Well apparently my third house is totally barren in my birth chart. Not a single planet. This house represents logical and conscious thought.
Fuck. Wouldn’t you just know?
Apparently there really is nothing filtering through this bonnet o’ mine.
In this other life I am a creation and creator. I am a comedian. I react and charm and for fucking all that is good and righteous I am fulfilled. There is so much interest in this other life it is impossible for me not be interesting.
Juxtapose to THE life. I am my day job. I make enough money to spend and survive. No more, sometimes less. I am not sure of the path I took, the one I’m on, or ever will be. Moments of interest are my gems. The driving force, and enough to make me roll back the covers one more time.
Nobody told me fucking Rory dies?!? Not cool. Expect more on this later.
FFFUUUCCCKKK!!!!
For your afternoon photo break, David Bowie performing the character of a normal person who rides the subway via Retronaut.
Pair it perhaps with a Fresh Air interview with Bowie?
Sometimes I want to tell people I love to plain ol’ fuck off. It stops me that they might actually get hurt, when I wouldn’t mean it in any long term or serious manner. I just mean, at this moment you are a giant douche bag.
For roughly a century and a half, the Brontes have been the subject of biographies that, much like poor Branwell’s painting, cover up more than they reveal. When Barker’s monumental family biography of the Brontes was published in 1994, it was as though a skilled restorer had come along to…
This looks super interesting!
I’d like to think I’m the sexiest Virgo born on August 23rd, but I’m afraid Mr. Kelly wins by a landslide.
My love brought me back this poster from Comic-Con early on in our relationship. It kind of sealed the deal.
Some beautiful days recently. Feeling home and love and friendship in the dust storm of a loss. Thankful, though there is something missing. Creative expression? At first that seemed likely but it’s an oversimplification. Creative belief or value. Turning off that voice that accuses coldly that you have nothing of substance to offer. So why try?
Calling bullshit.
“Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy.”
We are Promethea!