congregamus:

cutebabe:

celesgami:

OKAY NO

EVERYONE TAKE THIS FUCKING QUIZ RIGHT NOW

IM LITERALLY ANGRY ABOUT HOW ACCURATE IT IS FUCK THIS THING ALL I DID WAS CLICK ON COLORS ??? HO W DOES I TKNOW FRICK

this is the most fucking terrifyingly accurate personality test ive ever taken in my entire life like??? what. the fuck

NOT. CUTE.

Well, that was unexpectedly below-the-belt.

I think where I am not, therefore I am where I do not think … I am not wherever I am the plaything of my thought; I think of what I am where I do not think to think.
- Jacques Lacan, “The Agency of the Letter in the Unconscious, or Reason Since Freud,” in Écrits: a Selection (trans. Alan Sheridan)

(via philoskaisophos)

so many people need so little to be placated.

I am no different, in my deluded, masochistic way. None of us is any better than another. Equality in desperation, in sting, in stung, in the hope that something might save us. faith in ‘might.’ failing.

…these worst mornings with cold floors and hot windows and merciless light – the soul’s certainty that the day will have to be not traversed but sort of climbed, vertically, and then that going to sleep again at the end of it will be like falling, again, off something tall and sheer.
- David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest. (via insomnius)

(via peithagoras)

Seawater stiffens cloth long after it’s dried.
As pain after it’s ended stays in the body:
A woman moves her hands oddly
because her grandfather passed through
a place he never spoke of. Making
instead the old jokes with angled fingers.
Call one thing another’s name long enough,
it will answer. Call pain seawater, tree, it will
  answer.
Call it a tree whose shape of branches
     happened.
Call what branching happened a man
whose job it was to break fingers or lose his
    own.
Call fingers angled like branches what peel
    and cut apples,
to give to a girl who eats them in silence,
   looking.
Call her afterward tree, call her seawater
    angled by silence.

—Jane Hirshfield, “Seawater Stiffens Cloth”

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