The Stonewall Inn
🪼
EXPECTATIONS
Not today Justin
blake kathryn
#extradirty
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
RMH
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Misplaced Lens Cap
sheepfilms
Noah Kahan
Sade Olutola
if i look back, i am lost
ellievsbear
Andulka
occasionally subtle
Cosimo Galluzzi
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@damascus-leland
about me
I was born in 2220, before the Federation became coddled and soft. I chose the name ‘Damascus’ because the one my mother gave me wasn't good enough, and also because I named myself after the steel. The secrets of how we make it are lost to time. If I had access to a time machine (which I totally don't 😉), I would travel back in time to learn how to make it.
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it's me
can direction and perpetual development coexist?
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Have you never put headphones on and cranked up the music just so you don’t have to hear yourself think?
One of the many weird things about depression is that it retcons your life. Not only are you lying in bed feeling like a piece of shit and that everything is awful, but you start projecting those feelings back along your own time stream - you start low-key believing you've always felt this way, that nothing good has ever happened, or if it has it happened a long time ago.
On January 1st of last year I decided to start keeping a tally of good days and bad days, because I stopped trusting my brain to report on that accurately. I expected to come and look at the tally when I was depressed and go "oh, I had a good day only a few days ago. this hasn't always been like this."
What I didn't expect was that the process of asking myself whether a day had been good or bad would radically shift my perspective on what a bad day was and what a good day was. On the very first day, when I'd achieved nothing and had felt sad and slow all day, I went to put a notch in the Bad Day column before stopping myself:
wait, i thought. has today actually been bad? not bad enough to write it off. i played rummikub online with my partner. i drank some water. i had a long bath. no, today wasn't a bad day.
And so I put a notch in the Good Day column and went to bed. The next day I did the same thing, and the next day, and the next day. Just the process of going over my day every day meant that I found at least one good thing that happened every day. I had a good meal. I went to the pub and was around people, albeit quietly. I went for a walk. I saw a duck. There were days where truly awful, terrible things happened, but even on those days there was always something - even if the something was a simple as We Were There For Each Other or We Reminisced.
On December 31st I put the final tally down. Not a single day had been so bad that I could justify writing it off as a bad day. The bad day column was completely empty.
I'm still depressed, occasionally deeply, but I think I have more perspective. Depression is a physical feeling, and an emotional feeling, but even without trying *something* comes along every day that makes me glad I'm here despite that feeling.
This sort of thing is coming from the same place as my "write down three things per day that went right" method for getting out of depressive states.
The thing I find depression does is moves your mental "Overton Window" - it makes it so much easier to spot the miserable things, the horrible things, the annoying things, the things which went wrong, and it takes time, effort and above all practice to figure out how to shift your frame of reference back in a less negative direction.
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Murmur, Cameron Barnett
FERRIS BUELLER'S DAY OFF 1986 — dir. John Hughes
the fact remains that body horror is an expression of intimacy. a grotesque and perverse one, maybe, but intimate nonetheless.
you have to know where the muscle and sinew connect and how they move, component parts coming together to form a whole, in order to alter their configuration. you have to know what the vital organs are and how they function to add to their number or replace them. to recognise something terrible, you need to be able to say where it went wrong. you have to understand every clench, flex, flutter, and twitch as if it were your own. you have to slip your fingers beneath the skin and run them along every surface, exploring them inside and out until you've committed the entire map to memory. to take something apart and remake it in your image, first you must love it.
umm how to be a dog by andrew kane. btw.
in case you didnt fucking know
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He’s not staring at you.
No.
Not AT you.
He’s staring right INTO you.
‘You don't think of yourself as Matthew Rose Sorensen?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘But you have his face,’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘And his hands.’
‘Yes.’
‘And his feet and his body.’
‘All that is true. But I haven't got his mind and I haven't got his memories. I don't mean that he's not here. He is here.’ I touched my breast. ‘But I think he's asleep. He's fine. You mustn't worry about him.’
‘And he definitely said that it was a maze?’
Pause.
‘Actually I think the word he used was “labyrinth”. But it's the same thing, isn't it?’
I placed my hand on my chest. Hush now! I said, Do not be afraid. You are safe. Go back to sleep. I will take care of us both.
It seemed to me that Matthew Rose Sorensen fell asleep again.
– Piranesi by Susanna Clarke
