Follow Your Passion: A Seamless Tumblr Journey
Stupid Ideas - Blog Posts
How about hat racing? You can hat race on foot, or with horses or bicycles, or even in convertibles.
Everyone wears the same kind of hat. If your hat blows off or falls off during the race, you're disqualified.
No trying to knock off each other's hats. No adhesives.
New AU idea GothTale: Undertale but everyone is emo
3D printing but it's with snakes
A good life is lived on the half beat.
And is filled full with the absurd, and contradicts itself often.
And all our time spent is either sex and/or distractions from death.
And a lot of arguments begin with miscommunication and live on longer than they should because we make up excuses for our honor.
And money and comforts are wasted if they're not in service of big wrinkly laughs and smiles.
And is too short for me not to feel warm and rosy by the color pink or cry during good books and movies or care if other dudes think it's weird that I like Hello Kitty.
And is too long for me to hate people for loving who they love or what they believe in or when they cut in front of me at the market or lie to me about needing change for the bus but they're really buying beer, it's all okay if they come to me with a smile or positivity, because everyone deserves dignity and sometimes an asshole is an asshole and a nice person is a nice person.
it really doesn't matter to me if the earth is flat or round or that a god (or goddess) exists or doesn't exist or aliens built the pyramids because none of that stopped my step father from getting drunk and beating me or my mom and it didn't stop my mom from dying from cancer.
And seeing how free she was in old pictures, living like unapologetic wildfire, bending time and space to her terms I could finally love her as an individual and outside the context of a mother.
not being embarrassed anymore by how I look because those looks are the living history of the great women before me.
And that none of this is any kind of new revelation.
I am from Maize
and the Morning Glory
whose silent bent heads
bring memories of
obedient wives.
I am from pensive
and the introverts,
from fear and leather belts,
whose proud strikes
bruises bloom,
and the flowing crimson
tastes of copper.
I am from lands
where frail leaves
refuse to change
whose wilted and stunted
vines still remember
the mother root.
and the death of great women
whose stories remain
untold.
My ice cream is always exactly 15% ice creamier after I see her.
Her science holds up.
She says, I love you
but what she really says is,
"tell me you love me."
My silence
does not sit well with her
Like Eve of Eden
she suddenly becomes aware
of her own nakedness,
fashioning clothes out of bedsheets
pulling them towards herself
with a hint of disdain.
I don't blame her,
her reaction is justified.
I have been in her place before.
City lights,
so unique.
sidewalks,
mostly the same.
I don't think our love was like any storybook,
We worked like cold, clinically drafted plans.
She told me exactly what she needed to build foundations, as I did for her.
And we both learned to be architects along the way.
We learned to read instructions written in two different languages, the hidden meaning of gestures.
Reenforcing weakness and learning failure points.
It may not be as exciting as any great book but I know what it will look like in the end.
.... because she comes with a troubleshooting section.
The stains of human history
can never be erased,
only masked over until tolerable.
I once lived a very Eeyore-ian life. Now I am tickled pink at the absurdity of it all. The contradictions and hypocriticals of living an authentic life.
Short Poem
She set sail from the harbor on the last remaining ship, she had burnt all the rest.
I couldn't blame her. I understood why she did it,
as I stood on the shore with all my baggage in hand.
Idea.
If I was Burger King I'd make a better Whopper and call it The Whoppest.
What if there was a line of santas that existed, and only one can be registered as the true santa once the previous one dies. And all their life, they are taught how to be a good santa. Like a secret society that noone knows about, only santas.
If I ever become an English teacher, I'm going to start one class by asking, "Who has never read or written a fanfic and is proud of that?" And then after a few people raise their hands, I'm going to say, "After today, that will change." Then I will give them an assignment of writing fanfic and posting it on AO3. Whoever gets the most kudos gets extra credit.
Stupid Idea
Worm on a string dating simulator.
I’m actually doing it.