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freedom within

ask me something :)   show me sumthin cool. i dare ya. :)   i want to be like water: to slip through fingers but hold up a ship

twitter.com/TheCrazyKat:

    If you haven’t already, read The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

    If you haven’t already, read The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

    — 1 year ago with 2 notes

    #favorite  #books  #reading  #literature  #adventure  #discovery 
    keystomykingdom:

This is my 1000th post, and I’d like to reblog some words from Bending Submission because he’s been an inspiration from the beginning. Happy 1000th post!
bendingsubmission:

Here’s what I believe.
Men should be able to do this using only words. No hands, no lips, and by all means no cock. No excuses accepted. No women allowed to believe they just aren’t capable of this.
Consider it part of the bar exam for manhood.
Other tests might involve adept use of chain saws, replacing a timing belt, navigation by stars, or defending yourself against wild mammals over 200 pounds.
But this? This is a prerequisite.
Once men can do this with words and their women can slide a hand down to feel the results, so many other things will be so much better.


talk me to this and i’m yours forever

    keystomykingdom:

    This is my 1000th post, and I’d like to reblog some words from Bending Submission because he’s been an inspiration from the beginning. Happy 1000th post!

    bendingsubmission:

    Here’s what I believe.

    Men should be able to do this using only words. No hands, no lips, and by all means no cock. No excuses accepted. No women allowed to believe they just aren’t capable of this.

    Consider it part of the bar exam for manhood.

    Other tests might involve adept use of chain saws, replacing a timing belt, navigation by stars, or defending yourself against wild mammals over 200 pounds.

    But this? This is a prerequisite.

    Once men can do this with words and their women can slide a hand down to feel the results, so many other things will be so much better.

    talk me to this and i’m yours forever

    — 2 years ago with 3894 notes

    #favorite  #mindfuck  #words make waves  #hot 
    «Kafka on the Shore» Haruki Murakami [reader] →

    MUST read. seriously. if you’ve been ruminating on what it is about the dessert that changes us so well, this one’s for you. cat lover? read this. cuz you know why.

    — 2 years ago

    #book  #favorite  #transformation  #capricorn  #expansion  #progression  #karma  #adventure  #life 
    How about we play our little game?

    "How about we play our game?" he says.

    "All right," I say. I close my eyes and quietly take a deep breath.

    "Okay, picture a terrible sandstorm," he says. "Get everything else out of your head."

    I do what he says, get everything else out of my head. I forget who i am, even. I’m a total blank. Then things start to surface. Things that — as we sit here on the old leather sofa in my father’s study — both of us can see.

    "Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing direction," Crow says.

    Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing direction.

    You change direction, but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the sandstorm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you.

    This storm is you.

    Something inside you.

    So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverised bones.

    That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

    And that’s exactly what I do. I imagine a white funnel stretching up vertically like a think rope. My eyes are closed tight, hands cupped over my ears, so those fine grains of sand can’t blow inside me. The sandstorm draws steadily closer. I can feel the air pressing on my skin. It really is going to swallow me up.

    The boy called Crow softly rests a hand on my shoulder, and with that the storm vanishes.

    "From now on— no matter what— you’ve got to be the world’s toughest fifteen-year-old. That’s the only way you’re going to survive. And in order to do that, you’ve got to figure out what it means to be tough. You following me?"

    I keep my eyes closed and don’t reply. I just want to sink off into sleep like this, his hand on my shoulder. I hear the faint flutter of wings.

    "You’re going to be the world’s toughest fifteen-year-old," Crow whispers as I try to fall asleep. Like he was carving words in a deep blue tattoo on my heart.

    And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical storm.

    No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it:

    it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades.

    People will bleed there, you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

      And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over.

    But one thing is for certain.

    When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

    On my fifteenth birthday I’ll run away from home, journey to a far-off town, and live in a corner of a small library.

       It sounds a little like a fairy tale. But it’s no fairy tale, believe me.

    No matter what sort of spin you put on it.

    Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami

    — 3 years ago

    #books  #kafka on the shore  #murakami  #favorite