Convenience

I Know That Feel, Bro — Chris Gerringer.Chris Gerringer knows...

Sat, 17 Mar 2012 17:51:09 +0000

I Know That Feel, Bro — Chris Gerringer.
Chris Gerringer knows that feel. And it turns out, several different characters from across the geek globe know that feel too, linking them in ways that brings them all closer together. Whether it’s mourning dead parents with Batman and Harry Potter, tight living spaces with Pikachu and Aladdin’s Genie, or the demoted scientific status of the Triceratops and Pluto. I know most (hip) people have probably seen some of these before, but Chris’ series is so endearing and so right fucking on that it deserves one last look. I hope you know that feel too.

Artist: deviantart / tumblr / society6

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huriicane: by worldenough

Sun, 11 Mar 2012 22:54:49 +0000

huriicane:

by worldenough

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Sun, 11 Mar 2012 22:53:48 +0000

4fangs: (by no sex, bone dragon)

Sun, 11 Mar 2012 22:53:34 +0000

4fangs:

(by no sex, bone dragon)

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Sun, 11 Mar 2012 22:50:34 +0000

"amor é estar chateado e triste, mas nem isso deixar transparecer. apenas quando o orgulho quebrar,..."

Sun, 11 Mar 2012 22:38:17 +0000

“amor é estar chateado e triste, mas nem isso deixar transparecer. apenas quando o orgulho quebrar, ou a saudade apertar, e mostrar isso.
amor é dizer coisas a frio, mas no nano-segundo a seguir, estarmos tão arrependidos que o coração nos cai aos pés.
amor é morar junto, e discutir, e sair de casa. mas nem chegar a sair do prédio.
amor é nervosismo, são filmes na cabeça.
amor é querer.
amor é aceitar, amor é perder.
amor é, por vezes, não ver o que se passa.
amor é dormir junto.
amor é amor.
amor é dizer parvoíces e rir.
amor é chorar porque sim.
amor é rir porque não.
amor é querer tanto mas tanto, que se perde o apetite.
amor é presença, mas também distância.
amor requer carinho.
amor requer jeito.
amor vem e não se sabe quando passa.
amor são planos.
amor são sonhos.
amor é vermelho.
amor é azul, e verde, e preto, amarelo e branco.
amor é prazer.
amor é respeito.
amor é amor.
amor é dar a vida por amor.
amor é às vezes acabar bem, e outras mal.
amor é dormir, e comer e ter rugas.
amor é pintar.
amor é família.
amor é droga, como nós amamos a droga.
amor é vicio.
amor é rir do nome da pessoa.
amor é viver.
amor é amizade.
amor é cheirar bem.
amor é rir muito.
amor é pequeno e grande.
amor és tu
amortu
amotu
amote
amo-te”

- http://mandavirmaisqueestediajapassou.blogspot.com/

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What happens if you fall in love with a writer?

Sun, 22 Jan 2012 15:16:27 +0000

What happens if you fall in love with a writer?:

honestlivinghonestliving:

Lots of things might happen. That’s the thing about writers. They’re unpredictable. They might bring you eggs in bed for breakfast, or they might all but ignore you for days. They might bring you eggs in bed at three in the morning. Or they might wake you up for sex at three in the morning. Or make love at four in the afternoon. They might not sleep at all. Or they might sleep right through the alarm and forget to get you up for work. Or call you home from work to kill a spider. Or refuse to speak to you after finding out you’ve never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. Or spend the last of the rent money on five kinds of soap. Or sell your textbooks for cash halfway through the semester. Or leave you love notes in your pockets. Or wash you pants with Post-It notes in the pockets so your laundry comes out covered in bits of wet paper. They might cry if the Post-It notes are unread all over your pants. It’s an unpredictable life.

But what happens if a writer falls in love with you?

This is a little more predictable. You will find your hemp necklace with the glass mushroom pendant around the neck of someone at a bus stop in a short story. Your favorite shoes will mysteriously disappear, and show up in a poem. The watch you always wear, the watch you own but never wear, the fact that you’ve never worn a watch: they suddenly belong to characters you’ve never known. And yet they’re you. They’re not you; they’re someone else entirely, but they toss their hair like you. They use the same colloquialisms as you. They scratch their nose when they lie like you. Sometimes they will be narrators; sometimes protagonists, sometimes villains. Sometimes they will be nobodies, an unimportant, static prop. This might amuse you at first. Or confuse you. You might be bewildered when books turn into mirrors. You might try to see yourself how your beloved writer sees you when you read a poem about someone who has your middle name or prose about someone who has never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. These poems and novels and short stories, they will scatter into the wind. You will wonder if you’re wandering through the pages of some story you’ve never even read. There’s no way to know. And no way to erase it. Even if you leave, a part of you will always be left behind.

If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

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