I don’t want you, I just want to sleep in the back of your head. Nothing white-hot can be sustained; True love is general indifference over time. I trusted you to be perfect and of course, you couldn’t even manage that. But you know, it’s okay because now I can pretend that I am.
Someone just took a dinner menu with them to the bathroom at the tavern and I can't help but owner if they're jacking off to it
infinity in a box
it's 2014 and i think we're all a little offended
Superposition really interests me. How it collapses when it comes in contact with any form of subjectivity or consciousness. How the laws of probability only apply when subjectivity is excluded. Also how the mind really does seem to be infinite in space/time. Ideas are nonlocal, right? Space is irrelevant, and time is irrelevant. Omnipresent, eternal? Immortal. Welcome to infinity guys, good luck finding your way out.
I’m a practicing cynic but there’s something just so divine about existence. It’s interesting how every force has an equal and opposite reaction, too. Paradox is universal. The sheer irony of how knowledge builds on itself. The more you know, the less you do. Science as a discipline is such a fantastic example of that. The more we have pieced together, the more impossible our existence seems to be. I like that. Magic is defined very generically as an invisible force which influences the physical world. I think we call that gravity. I think God is gravity. Gravity was there at the beginning, it’ll be there at the end. It is everywhere, and it is unbeatable. It is keeping everything in place.
'FATALE' 8.3 x 11.7in
SOLD
This is one of my favourite pieces which is why it’s all over everything.
One time Nate and I were talking about fingers in the butt feeling good for guys and he said that while it didn't interest him in the moment, he could consider it later on in life and that right there was the most mature thing I've ever heard come out of the mouth of a cisgendered heterosexual white male.
say that to yourself right now and every time you forget it
I'm writing garbage And calling it poetry pretentious as fuck
Are you a fan of Carl Jung's works?
I've only ever read Psyche and Symbol by him but it's in my top 3 favorite books of all time. I read it over the past six or so months, took me a long time to understand a lot of it but I think he's brilliant. His integration of science and religion into psychoanalytic theory is amazing and changed my world view I think, completely. Also how he talks about the universal language of the subconscious. That's, I think, a key piece to understanding the heart of mankind.
“It’s weird how something so simple represents so much.”
If I could be any mythological beast, I would be a basilisk. The ability to kill upon gaze is a very real phenomenon, one which many people are unaware of, and one which I have experienced personally. Carl Jung, a Freudian disciple and a legend in his own right, stated that it is quite possible for man to recognize the bounds of evil relative to his nature, but that it is a rare and shattering experience to gaze directly into the face of true evil. When Moaning Myrtle from Harry Potter encountered the basilisk, she didn’t remember dying. She said that the last thing she remembered was staring into a great big pair of yellow eyes.
I was ten years old. I repressed the memory entirely for eleven years. I remember the moments preceding, how the fear began when he shut the door behind him. I remember with perfect clarity how my wrist hurt from trying to squirm out of his grasp and toward the door to open it. The last thing I remember before completely blacking out was staring directly into his eyes, knowing exactly what was coming, and finding myself unable to move.
Snakes, the universal symbol for evil, are credited with a hypnotic gaze, one which paralyzes their intended victims into inaction. It’s called the “theory of fascination” but modern scientists have dismissed that as nonsense and describe the paralysis as nothing more than the product of sheer mind-numbing terror. I checked out for a very long time as the ghost of my ten year old self, while my body went on some weird and fucked up autopilot and I became something of a mangled corpse. That night I saw rage in the form of my cousin on my bedroom floor and it scared me to death. It took one look.
We’ve all been infected by the anger in one way or another. I imagine it’s something of a spiritual virus. I don’t think anybody is safe. It’s comparable to the zombie apocalypse concept that’s taken the media, except much scarier because the dead don’t look all that different from the living, and the rage is as immortal as a black hole.
Nothing endears a person to me quite like watching them go through a phase.
Son of Dracula. Ad mat, 1974.
