「最後は独り」
"A blow job is not a good blow job if the woman makes it seem like a job, it should seem like something she wants to do, somewhere she wants to be. Most people don’t want to be at their job but everyone wants a career. I want to give blow careers."

(via iamtheobject)

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Anonymous: change your url! c:

I’d rather not.

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gonna do it | random

…I’m finally going to sit down and start watching Game of Thrones, courtesy of HBOGo. It’s 4:44 a.m., but I’m going to watch at least one episode before I go to bed.

Let’s see how it goes.

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I’m back.

I’m back.

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Self-Portrait: August 16th/17th, 2011. When I was younger, my pediatrician had this exercise I was expected to perform with every check-up visit. After I’d been asked to remove my clothes and put on the paper dress, the doctor would give me a piece of paper and a pencil and ask me to draw myself. A pretty simple task, in theory - and once she explained that the image could be as exact or as fanciful as I wanted, it was fun too. My so-called self-portraits always included myself (in various arrangements of awkwardly obvious anime-influenced expressions or poses), which was fitting since I was totally incapable of drawing anything remotely close to a real-looking face. I’m fixated on eyes, yes - and mouths and throats - but the rest of the face and associated areas always escapes me.  Still, in every picture there was an intricate (or at least attentively detailed) background and a load of ornate decorations, little complicated patterns and more miniscule details - all of these things were part of what I thought made my pictures pretty and perfect. My self-portrait’s clothing was always a mix of stylish and completely unreal, mostly just the work of whatever I considered cool looking; I wore make-up, wore my hair in ridiculously impossible fashions - sported piercings and tattoos. Whatever appealed. The doctor said it was how I saw myself, not how I actually was. Even back then I wasn’t innocent enough to think the doctor was just interested in my artistic skill (or lack thereof); I recognized a psychological exercise when I saw one. Still, it was fun and I took a little pride in drawing a new picture every time. She kept them all in my file, so I’m sure they’re still floating around out there, though I never did get another peek at most of them. I’d really love to though. I think it’d be cool. But that brings me to this.  Today, for no particular reason, I was doodling in photoshop and decided that I was going to attempt to draw myself. And I did, I suppose - if an exaggeratedly idealized version of me. Or rather, I guess this is the way I see myself… and sometimes wish others could see it too. But what does it say about me… that I lack a face, still? I did that once or twice, too, with my doctor’s portrait assignment. She told me being ‘faceless’ wasn’t something to worry about. She said expressions weren’t necessarily contained to someone’s face, that people often took too much at face value. She told me a lack of a face meant I was willing to look beyond the surface. I don’t know how much I believe that, but…  I couldn’t draw a face this time. That’s all I know. I think her words are comforting.What am I getting at with this? Honestly, I have no idea. My apologies for spamming tumblr with this philosophical/nostalgic nonsense. xD

Self-Portrait: August 16th/17th, 2011.

When I was younger, my pediatrician had this exercise I was expected to perform with every check-up visit. After I’d been asked to remove my clothes and put on the paper dress, the doctor would give me a piece of paper and a pencil and ask me to draw myself. A pretty simple task, in theory - and once she explained that the image could be as exact or as fanciful as I wanted, it was fun too.

My so-called self-portraits always included myself (in various arrangements of awkwardly obvious anime-influenced expressions or poses), which was fitting since I was totally incapable of drawing anything remotely close to a real-looking face. I’m fixated on eyes, yes - and mouths and throats - but the rest of the face and associated areas always escapes me.

Still, in every picture there was an intricate (or at least attentively detailed) background and a load of ornate decorations, little complicated patterns and more miniscule details - all of these things were part of what I thought made my pictures pretty and perfect. My self-portrait’s clothing was always a mix of stylish and completely unreal, mostly just the work of whatever I considered cool looking; I wore make-up, wore my hair in ridiculously impossible fashions - sported piercings and tattoos. Whatever appealed. The doctor said it was how I saw myself, not how I actually was.

Even back then I wasn’t innocent enough to think the doctor was just interested in my artistic skill (or lack thereof); I recognized a psychological exercise when I saw one. Still, it was fun and I took a little pride in drawing a new picture every time. She kept them all in my file, so I’m sure they’re still floating around out there, though I never did get another peek at most of them. I’d really love to though. I think it’d be cool.

But that brings me to this.

Today, for no particular reason, I was doodling in photoshop and decided that I was going to attempt to draw myself. And I did, I suppose - if an exaggeratedly idealized version of me. Or rather, I guess this is the way I see myself… and sometimes wish others could see it too.

But what does it say about me… that I lack a face, still? I did that once or twice, too, with my doctor’s portrait assignment. She told me being ‘faceless’ wasn’t something to worry about. She said expressions weren’t necessarily contained to someone’s face, that people often took too much at face value.

She told me a lack of a face meant I was willing to look beyond the surface.

I don’t know how much I believe that, but…
I couldn’t draw a face this time. That’s all I know.
I think her words are comforting.

What am I getting at with this?
Honestly, I have no idea.

My apologies for spamming tumblr with this philosophical/nostalgic nonsense. xD

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"Try Honesty" - Billy Talent.

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too loud | life

My stepbrother thinks my music was turned up too loud, when he could hear it blasting through my headphones from the other side of the house.

Lol, it probably was. But~ fuck it. I love this song. (^o^)/

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Flowers, from my beloved.

Flowers, from my beloved.

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randomly | life

Woke up from not-nice thoughts and had an insta-cry.

I love BBM.

For keeping her and I just that much closer.

(Now if only we could convince Jules?)

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theme