A Dream That Will Need all the Love You Can Give

Hit 'em with the ol' razzle dazzle

oh my fucking god

so i’m reading this harry potter fic

and every now and then there are words like “arseented” and “marseaging” and “arseistance” and i was trying to figure out what the hell is going on

finally i got to the word “parse” and figured it out

they’re american so after they wrote it they did a find and replace to change every “ass” to “arse”

i can’t stop laughing omg

“Word has made 436 replacements.”

“That sounds right.”

clarseic

more brush tests! also these are all from memory because it’s almost 5am and i’m too close to the cosmic realm of dusk to search for reference images and perhaps the meaning of life itself

Seasons colliding in Groton, MA [OC] [5120x3439] - Author: scojo415 on reddit

The Ritz, Paris

✿ Ladies among flowers ✿

Paintings by Wilhelm Menzler, Hans Zatzka & Charles Amable Lenoir

I think Ford speaks for all of us in that.

Firmament. 

I respect poetry so much because it does what I cannot do - say so much with so little.

When I have something Much to say, it takes me just as many words to say it. I say it with words that are each of them bland and common, unimaginative by their lonesome, with the hopes that if I stack so many together and squeeze a single drop of Much from each that it might flow into something meaningful.

When I have something to say, I say it twice. I say it three times. Because the first or second may not have captured the point. Because I do not trust myself to express the full essence saying it just once. Like just now, those last two sentences. I’ll repeat myself a third time for good measure - because I do not say it right just once or twice.

Poems say things in only a half, only a quarter. They choose single words worth more than ten of mine. I want to know how their minds shop for words. I want to distill myself like poets do. I want to trade in all my too many common words for the way they use an extraordinary few.

If I keep writing this, I’ll write it forever. I’ll explain myself again, as I have already, as I’m doing now. With more and different other words, with the hope of saying myself fully, like how all the hatched and messy wanton scribbles from a pen might finally color in a page. I want to change that. I want to not rip the page I’ve oversaturated by the tip of my pen.

I’ll start tomorrow, maybe, to explain myself less.

O h...

this is still my favourite tweet