There's Certainly Nothing Like Playing The Harmonica At Work Because My Boss Sucks At Managing A Business

Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to John Murry, featured in The Letters of John Middleton Murry and Katherine Mansfield

Crazy that God needs a teacHer for something such as language. Being older than time itself (not to mention creating it) must really build up those cobwebs on the memory stores.

Happy Worm Wednesday everyone, today I will *checks notes* turn into a worm and DM my girlfriend

Tropes in writing are cool and fun and all that jazzy shiznit but like, tropes in writers/artists/neurospicy folk is great - and no not stereotypes those suck - because like, you have the AuDHD folk like myself who'll find a specific sensation or texture absolutely repulsive, and then go on and make said sensation or texture the representation or symbol of any and all "evil" or "bad" sides of a piece. Like for me, anything made of microfiber material EW get that shit AWAY-!

Of course I'm gonna villainize that shit.

And then you got the homies who (understandably?? I haven't decided) take shit they're absolutely TERRIFIED of, HORRIFIED to the point it causes them fear that has physical affects, elevated heart rate, sensory overload, worsened anxiety, losing consciousness, panic attacks even- but then thEY'LL GO MAKE SHIT ABOUT IT LIKE SOME HAPPY-ASSED FOOL WHO ADORES THE SHIT WITH NOTHING BUT SAID FEAR- like???

Hi my name is Elvis Las Vegas Jailhouse Hounddog Presley and I have short ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) and soft brown eyes like lovely soil and a lot of people tell me I look like Austin Butler (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a musician but my tassles are straight and golf. I have pale white skin. I'm also a wizard, and I go to a magic school called The King's School of Impersonation in Vegas where I'm in the seventh year (I'm ninety). I'm a rocker (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly gold. I love Las Vegas and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a white jacket with gold tastles around it and slutty shiny boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Vegas. It was sunny and not raining so there was a lot of sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

Someone remind me to learn this lol

tsevhu

Tsevhu [tsɛˈβu] n. constructed art-language made by u/koallary centered around the basis of a free-order volition controlled grammar system and a hidden, non-linear writing system created using koi fish and ripples.

tricky words I always see misspelled in fics: a guide

Viscous/vicious – Viscous is generally used to describe the consistency of blood or other thick liquids. Vicious is used to describe something or someone who is violent. 

Piqued/Peaked/Peeked – To pique someone’s interest is to catch or tease their attention. When something peaks, it reaches its total height or intensity. To peek (at) something is to look briefly, or glance. 

Discrete/Discreet – this is a tough one. Discrete means to be separate, or distinct, i.e., two discrete theories. Conversely, when someone is discreet, they are being secretive or cautious to avoid attention. 

Segue/Segway – one is a transition between things, the other is a thing you can ride at the park and definitely fall off of.

Conscious/Conscience/Conscientious – to be conscious is to be awake, i.e., not unconscious, or to be aware of something. Your conscience is the little voice in your head telling you not to eat the entire pint of ice cream. Finally, to be conscientious is to be good, to do things thoroughly, to be ruled by an inner moral code. 

Hope this helped! Please add more if you think of them!

( ; ´ᴗ ‿ ᴗ`)

PLS STILL BE DOING THIS THE COLLECTION MUST BE INFINITE

Reblog if you're not homophobic

Every url that reblog’s will be written in a book and shown to my homophobic dad. 

As a joke, once, I claimed I was a slut, an absolute whore, for poetry - well, maybe it's not entirely a joke - and you said, "If only I were poetry," - as per joking goes. But, oh, god you are poetry. The rawest kind of poetry. The kind that takes only special glasses to be able to read. You are art in its barest form - like the many interpretations of Lucifer's fall from Heaven. Your very being is the poetry I'd learn; if only to carve into my bones.

For your sake and mine, I hope this version of you - the one I hum soothing lullabies to at night - is merely just one that pays no fee to live on in my subconscious. I'm afraid I cannot repeat this. Im afraid I must. I'm afraid I might learn you were never real.

Franz Kafka, from a letter to Felice Bauer written in 1913, featured in Letters To Felice