emes

u dishonor me

“The trick is, and there’s a little bit of heartbreak, you have to just give up on the idea of being a princess. You have to give up on the idea of being fabulous. My kind of base position on existence is that you just have to admit you’re a bit of a twat. You’re a bit of a div, you’re a kind of sweaty, stumpy, well-meaning idiot and you’re trying your hardest, but it’s just enough to be a sort of pleasant, polite person who’s working quite hard and tries to be nice to the people they’re nice to. We don’t need to have any more ambitions than that! This whole sassiness thing – everything’s got to be sarcastic, everything’s got to be knowing, everything’s got to be cynical. You’ve got to be on top of your shit twenty-four hours a day. THAT is exhausting. It’s just far better to go, you know what? I’m just basically a monkey in a dress, and the best I can hope for every day is just to be nice, to smile as much as possible, to be gentle, try and be a bit understanding, work really hard, go and smell some flowers, have a cup of tea, ring your mum if you get on with her, just kind of dial it down a bit. There’s a more sustainable idea of being a woman rather than feeling like you’re in a fucking movie twenty-four hours a day.”

Caitlin Moran (via fuckyeahcaitlinmoran)

oh man this resonates. i want to go back to a time (aka when i was like 9) where the parts of me that were kind of charming and/or cartoonish were weird and peach pitted in me, not spangly, stepped into things. or, i’m not a particularly artificial person, i don’t think, i don’t consciously sit down with a gameplan to try to “act _____”, but i feel like i unconsciously dial myself and my interactions up so much so often and i’m not quite sure why. actually, i think it’s mostly the internet? i dunno, i love the internet and it’s made me a much more interesting/conscientious/curious person, but it also tends towards the cartoonish, the cultivated and exaggerated and able to be summarized in a blog description personal brand.

how many times a week do i go “aoaDINAOIDN” at mildly intriguing events? and i have a lot of weird inner struggle with humor. my brain DOES just naturally find weird funny things and comments on them, but sometimes i feel so like…jokey, and i wonder how much of it is natural disposition and how much is a hungry search for funny things, swinging a searchlight over them instead of just letting them amble over. or sometimes so many strange/sorta amusing thoughts run through my head at once that i have to tell myself “no, you don’t need to say this, not every new thought bubble needs to be shared.” twitter has actually been good for me in that regard, cuz i can unload all the puns/what ifs/alliterations into one place where being frenetic and unfiltered is kind of celebrated. i can tweet the most cartoonish part of me and experience the real world more calmly. but even twitter makes me self conscious sometimes, like i’m performing my personality. i dunno. a lot of this is probably just garden variety neuroticism/the lingering and common teenage anxiety that you’re a big cheesy faker and nobody should be your friend. TOO REAL AHHH. but like, you know when you feel like a character, or like there’s a part of you that is a “bit”? i get it sometimes, and i’ve been actively trying to chill on that

(via beyourownboyfriend)

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food for tree lovers

triscuits
all bran
sundry leaves
ebooks (vegetarians)

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strange insect seeming things

nail shaped peels of polish sitting on a small pink plastic plate among the sesame seeds
muscle memory for a computer password
shavings, clippings, crumbs
tiny hairs wrapped around an elastic wrapped around your wrist
a clock clicking
in the sunroom, the dead supine cockroach that the dogs refuse to eat
but what if you salted it?

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Communist Daughter | Speed of Sound

sometimes it’s nice to listen to songs that sound like an easy patchwork of a million other things you’ve heard before. like, even the names here aren’t unique. i already loved a song called communist daughter before i knew about this band, and i’ve heard more than one called speed of sound. you could tick off the stock elements on a checklist, but it’s a soothing kind of familiarity, like a hymn. you know what the harmony will be, you know the strumming will stay soft, you know the background will swell with the familiar ooh oohs of every other sad person making midwestern sweater music in the aughts. the sweet warm constancy of mush surprises you in the way oatmeal sometimes does.

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WHERE AM I?????, I choked