And I will follow where this takes me And my tomorrows long to be unknown When all is shaken, be my safety In a world uncertain, say You’ll be my stone…
paro n. the feeling that no matter what you do is always somehow wrong—that any attempt to make your way comfortably through the world will only end up crossing some invisible taboo—as if there’s some obvious way forward that everybody else can see but you, each of them leaning back in their chair and calling out helpfully, colder, colder, colder.
If I start this blog the way I want to and say, “I don’t understand,” then some of you will lash out that here I go again playing the victim.
If I start this blog and say “How f-ing dare you all,” then some of you will lash out that here I go being a bitch again.
If I start this blog and say “I give up,” then some of you will lash out that here I go being melodramatic again.
So instead, I simply have to start this blog saying I don’t know how to start this blog. Heh.
Shoutout to my ex, You’re really quite the man You made my heart break at that made me who I am Here’s to my ex, hey, look at me now I’m all the way up, I swear You’ll never bring me down!
opia n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out.
I’ve always been one to kink for sensory deprivation. I always loved the idea of it within SL, and then when I went into the RL community, I experimented with it and found just as intense a love for it there as well. Though I think my enjoyment of it in RL came in a completely different form than I would have liked for it to.
I’m re-posting a post that I saw that I find myself very much agreeing with. I feel the need to repost this here because I’m seeing the post that it’s responding to circulating around my SL Facebook as well. The content of this post was originally written by Dina Leygerman, and can be found HERE.
A post is making rounds on social media, in response to the Women’s March on Saturday, January 21, 2017. It starts with “I am not a “disgrace to women” because I don’t support the women’s march. I do not feel I am a “second class citizen” because I am a woman….”
This is [her; Dina’s] response to that post.
Say thank you. Say thank you to the women who gave you a voice. Say thank you to the women who were arrested and imprisoned and beaten and gassed for you to have a voice. Say thank you to the women who refused to back down, to the women who fought tirelessly to give you a voice. Say thank you to the women who put their lives on hold, who –lucky for you — did not have “better things to do” than to march and protest and rally for your voice. So you don’t feel like a “second class citizen.” So you get to feel “equal.”
Been counting all your aces, you ain’t winnin’ Your phonebook full of numbers, ‘stead of names All them vain decisions keep you jaded You could have found the one but you won’t change…
So here’s the thing. I’m kinda fed up with what the SL modeling community tells us is the ‘standard’ of what ‘pretty’ is. I’m sick of being told I HAVE to look like everyone else (while also being lectured about being ‘unique’ and how my face is my brand)… I’m just done. Fed up. Over it.
I realize that sometimes love brings you flowers Then it builds you coffins And far too often We end up falling to our demise…
n. the moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you’ve built up through decades of friction with the world.
Staring out the window, she wonders just when it happened. When that moment happened that made it all real, and different, and… alive! When did she cross over between superficiality and trying to make it work to a sense of ease and joy in just finding a space near Him to call her own?
Cause you are beautiful inside, so lovely and I Can’t see why I’d do anything without you, you are And when I’m not with you, I know that it’s true That I’d rather be anywhere but here without you…
n. a state of exhaustion inspired by an act of senseless violence, which forces you to revise your image of what can happen in this world—mending the fences of your expectations, weeding out invasive truths, cultivating the perennial good that’s buried under the surface—before propping yourself up in the middle of it like an old scarecrow, who’s bursting at the seams but powerless to do anything but stand there and watch.
“I can’t do this again,” my mother literally sobbed at me before taking another very long, hard swig from her beer can. What number this was, I’d lost count, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t care. It seemed justified, somehow. Something about learning that your husband likely has cancer… again… seemed to make drinking a few beers and crying in your barn an ok reaction.
I wanted everything I never had Like the love that comes with light I wore envy, and I hated that But I survived…
n. a feature of modern society that suddenly strikes you as absurd and grotesque—from zoos and milk-drinking to organ transplants, life insurance, and fiction—part of the faint background noise of absurdity that reverberates from the moment our ancestors first crawled out of the slime but could not for the life of them remember what they got up to do.
I have my fair share of things about the world like this… things that for whatever reason that I don’t like – some for my own reasons that no one else understands, and some for reasons that even I don’t understand or can’t find. But one thing I think most of us can agree on… Bad things happening to good people.