inkskinned:

i think “i wish platonic dates with friends were a thing” is another way of saying “i want a deep emotional intimacy.” it’s a new age. shallow friends are easy to find and hard to let go. the two of you can sit for coffee, talking about nothing, secretly texting under the table that you want to leave. she begs you to come to the party but abandons you once you’re through the door. he won’t talk to you outside of class, won’t even look at you even though two weeks ago you kissed. 

it’s the age of the internet and our empathy is evolving. yes, isn’t long-distance now so easy. there’s a lot we have to be thankful for.

but there’s a lot that’s changing. there’s no words for the emotion you feel when someone is taking a picture with you that you know is only happening because they want to look fun and popular and you’re a prop; there’s no word for when you know it’s because you’re uglier than them and it makes them look good - there’s no word for watching people socialize for social media credit. we know it happens. not just “hang on let me take a picture of my food.” not just “i’ve got to text my mom back, one sec.” i mean that strange distance between two people who comment on each other’s posts but cannot connect in person. i mean you pour out your soul on twitter but then clam up in person. i mean internet loneliness; the sensation of 212 thousand followers and still so empty, knowing if the plane goes down, the ocean of the internet will wash out your memory. 

“i want a friend date,” she says, and he snorts - you mean friends?

it’s hard, sometimes. finding a best friend. when i was little i had an assignment about it. i remember crying in the hallway because i didn’t have one. everyone else in class did. i wrote about my shadow. i didn’t fit in. over the years i’ve had a couple. one turned out pure evil. a few were my best friend but i wasn’t theirs, in the end. a lot just drifted from me until we were only friends by nostalgia, not connection. but i ached for the feeling of a best friend the whole time: the person you can be silent with, the person you can be wild with, the person you can be 100% yourself with.

we live in a society where romance is said to be the only space you’re allowed to really be close with someone. how many of us have said to make sure you marry your best friend. we know from dating that there exists a kind of connection we don’t always get in our friends - even a platonic one, a connection of spirit, a freedom of behavior. 

i get it. a platonic date sounds wonderful. it’s not hurting anybody. let’s both have three seconds where we’re honest with each other in a raw kind of way. it’s terrifying. or we could just talk about what’s bothering you. i’m also still fucked up about the avatar: the last airbender ending; i also don’t get katara and aang. 

it’s about trust. about vulnerability. so yeah. maybe i’ve done all kinds of platonic-date things. but i’ve also had the opposite happen: the non-friend. someone you don’t want to cut out, not necessarily - but not someone you can tell your secrets to in the end. i think what we’re all asking for is to be less lonely. we want to get close to people, but we don’t want to seem like we’re hitting on somebody. 

come on out with me. we’ll both dress up and drink wine and split the bill and talk about deep things. be best friends for a moment. lord knows i need one. what i’m asking is for a quick moment of emotional intimacy. of reality. of not-just-here-for-the-party. i think a date sounds lovely.

(via inkskinned)

(via mirroir)

banshy:

Asakusa Nights // Liam Wong

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Tired

shorelle:

Finished (or as finished as they’re going to get ><) pieces of Glinda and Elphaba from Wicked, one of my favourite books & adaptations, for the Ladies of Literature charity art project which will be coming out next month (organised by the wonderful Arielle!) :D

(via thewritersramblings)

Louis Wain’s cats as he progressed into schizophrenia.

Louis Wain could have seriously been a Batman villain. A successful English artist he began to paint exclusively cats after extensively painting his dying wife’s cat. He then made a living on children’s books and illustrations of anthropomorphic cats often parodying everyday life. After about 30 years he began to suffer from schizophrenia, theorized to be precipitated by toxoplasmosis, a parasitic infection that can be contracted from cats. After he became too paranoid and violent for his sisters to care for, he was institutionalized at the relatively pleasant Napsbury Hospital , with a garden and colony of cats. Over the next 15 years, he continued to paint cats in increasingly psychedelic depictions.

image

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awwww-cute:
“ “Where should I put these cats?” “Oh, just stack them anywhere
”

awwww-cute:

“Where should I put these cats?” “Oh, just stack them anywhere

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(via aquify)