The Shining

I had a really weird dream about the Shining. It was like I was in the movie, except the mom died at the end, and not the dad. Or something.

It was really weird and scares me, despite the fact that the dream itself wasn’t too scary.

Anyways, here’s some hot chicks in panties:

And is this one even wearing panties? We may never know…

This one isn’t even bothering. What a lazy slob.

She doesn’t have a vagina… So it’s not really pornographic.

Anyways, after looking at these images on a particular imageboard, someone poasted a picture of the cover of the book, The Shining.

That tripped me out and there’s nothing worse than being tripped out at fucking 3:21 pm, so I’m going to sleep.

Ed, Edd and Eddy

My favourite show as a child was none other than Ed Edd and Eddy.

I did this sketch not too long ago in the likeness of this deviantart artist: 14-bis.

The drawing is not that great, it took me about 10 minutes at 3 am, and the quality of the picture is shit, but this post is not about that sketch.

This post is a homage to that great show.

I still remember why I liked it so much at my age. These characters lived in a world of their own with no adults or parental guidance, no school, no church, nothing that could possibly deter them from their ultimate goal: having fun and eating jawbreakers.

Whta’s sad is that most teenage shows include and are ultimately based upon the presence of school, teachers, and parents.

Is that honestly how we view our lives as adolescents? Run by institutions, guided by adults? Whatever happened to hanging out and having fun and not worrying about school?

Maybe I’m immature, or living in the past, or thinking up fantasies.

I guess that’s what happens when you drop out of high school. You stop thinking like the institutionalized, braindead drone they teach you to be and regain the free spirit and love for fun you once had as a kid.

I wouldn’t trade it for any degree or any amount of money in the world, though.

I want to make a diary

I never have time to write in my real diary with pens & pencils, and the notepad on my old computer is sitting within a pile of bits and computer chips, unreachable by me.

 

i used to write such a long, interesting, detailed and funny stories about my life.

 

sigh.

To Carve Love on her Skull

fuck the title

Childhood love is a bliss that is never felt again.

When it is lost you crash and then you ponder, and come to the realization that this sweet feeling is too easily lost, and you never feel anything like it again; it is taken away from you, to vulnerable to ever return. Some lucky few can hold onto it forever, but are they so lucky? How do you grow without pain, how can you know love unless you know the true opposite?

I think it is possible, with gentle coaxing, to feel such a strong feeling again. Only if you are a strong soul, a soul that can take numerous beatings; after all, isn’t that what love is?

Few know the true essence of love, and many more adults claim teenagers, children, cannot truly be in love, but I feel the opposite. In fact, I think it is children who know true love, and learn it by simply being innocents.

They know love is not selfish but the opposite, it is selfless. It is a love for the other person and the desire to benefit the other, not yourself. It is about suffering, and making yourself to suffer in order to please, and while many feminists crying domestic abuse may bemoan me, they take it the wrong way.

Suffering to please simply means there must be some tragedy in order to strengthen your adoration. As they say, “absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

On the other hand, claims that “I am always thinking of them – I must be in love!” is so very wrong, I wonder why it is such a prevailing idea. You think of them for your own benefit, it is a selfish thing. You think of them because you want to be loved, and they are there to fulfill that desire. 

Love is often a dependency, one person needing the other because they fill their dependencies. One is lonely, and the other is always available; meanwhile, the available one needs to be depended on to feel worthwhile.

That was sketchily written, but I can’t think of a better way to put it. It is simply the truth that neither does a thing to satisfy the other, directly.

A childhood love – or first love – is one of the most selfless we can have, and also the one we look back most fondly on.

Is it really only because it was the first? Or is it because the passion was never the same afterwards, and such strong feelings always linger in us?

Or is the selflessness guilty for such fond memories?

House on the Lake

Somewhere on the lake is a little cabin house, hidden within the fields of flowers and deep green grasses, and gating the forest. In this house amazing things happen, every single day. A mind that is not affected by the mundane, conformist thinking of institutions of social situations brews here. Without the presence of these monstrous machines, love is created, for the self, others, nature, beauty, innocence, and even God herself.

For Mother Nature does not care how many things you have accumulated in your life. She does not care about your contacts, connections, and all the friends you’ve made by being the person you think is socially acceptable.

In that house on the lake, you love yourself and no one ever tells you to hate you.

There’s no reason to.

Startling Notices

1. I care more about the purity of my acid virginity than my actual, sex virginity.

What the hell is wrong with me

The Cotton Bear

This ferocious bear painting illustrates the life of a lonely drifter, trying to understand the complexities of the world and search for ultimate happiness.

And maybe a sexy man-bear to cuddle up to :3

Dandelion Lake?

Proof I have NO business writing a long novel.

I GET BORED OF IDEAS SO FAST.