pastel-gizibe:

FUCK.

(Source: fellcltysmoak)

(Reblogged from pixelated-pixie)

If you ever feel like there are no certainties in life and you feel lost, you can always be anchored by the knowledge that life guarantees immense physical and emotional pain.

(Reblogged from proud-atheist)

Some terrariums I’ve made

cutequeer96:

tony abbott: *comes to australia as an immigrant on a boat, had free university education*
tony abbott: so i wanna talk about two things i am really against

(Reblogged from pixelated-pixie)

Dream

I was there in a desert, looking out over every dream, every vast world, deciding which one to play out. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to play the game. I knew how they all went. I didn’t want to play the game anymore. It’s as if they were created by others. Then I looked at my little toolshed, ready to build an empire on my broken heart. I was ready, I knew how. But I said ‘no’. I stamped the ground, and the other empires and worlds jumped. I took a perfect razor sharp disc and flung it into their cores. They fell apart like matchsticks. Then I saw her, amidst the wreckage, among all the other broken hearts freed. I held her. Then, with her, I held a glowing blue ball of annihilation, threw it at our feet. Looking into her eyes, “let’s remake all worlds”.
White light

pixelated-pixie:

Do you ever think about how when someone dies the entire world that’s inside their head is gone, all their memories and secret thoughts disappear, their whole unique perspective on the world will never again exist. Our minds are like an infinite universe, and then they aren’t.

Some people probably never think about things like this. To them, I’d say: an unexamined life is not worth living. The existential questions are the most interesting and exciting and scary.

(Reblogged from pixelated-pixie)

People unconsciously recreate their pasts to try to get a sense of self-control and power. To the point that they will reject emotionally healthy relationships because they can’t feel anything positive for them.

Dream

My name is Peter Mofram and I am visiting my brother, Arthur, who lives in New York City. We haven’t seen each other in a few years and our father, who neither of us has seen in several years also, has just died. The funeral is tomorrow and Arthur and I are awkwardly catching up. Arthur dies in a freak accident, and at the height of my shock and panic, I (Peter) wake up in bed - that very same morning. I relive the day, only slightly aware taht it has happened before. I try to warn Arthur about the impending accident so that he can avoid it, but in the process am myself killed in a freak accident. This process continues - when I don’t warn him, he dies in a different freak accident every time. When I do warn him, I die.
The more this traumatises me, the more it reminds me of a story I read as a child. I notice that, each day, we have passed a book shop with that same book in the window.  I realise it is the exact same story, but with different names. Arthur and I enter the book shop to find that the author of the book works there and is a psychoanalyst/counsellor. I try to tell her that I and Arthur are living the story she wrote, but she cannot understand or accept it. I become more unsettled and start babbling - and the woman dies in a freak accident. Followed by Arthur, then me.
I wake up - but am now Arthur Mofram. And I am experiencing the same thing as Peter - my brother dies every day in a freak accident and I cannot prevent it. When I try, I die in a freak accident. We are trapped in alternate realities where we are perpetually watching each other die. We are sharing the same experience, and the other is the true and real brother, and we are unaware of what the other is going through.
Slowly, the brothers learn to accept that there is nothing they can do - the moment they accept this, they do not feel awkward in reminiscing about their childhood and their father. They are aware of their own mortality and accept the inevitable pain of loss. Their realities merge, and without even noticing it, neither of them dies that day.

Dream

I cut off my legs and replace them with new ones, then my arms.
Then I replace my head with another that looks just like me. I shove my old limbs and head in a duffel bag. Before closing the bag, I see my own lifeless face looking up at me.

The day before, I was thinking about how it takes 7 years for all of the body’s cells to replace themselves.

And I’m reminded of the Ship of Theseus and the Grandfather’s Axe concepts in philosophy. If you gradually replace all the parts of something, at what point does it become something else? Is it the same thing all along?
And what about us? Aren’t we streams of energy, flowing from and back into nature?