Inkhorn

I dreamt of you

Sat, 01 Sep 2012 08:21:04 -0400

And you looked so happy, it made me want to invent a machine that could funnel these wishes into a reality for you.

Declaration of intent

Sat, 25 Aug 2012 22:00:50 -0400

I’m not here to “fix” you—though I wish I could mend the bits they broke off of you—I just want to show you what true, selfless caring and affection is like.

Conundrum

Mon, 20 Aug 2012 10:59:52 -0400

All I wanted to say is that sometimes, when you’re trying your best not to like someone so much, they end up being an individual with a lot more pluses in their personalities than cons.

Where the crap were we about two years earlier? Oh. Yeah. Involved in messy relationships with people who we couldn’t help but love.

I’m going to stop writing, because this is starting to sound like an opening monologue of a RomCom.

I made the lamest metaphor in the history of metaphors

Fri, 17 Aug 2012 02:09:01 -0400

Acknowledging it. I like to leave up stupid things so I can look back on it and …hopefully not feel so bad for having whatever thought I had floating in my mind moments before. I don’t think I can top that one.

Oh, oh--

Fri, 17 Aug 2012 02:06:00 -0400

It’s really no one’s business, but you know when something happens to you and you just want to scream it to everyone and no one at the same time?* It’s a sort of secret that’s so great, you wish everyone knew, yet wanted to keep the spark in your heart, all to yourself.

Having that right now.

And you’re my everyone, and my no one.

So here it goes.

He makes me feel special.

Cherished, but free.

So not like a Monet at the Tate Modern, but like someone putting up a frame around street art.

I can’t even really describe it without succumbing to a gushy mess.

Really, he was a good decision, and I’m glad we like each other, with no expectations.

God, can I get more vague? Jesus.

*Totally, maybe a run-on

It's two in the morning

Fri, 17 Aug 2012 02:02:51 -0400

And my brain decided, “Hey, you, you know what would be an awesome thing to do? Design your tattoo.”

To which I said, “You know what, that’s a lot better than trying not to think of zombie-esque vampires standing over my prone, semi-conscious body whenever I close my eyes.”

My noodle is a persuasive bastard, she is.

There’s a funny caption here, somewhere.

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 22:26:25 -0400

There’s a funny caption here, somewhere.

Photo

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 22:21:32 -0400

Photo

Sat, 09 Jun 2012 01:01:43 -0400

You read the best things from reddit

Mon, 28 May 2012 03:36:14 -0400

[–]ariiiiigold

A friend told me that I was his personal Gandhi because I changed his life for the better by introducing him to the defecating method which I refer to as: The Shitting Nest.

You lace the seat of the toilet with quilted toilet paper (for sturdiness, though it also adds comfort) and then proceed to crouch atop the seat as if you were a hen laying an egg. Not only does this help one’s body propel the poo out more easily (or so I read somewhere), but the act of crouching naturally seperates one’s cheeks and opens the arsehole, thus allowing for a much deeper clean - as well as providing easier access to the penis. When peeing, I often pretend I’m a fireman with my penis acting as a hose.

“There’s a fire at 31 King Street!” radios the operator.

“Truck 501 checking into command, we’re in the area - we got this“

I then wrap my hand around my penis and proceed to extinguish the fire, complete with sound effects.

Being serious for a moment, not only is the shitting nest a viable solution to a cleaner, shinier arsehole - it also provides a unique perspective on the act of emptying one’s bladder. As the urine gushes out majestically - one can but marvel at the sheer beauty and intricacy of the human body. What cogs and wheels must turn for our body to achieve this remarkable feat. The minute it takes for the bladder to empty, with nothing but the sound of urine trinkling, is also a welcome reprieve from the noise and hecticity of everyday life.

P.S. When crouched atop the seat, you can also extend your arms fully and recreate the famous scene from The Titanic in your own bathroom. Take in a netbook with Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On and, baby, you’ve got a full-blown Hollywood reenactment going. You could even pretend to be an eagle… or a plane if you wish, your call. Eagles are badass motherfuckers, though.

Mind. Blown. So he was naked the entire time.

Mon, 28 May 2012 00:18:16 -0400

gingerhaze:

So you know how Loki changes his clothes by ~shimmering~ in the Avengers

What if he’s not actually wearing anything

What if his clothes are just an illusion

because dreams do come true (mother fuckers!)

Sun, 27 May 2012 23:52:52 -0400

animalstalkinginallcaps:

There was a time, long ago, in a world not unlike our own, where a writer would produce a manuscript after many laborious hours spent hunched over a typewriter of such heft and weight it could easily be used to bludgeon a burglar to death. Writers would not bash ne’er-do-wells’ heads in, of course, for multiple reasons, chief among them being that writers have nothing of value to burgle so the situation rarely arose (but also because those barely-movable metal contraptions were precious to them, strange alchemical chambers where sweat and little drops of whiskey and the smoke from a thousand cigarettes entered, and beautifully amateurish fiction emerged. This did not make typewriters expensive or burgle-worthy, just neat).

Read More

And after that, I succumb to shallow vanity again. I can’t...

Wed, 23 May 2012 11:38:37 -0400

And after that, I succumb to shallow vanity again. I can’t help it, man can walk.

Animalstalkinginallcaps gets romantic. And inspiring. Just...shit, this man is awesome.

Wed, 23 May 2012 11:34:14 -0400

animalstalkinginallcaps:

This is personal stuff and bad jokes and wedding updates and free (great) music, not yammering lemurs in capslock, so skip it if you’re not interested in that sort of thing.

Read More

It goes to show that some of the best humour writers have big hearts and talents. And, excuse the cheese and onslaught of weirdly mixed metaphors, but this snapshot into one man’s life makes me believe in the beauty of humanity.

Jesus, where was that mixed metaphor? I’m bad at keeping my promises.

Photo

Wed, 23 May 2012 11:03:39 -0400

danceabletragedy: by Brianna Reagan

Wed, 23 May 2012 11:02:51 -0400

danceabletragedy:

by Brianna Reagan

killercams: Kitty Avengers!

Wed, 23 May 2012 11:01:32 -0400

killercams:

Kitty Avengers!

I haven’t torn my eyes off the loop, yet (except to post...

Fri, 18 May 2012 22:38:36 -0400

I haven’t torn my eyes off the loop, yet (except to post this, but the images are burned into the back of my retinas anyway).

First Tom Felton, now Tom(!) Hiddleston. Conclusion: I like my...

Wed, 16 May 2012 23:30:19 -0400

First Tom Felton, now Tom(!) Hiddleston.

Conclusion: I like my men with high foreheads. Fucking Yum*

*That part was a joke, I swear it.

Oh you soft, sad heart

Wed, 16 May 2012 23:03:24 -0400

It’s not the fear of rejection,it’s the fear of never finding that home.

Not loneliness, but that a drive for validation that pushes you to take that leap.

There’s shelter in your own arms; don’t abandon what you have just because your eyes are too busy getting fat from looking at other pastures.

…What’s with the mixed analogies, bro?