Posted on December 18, 2012
So what does the existentialist say to me about my dream? He tells me that so long as I am letting myself be my own victim—so long as I interpret my worry as an unfulfilled purpose, as something that’s wrong about me or my life (so long as I am goaded, Nietzsche might say, in the wrong direction by the pain of my frustrated drive)—I will continue to have my night sweats. The fundamental way to make sense of life is to acknowledge that I am wholly responsible in this one: responsible not to some other life that I ought to be leading, but for this present one I am actually living, where I choose to be where I am, what I am, who I am.
(Kierkegaard thought that the worst thing that could happen to a human is that he or she would fail to experience anxiety, because that meant failing to experience yourself—but I think it’s a fair question to ask whether we want to experience ourselves).
Anxiety, then, is not the reflection of our inadequacy, but rather the knee-jerk response to our misguided, self-defeating, and logically doomed efforts to be someone other than who we are. The reason we feel inadequate is that we wonder if we’re up to the task—when the task has already been accomplished, is always already being accomplished, by each of us. So should I sit here in a maelstrom of worry? Or do I have what it takes to be free?
— I’m Worried About My Anxiety | Clancy Martin | VICE
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Posted on December 1, 2012
durianseeds:
“I Think I Am In Friend-Love With You” written by and illustrated by Yumi Sakugawa, published in Sadie Magazine, 2012.
(via pizzasauced)
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Posted on November 25, 2012
First snow of the year. (at Sharon, PA)
Posted on July 15, 2012
Mi favorito. @theheavypedal #Merika #fuckyeah (Taken with Instagram at The Lost Leaf)
Posted on June 26, 2012
verb. ‘to get out of Dodge.’
To leave somewhere immediately. To evacuate with haste.
1. A reference to Dodge City, Kansas
2. Made famous by its use in “Gunsmoke”
3. Started to be used in its current form in the 1960s
Oh, by the way: etymology is the study of the history of words; entomology is the study of insects. Come on.
Posted on June 26, 2012
My favourite place to read is really anywhere so long as I can spread myself out. Couch, rug, bed, whatever feels best. This is because I’m a fidgeter. I flip-flop around a book like it’s the only thing I have to hold onto in a storm.
I wish I could tell you that I read in my favourite café with my legs neatly crossed, sitting next to a peppermint tea atop a dainty saucer, all in a beam of morning light. But I can’t, because I’m lying on my belly, ignoring the fact that leaning on my arms is making them fall asleep. When they do, no problem. I just plop around onto my back and hold the book above my head, or maybe curl around the book on my side in some unnatural fashion, or sit up and balance it on my knees.
Did you just step on something? Oh, that was me. I was rolled up in a blanket on the floor. Don’t worry about it.
When I was a teenager, I even threw sitting awkwardly upside down into the mix, legs thrown up and over the back of an armchair, but had to give that up when I became a Lady because no gentleman worth his salt takes an upside-down person to the altar. Not that I’m fishing for husbands when I’m halfway through the latest George R.R. Martin, but you have to draw a general conduct line somewhere, don’t you think?
— Kate Beaton
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Posted on June 22, 2012
nevver:
Steve Martin Letter To A Young Judd Apatow
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