Talkative followers

Let this be some kind of attempt to correlate the greatness of talkative followers to the contrasting ideal that ignorance is bliss. SIKE. Ignorance is ignorance. Ignorance is, whether it’s your fault or not, a complete insult in that it’s a complete deprivation of your opinion. You could have the best follower in the world in that he or she loves what you blog in every aspect. Considering talk as a form of communication, you’ll never notice that follower in all of his or her fidelity, exactly because he or she was too shy too display his or her presence to you. And in that sense, it’s not that you’re not acknowledging that person, it’s that he or she didn’t even give you the chance to acknowledge him or her. In that shyness, he or she has single-handedly destroyed a world of potential. People are too hung up on letting people guess how they feel. Voice and present yourself at face value. Life is too short to let people try to guess how you feel so just deliver yourself straight up and endure from the results, good or bad, and grow from them. With this, I invoke a decree, inviting all followers to become a part of our talkative followers tier! Send the great bloggers you’re following ask(s), reply to their posts, reblog their posts with responses, and be apart of this onset of a healthy community!

@yeoltokki

In an attempt to establish a closer connection with followers, I’m going to start welcoming every new one from now one. So without further ado, yeoltokki thank YOU for following my blog. Hope you enjoy a lasting time here!

Really? I had thought the general people of our culture had gotten past that level of ignorance.

The only difference between women and men really is the biological ability to birth. Why are you making fun of people for such distasteful reasons…

I told you something. It was just for you and you told everybody. So I learned cut out the middle man, make it all for everybody, always. Everybody can’t turn around and tell everybody, everybody already knows, I told them. But this means there isn’t a place in my life for you or someone like you. Is it sad? Sure. But it’s a sadness I chose. I wish I could say this was a story about how I got on the bus a boy and got off a man more cynical, hardened, and mature and shit. But that’s not true. The truth is I got on the bus a boy. And I never got off the bus. I still haven’t.

Fuck, all my creys and sympathy for Childish Gambino.

that power.

xxtymmie:

This is on a bus back from camp. I’m thirteen and so are you. Before I left for camp I imagined it would be me and three or four other dudes I hadn’t met yet, running around all summer, getting into trouble. It turned out it would be me and just one girl. That’s you. And we’re still at camp as long as we’re on the bus and not at the pickup point where our parents would be waiting for us. We’re still wearing our orange camp t-shirts. We still smell like pine needles. I like you and you like me and I more-than-like you, but I don’t know if you do or don’t more-than-like me. You’ve never said, so I haven’t been saying anything all summer, content to enjoy the small miracle of a girl choosing to talk to me and choosing to do so again the next day and so on. A girl who’s smart and funny and who, if I say something dumb for a laugh, is willing to say something two or three times as dumb to make me laugh, but who also gets weird and wise sometimes in a way I could never be. A girl who reads books that no one’s assigned to her, whose curly brown hair has a line running through it from where she put a tie to hold it up while it was still wet

Back in the real world we don’t go to the same school, and unless one of our families moves to a dramatically different neighborhood, we won’t go to the same high school. So, this is kind of it for us. Unless I say something. And it might especially be it for us if I actually do say something. The sun’s gone down and the bus is quiet. A lot of kids are asleep. We’re talking in whispers about a tree we saw at a rest stop that looks like a kid we know. And then I’m like, “Can I tell you something?” And all of a sudden I’m telling you. And I keep telling you and it all comes out of me and it keeps coming and your face is there and gone and there and gone as we pass underneath the orange lamps that line the sides of the highway. And there’s no expression on it. And I think just after a point I’m just talking to lengthen the time where we live in a world where you haven’t said “yes” or “no” yet. And regrettably I end up using the word “destiny.” I don’t remember in what context. Doesn’t matter. Before long I’m out of stuff to say and you smile and say, “okay.” I don’t know exactly what you mean by it, but it seems vaguely positive and I would leave in order not to spoil the moment, but there’s nowhere to go because we’re are on a bus. So I pretend like I’m asleep and before long, I really am

I wake up, the bus isn’t moving anymore. The domed lights that line the center aisle are all on. I turn and you’re not there. Then again a lot of kids aren’t in their seats anymore. We’re parked at the pick-up point, which is in the parking lot of a Methodist church. The bus is half empty. You might be in your dad’s car by now, your bags and things piled high in the trunk. The girls in the back of the bus are shrieking and laughing and taking their sweet time disembarking as I swing my legs out into the aisle to get up off the bus, just as one of them reaches my row. It used to be our row, on our way off. It’s Michelle, a girl who got suspended from third grade for a week after throwing rocks at my head. Adolescence is doing her a ton of favors body-wise. She stops and looks down at me. And her head is blasted from behind by the dome light, so I can’t really see her face, but I can see her smile. And she says one word: “destiny.” Then her and the girls clogging the aisles behind her all laugh and then she turns and leads them off the bus. I didn’t know you were friends with them

I find my dad in the parking lot. He drives me back to our house and camp is over. So is summer, even though there’s two weeks until school starts. This isn’t a story about how girls are evil or how love is bad, this is a story about how I learned something and I’m not saying this thing is true or not, I’m just saying it’s what I learned. I told you something. It was just for you and you told everybody. So I learned cut out the middle man, make it all for everybody, always. Everybody can’t turn around and tell everybody, everybody already knows, I told them. But this means there isn’t a place in my life for you or someone like you. Is it sad? Sure. But it’s a sadness I chose. I wish I could say this was a story about how I got on the bus a boy and got off a man more cynical, hardened, and mature and shit. But that’s not true. The truth is I got on the bus a boy. And I never got off the bus. I still haven’t

Doesn’t really matter*

But holy shit, I was already sympathizing on Donald for how lonely he sounds from all his music. But after reading this whole excerpt while listening to him say it himself on That Power, I slightly teared up for the Gambino.

Wikipedia’s many articles on cinematography are such a mindfuck, but they’re so damn interesting and descriptive

I want to go out right now and try all the techniques I’ve just read about. Light trails & zoom blast & bokeh & depth of field & isolation & all that other shit that means the same thing as everything but at the same thing they aren’t the same because it’s fucking cinematography and photography we’re dealing with and they have the power to make the manipulation of light expand into such a large study AND FUCKING SUGOIIIIII

Paintballing plans & longboarding plans & other cool shit

Aw yeahh