Tumblr is making me nauseous. And I mean that in the softest, most vague sort of impression in my stomach kind of way.
beersforfears: necrobese:toenailtoenail:(via w33d)
<3 <3
oh what the fuck
Holy crap, I want one.
Keepin’ it real
And yes, that’s me on the right.
Amanda and Her Cousin Amy, Valdese, North Carolina, USA, 1990
Story behind it:“In 1990, Peter Howe at Life magazine sent me to North Carolina to photograph a special school for children with problems.
The school was a very strange place because all of the twenty or so children were in the same classroom and their problems ranged from mild behavior instability to severe schizophrenia.
Nine-year-old Amanda was the most interesting child in the class. Amanda was very intelligent and very naughty. One day I followed her home on the school bus. When the bus stopped at her house, she dashed ahead of me and ran into a nearby wooded area. I continued to follow her into the woods and eventually found her sitting in an old stuffed chair having a cigarette. She thought that I would reprimand her since I was an adult. But I said nothing.
The following Sunday, I spent the day at home with Amanda and her mother. Amanda totally controlled her mother. Amanda smoked openly in front of her.
Her 8-year-old cousin Amy was coming over, and she was very excited. All day long, Amanda and her cousin played like children. Every forty-five minutes or so, Amanda would take a break to have a cigarette.
Just before I left, I looked for Amanda to say good-bye. I found her and Amy in the backyard. They were in a children’s inflatable pool. Amanda was taking her regular cigarette break.”This is one of my favorite photographs of all times and I don’t know why I never took the time to research about the photographer, or the photograph itself, until now.
The story has definitely made me love this photograph even more than I already did, so I think I’m going to start doing that with all the other photographs that have captivated me.Oh I see.
The past is a grotesque animal
And in its eyes you see
How completely wrong you can be
How completely wrong you can be
The sun is out, it melts the snow that fell yesterday
Makes you wonder why it bothered
I fell in love with the first cute girl that I met
Who could appreciate Georges Bataille
Standing at Swedish festival discussing “Story of the Eye”
Discussing “Story of the Eye”
It’s so embarrassing to need someone like I do you
How can I explain, I need you here and not here too
How can I explain, I need you here and not here too
I’m flunking out, I’m flunking out, I’m gone, I’m just gone
But at least I author my own disaster
At least I author my own disaster
Performance breakdown and I don’t want to hear it
I’m just not available
Things could be different but they’re not
Things could be different but they’re not
The mousy girl screams, “Violence! Violence!”
The mousy girl screams, “Violence! Violence!”
She gets hysterical because they’re both so mean
And it’s my favorite scene
But the cruelty’s so predictable
It makes you sad on the stage
Though our love project has so much potential
But it’s like we weren’t made for this world
(Though I wouldn’t really want to meet someone who was)
Do I have to scream in your face?
I’ve been dodging lamps and vegetables
Throw it all in my face, I don’t care
Let’s just have some fun
Let’s tear this shit apart
Let’s tear the fucking house apart
Let’s tear our fucking bodies apart
But let’s just have some fun
Somehow you’ve red-rovered the gestapo circling my heart
And nothing can defeat you
No death, no ugly world
You’ve lived so brightly
You’ve altered everything
I find myself searching for old selves
While speeding forward through the plate glass of maturing cells
I’ve played the unraveler, the parhelion
But even apocalypse is fleeting
There’s no death, no ugly world
Sometimes I wonder if you’re mythologizing me like I do you
Mythologizing me like I do you
We want our film to be beautiful, not realistic
Perceive me in the radiance of terror dreams
And you can betray me
You can, you can betray me
But teach me something wonderful
Crown my head, crowd my head
With your lilting effects
Project your fears on to me, I need to view them
See, there’s nothing to them
I promise you, there’s nothing to them
I’m so touched by your goodness
You make me feel so criminal
How do you keep it together?
I’m all, all unraveled
But you know, no matter where we are
We’re always touching by underground wires
I’ve explored you with the detachment of an analyst
But most nights we’ve raided the same kingdoms
And none of our secrets are physical
None of our secrets are physical
None of our secrets are physical now
Currently watching She’s The Man.
I actually LOVE this movie.
I am so attracted to her feigning a guy.
Low Self-esteem,
You don’t know the first thing about low self-esteem if you think it’s that fucking easy.
It’s not as easy as waking up one morning and deciding you’re going to pretend to be happy; or that today, you look somewhat decent; or wow, you realise that falsifying confidence is something you can actually do; it’s not like that. That’s now how it fucking works. This is waking up every morning and realising that you can’t stand what you see, how you feel, how you are on the inside; that you are, as grotesque on the outside as your are inside; you are rotten. This is thinking you’re worthless, believing it, because it’s been said by everyone around you as much as it’s been said inside your head more than a million times. This isn’t about someone telling you otherwise, or fishing for compliments so that you feel better. This isn’t about hope, or thinking that maybe one day, someone will love you, flaws and all; no, this is having yourself internally wired to comprehend that maybe you are going to end up alone, and accepting it, because no one will ever love you. Because, at the end of the day, this isn’t about a significant other; this is about yourself and how you can’t love yourself; you loathe yourself, you’d take shards to your face and cut yourself open and rid yourself of the demons rippling beneath your skin. This isn’t some fad - it’s not something you fake. This is feeling insecure, even when you’re alone; feeling inadequate, even when there are no standards: this is a constant state of personal and impersonal dissatisfaction.
So don’t act like you know what this is like, or tell me that it’s easy, because you have no fucking idea.
