Who Knew Feelings Were This Hard To Understand, Sort And Satisfy.

As got out of my car and bolted for the front door I prayed I wouldn't drop my keys because it was just pouring rain. Every inch of me was already covered by the time I got the door open. I realized I was laughing as I went to go shut it. I thought of you and your smile as I slid down the door frame and god do I miss you.

You are like the flowers that bloom and blossom. Even their leaves scatter to the wind.

A master post of Thomas Romain’s art tutorials.

There’s not enough space to post all of them, SO here’s links to everything he has posted (on twitter) so far : 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12. 

Now that new semesters have started, I thought people might need these. Enjoy your lessons!

"Yet then again," This was a phrase commonly muttered by my now deceased Grandmother Pat. She used it often as either contradiction or conjecture. It was her verbal crutch that tethered her thoughts together. "Still even in addition to what has already been mentioned" I guess is much more a mouthful than the previous statement. But I keep on thinking about that Yet. How it could also mean "by now or then". Then "Afterward" and Again "Once More". I wonder if she knew all the while she was also saying a secret comfort to us, something that was analogous to Love and how it is omnipresent in our Lives. Love is "Here and There, Now and Then. Afterwards, Once Again."

thinking about how orpheus turning to look back at eurydice isn’t a sign of mortal frailness but a sign of love

Secondhand thrift stores

and animated movies

This is me; my Life

I know that my atoms are not mine and that they were forged in stars and scattered across the universe by their deaths. I know that I am a product of bunch of chemical reactions. I know that I will one day die.

I also know that I am more than sum of my parts. That my death, will only be in this body. I will decompose and become apart of everything. I know that my mannerisms will be inherited by those who loved me. Just I have inherited theirs. And I know if there is a afterlife my spirit will live on forever in love and kindness.

But that doesn't make this life any less worth it.

I wonder how many per mutations I am from my daydreams? Michael Faudet once wrote "I am hopelessly in love with a memory. An echo from another time, another place." I would modify this to "I am hopelessly in love with a memory I dont yet have". How many decisions, or indecisions, a moments wembling, a pause, a misplaced stutter, getting caught in traffic red when it should have been green. A vain attempt at times to scry into futures yet unseen. Has my own ambition tripped me up from my own success? Some other version of me is also on this couch right now, somewhere. and there is laughter his rooms. McAlpine would sing "Somewhere I lost all my senses, I wish I knew what the end is. Over and Over, I am watching it all Pass... I wish I knew what the end is" Dostoevsky would say, "I am not angry at him. I know his thoughts. His heart is better than his head." I am not angry at him; I knew what the end is

In our world for some reason we do things , for a main reason. And that's for our own gain or advantage. I do this, I get money, I do that, I get connections. I complete this task I obtain something of value to me. And if somehow we give out love, usually that's a byproduct. Meaning that was not purposeful, and not the intention.

But what if that was not the case, what if our reason was love, and love solely? And anything else is gain? I don't think it'd matter honestly. Because if we treasured those that we love like the treasures they are, we would know we have what we need. We've lost sight of those ideas, our virtues are corrupt. Even our actions lie.

If you sift through and break yourself down to it's smallest parts. What would they actually look like honestly? I think some of us would automatically respond, positively. And insincerely. Not honestly.

I think it would all do us well to better inspect ourselves.