things I

cannot see through the fog.

Sometimes, love is –I’ll tell you my ghost stories if you tell me yours, too-

When there is no -happily ever after- we ask one another

to pick the locks to the same locked doors that

                                             we pretend define us.

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I am making myself a window, I am making myself the scene

         I get low like

                 a city, will you tell me

    you think I am pretty 

again

tell me you want to see me

twirling until we are both dizzy

again

I keep the lights on in the apartment

          so you can peep in, I pretend

                            I would never set the scene. I want you

to drive through

stop signs and tell me that

           there are too many one-way roads on my body

again

that you drove 50 miles today and you

           will make the same journey tomorrow

again

       push my hair away from my face

again

like you have a rooftop

     view, and there is a world

     worth viewing behind the curtains

again.

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DAREDEVIL SEASON 2 EPISODE 9: “SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN” is one of those rare moments in cinema and television where the casting takes center stage. Every beat in this episode seems to rely upon the advantages of actors physically embodying their characters, in addition to empathically defining them. For each of these “Impressions” posts, I try to pinpoint exactly what frame, what cinematic element, what camera technique, what composition best defines what an episode is all about. This post is no different: the real highlight of this episode is not one single element, but a conjunction of elements. How actors’ presences can fundamentally influence how we receive a text or perceive a beat. I’m not going to ramble about structure or dialogue or philosophy or even cinematic composition here. I’m going to talk about how Jon Bernthal’s 5′11′‘ Punisher and Vincent D’Onofrio’s 6′4′‘ Kingpin drastically affect how the story is interpreted.

Here is a single frame telling a sweeping, deeply engrossing myth-like tale in microcosm, as if the West Wind could be held in a wineskin. The towering, monolithic height of Kingpin, as well as his prodigious girth, overpower and dominate the frame just as Wilson Fisk himself overpowers and dominates those who both serve and oppose him. But the centerpiece of the frame is not he but Frank Castle, whose white prisoner’s garb is swathed in a panoply of color: the red of his enemies’ blood and the sickly yellow lighting that permeates the entire show. This frame demonstrates how the dynamic between Punisher and Kingpin will go not only for this episode, but I predict for the remainder of the show. While Kingpin is managerial, a big boss in every sense of the term, he has less agency to enact his plans, both because he has more ambitions and because he has relatively less ability to see his actions through personally. Thus, while he occupies most of the space in this frame, his presence does not immediately draw the eye. Punisher’s does. Punisher is a walking, talking embodiment of drive, determination, and necessity. He acts because he must. His goals are waypoints, not ends. An unstoppable force which must meet his immovable object (Kingpin) at some point further along the road (he says something to the effect of “Next time we meet…”) Punisher owns his every action. Kingpin manages his.

So what you have here is an ironical juxtaposition. Kingpin is a man whose overwhelming force and monopolistic power-flexing have bought him a jail cell, and whose presence SHOULD dominate the camera every time he is on-screen, but it doesn’t here. He looks down upon Punisher as though he possesses the upper hand, the high ground. Perhaps he does: at the end of the episode, he seems to wield Punisher as a bludgeon against his enemies, another hound to unleash as he sees fit. But since he must rely on Punisher to enact his plans, it is Frank who possesses all the agency. It is he who dominates the frame. He who looks up into Fisk’s eyes to dare the Kingpin to wield him.

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My heart is pumping blood, but don't mistake that for beating

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Hey borderline community!!

So if I finally told my new gf about having BPD and she was fabulous about it. But she asked what she can do to help, whether it’s big things or little things. I have a REALLY hard time answering this question. Does anyone have any resources that we could look at together? Or ideas or tips that work for you? Thank you so much!!!