July 2014 – Page 112 – Just another WordPress site

July 2, 2014

If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories – science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.

Ray Bradbury, Chicken Soup for the Writer’s Soul (via ratmessiah)

July 2, 2014September 17, 2018

July 2, 2014

don-gately:

obscure-affection:

You know what really tickles me??

In The Devils Foot Holmes basically says ‘I don’t fall in love but if I were hypothetically to love someone and they were killed then hypothetically I’d probably kill their murderer’ and then

AND THEN when Watson is shot by Winters in Three Garridebs Holmes literally fucking tells Winters in the presence of Watson that ‘If you had killed Watson, you would have not got out of this room alive.’

Hypothetically.

July 2, 2014

Well, not all of us are in the same weight class so it is hard to say between Hemsworth and Evans. I think they’re pretty evenly matched. I think it would go to the ground. Then I think it’s me, Ruffalo, and Renner in a quote-unquote three-way in which I lay waste to them with sleeper holds but then we cuddle. And then it is Hiddleston versus Johansson if I am not mistaken. That probably just winds up in dinner at a five-star restaurant somewhere.

Robert Downey Jr. on who would win a battle among the Avengers (via mrscatalano)

July 2, 2014

I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while we eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selflies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages.