um. locked in my own head again. does anyone have The Password

gracie abrams
Cosmic Funnies
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
noise dept.

blake kathryn
Mike Driver

Kiana Khansmith
𓃗

★
will byers stan first human second
trying on a metaphor
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Xuebing Du
Not today Justin

bliss lane
Claire Keane
Misplaced Lens Cap
we're not kids anymore.

seen from Netherlands
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seen from United States
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seen from Ireland
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seen from Malaysia

seen from Türkiye

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@systemoftheseus
um. locked in my own head again. does anyone have The Password

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Star Trek: Voyager I The Gift
Blud, Rachel McKibbens
“Let me be the wave. And if I cannot be the wave, let me be the rupture at the bottom. Let me be that terrible first rift in the dark.”
— Lauren Groff, Fates and Furies

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another moon knight post because your tags were very nicely asking for more
Responsible co-parenting! For these two(+), that means "take turns covering the kid's ears before you bring up something horribly violent."
...and yeah, when the Moon Knight writers are looking for a way to give Marc more angst, I assume they spin a wheel. The options are "villain beats up his girlfriend," "villain beats up one of his gay friends," and "villain actually kills his girlfriend."
Then they flip a coin. Heads the villain is Randall, tails it's Literally Anyone Else.
Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God).mp3
came back wrong but its from the perspective of the person who came back
Seeing pictures of yourself -the real you, the one people miss, the one people look for in your eyes- is like staring into a foggy mirror. The parts are there, you think, but the details are lost.
Someone who loves you makes you breakfast. You thank him and eat it despite the fact the eggs are too crisp on the sides and missing much needed salt. He says its how you like it, but that just makes that angry, unfettered itch in the back of your brain grow stronger.
How I used to like it, you want to say, how I used to be.
You grip your butter knife harder and light catches the polished metal. The glimpse you catch of yourself in the cutlery looks nothing like the photo on the mantle.
Fucking Carl Sagan 🫶🏽
i've never read the book, "Contact," but the movie is nostalgic. it is one of those pieces of media where i found solace in "unintentional" representation of plurality. there is the scene in the spacecraft where her younger parts are looking out at the universe in wonder. there is the scene where she meets the alien in a landscape built of her memories, and it feels very much an inner world experience.
and yet, i see that i should read the book. for the plurality depicted in the movie was perhaps more "intentional" that i realized.

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Erik Olson (Canadian, b. 1982, Calgary, Alberta, Canada) - Tigers in the Night, 2011, Paintings: Oil on Canvas
I very much enjoy how my mind scrambles to make sense of this.
“The tiger He destroyed his cage Yes YES The tiger is out”
FOOLS. YOU’RE ALL FOOLS.
have felt like there's someone on the edge of my awareness all day. not sure who's co-con, but there's been like, flashes of memories that come and go, and then when i try to figure out what the memories are, they flow away like water. someone's remembering some uncomfy stuff from college i think. been getting flashbacks that i think are from that time. have that feeling of hot lead right behind the eyes.
Do you exist?
depends on how hard im dissociating
Dissociation involving parts with different skillsets causes something akin to imposter syndrome and performance anxiety, but More So.
I have skills stored in my brain and body that I genuinely do not have autobiographical memory for. I have the vaguest recollection that I've done something before, and can sometimes recount the steps, but I have no memory of actually accomplishing whatever it is.
With some skills, it feels like I have to throw myself off a ledge and just trust that a parachute instructor will materialize mid-fall and pull the parachute for me. And most of the time, they do! But sometimes, they don't, and I'm stuck panicking while hurtling through the air, hoping a different part has had the foresight to set up a safe landing pad.

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Do yall ever discover a "new" alter and you kinda squint at them and go "waaaaait a fucking second, I know you, you're the one from <insert time period here> who did the <insert thing here>"
It's like finding an old sibling/friend/rival/acquaintance/coworker/whatever that you didn't even know you had
I know that we have eaten a nectarine. I see the evidence of it.
There are positive signs: the discarded pit in the trash bin, the errant bowl in the sink which was dutifully filled with soapy water.
There are negative signs: the absence of the nectarine on the ripening cloth, where it was sitting yesterday.
There is even a vague sweetness that still lingers.
And yet, there's no memory of having eaten it. Well, there's no memory that I have. Someone does. I have my suspicions.
Rationally, I know that the nectarine has been eaten, but in my part of the brain, it exists in some sort of Schrodinger-level dilemma. Is it eaten? Or is it still whole, but just hiding?
For one of us, the nectarine was devoured. But for me, it still lives as some Platonic Form, a perfect nectarine that never experienced the ravages of being consumed.
There's something here about the nature of memory and self within a plurality of consciousnesses...