I know so many people who could use this.
The most ironic picture ever. Album cover, Fly Society—Bad Bitches and Weed,ft.J-Deedz and BoogzBoogetz
My argument for atheism is simple, elegant, and profane.
NIGGUH YOU DON’T BELIEVE IN FAIRIES, YE?
CUZ YOU DON’T SEE OR HEAR OR FEEL EM, YE?
SO Y U BELIEVE IN GAWD
IS LIKE, KIDS LIVES BELIEVE IN SANTA CUZ THEY PARENTS TOLD EM TO, AND IT MAKES EM FEEL GOOOOOD
BITCH, GOD IS YO SANTA
I’ve been trying to stop procrastinating writing for three damn years.
Yeah, yeah, I know, this is tumblr, aesthetics dump-hole, feels armory, and intricate system of fandom caves, nobody actually writes, much less READS, long-form blogging on here. If ANYBODY reads long-form blogging on the internet anymore.
Recently read the best way to really start enjoying writing again is to write unstructured nonfiction, aka rambling rambly rants, without thinking or editing.
So, basically, what I was doing as a more angsty teenager (relatively less angsty than now) four years ago on xanga.
So here we go.
Hm, I wonder if this is the reason Warren Ellis has been obsessively documenting his life and unloading his thoughts onto the Internet…a good warm-up?
It’s really weird that such an internet powerhouse like Xanga died out so hard. The most popular posts on there now only get views in the hundreds. The internet’s going away from blogging, for some weird reason. Which is one of the few things I have some potential to get good at.
Fuck my life.
Another big problem in getting myself to write again is…facebook. That unholy, power-hungry, bloated demon whore of a website.
My writing itch’s been fed into short bursts of text that is read by nobody and annoys everybody. But there, the attention, in the form of likes, is IMMEDIATE. I am, ultimately, a social creature, and getting to write FOR IMMEDIATE ATTENTION BROWNIE POINTS was going to be my doom from the beginning. If only I’d known, and stayed away, lo these many days…
I’ve come to the conclusion that I am much more interesting and witty-seeming on Facebook than in real life.
I have this odd little crisis of identity, where my self-image is of this iconic Magnificent Bastard, His Mighty Weirdness, the LEGENDARY Luis Mina. This specific incarnation of me really only exists when I’m with friends of mine I’m comfortable with who are easily shocked and have low standards of people due to being shelteed.
Wait, those friends are probably reading this.
*looks over shoulder*
Ah, fuck it, anyone reading this I’ve already insulted and criticized down to the bone.
Writing this is getting surprisingly cathartic.
Where did my point go?
*slowly reaches into butt*
*pulls out dripping-shit point*
*sniffs shit-covered point*
Ah! Right! So, my self-image is of this Magnificent Bastard filled with wit, entertaining stories, and le funnay of the highest order. When, in actuality, I am, at best—AT BEST—the level 1 version of that pokemon. Or more like, the fetus version of that pokemon.
…AAAAND in keeping with the themes of this post, I just got distracted by people chatting with me on Facebook.
I MEAN OUT
CHILLIN LIKE A VILLAIN
DON’T DO CRACK
"We invite art to leak into our lives."—Warren Ellis
For me, it’s more like art knocks my door down uninvited, cuts open my skull, then lives in my brain until it dies and leaves a horrible death-smell.
Like for most people on tumblr, I guess.
Though maybe people on tumblr more smash art into their brains with hammers and the junkie syringe that is the internet.
Breaking Bad is the most recent thing to “knock” (only real fans will get that reference) around my brain.
(btw Breaking Bad is the Greatest Title Of All Time. Immediately catches your attention, not completely clear/mysterious, and ties into the main point of the series: Walter White slowly becoming a monster.)
Breaking Bad is filled with shots of normal life, chores, silent moments…which I rage about. I spend too much time doing this shit IN THE REAL WORLD ANYWAY.
But now I’m convinced this is part of their SECRET PLAN TO LIVE IN OUR BRAINS FOREVER. AND EVEEEER
When I wash the dishes, or my room is quiet, or I’m walking down the street late at night and the light’s tinted yellow…SUDDENLY I FEEL LIKE I’M IN THE SHOW.
DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS
This means that months, YEARS after the show’s over I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO STOP THINKING ABOUT THE SHOW
I INVITED ART TO LIVE IN MY BRAIN A WHILE WHEN I’M WATCHING IT, THEN DIE, NOT LIVE THERE FOREVER
MY WORLD WILL BE BREAKING BAD FOREVER