dayminder

A little desensitizing never hurt anybody ... :)

(Source: fiti-vation, via weareathletes)

(Source: bryonyb, via streetetiquette)

it is just so good. I appreciate sounds. And he knows what he’s doing. I don’t care if its cliche, popular, taboo, outdated, whatever … He knows what he’s doing.

Faux

Another fallen gladiator of recklessness.  26 is nostalgic and youthful.  I can just make out a horizon of petrifying future expectations.  I don’t recognize my consciousness and I can’t begin to speculate what that means.  I’ve surrendered to the “professionals” and their theories on my psyche’s evolution … or revolution … either being applicable.  

Days past remain monotonous.  I realize that expletive is overused.  Expletive is certainly correct.  In what other way would you define a word so terrifying and damnable?  

I fear, now.  In years prior, there wasn’t an adventure I’d recoil from.  Be it a mental, emotional, subconscious journey into the figurative unknown or be it an actual quest for debauchery, adrenaline and a feeling of connect in its purest form.  I’m jealous of the movies and their raw emotion accompanied always by the perfect score.  Evoking proper response always seems to come so easily by way of movies or network television.  I drown in the exact reactions they strive for.  If nothing else, it makes me feel less alive instead of moreso … because in order to experience those on my own, I need the perfect counterpart to drown along with me.  I’m certain that the romance in merely living is my only true desire.  The more times I dive into its possibility, the more painful it becomes.  It’s proved an invaluable creative outlet.  Pain surely does equate to beauty in all the ways my romance requires it.

I fear, now.  I’m losing my ability to control time and space per my own existence.  I’ve plateaued.  At one time, the future was for my molding and taking.  My failures and even triumphs have yielded a new, psychological response that I’m not altogether sure that I have any control over.   I live in a world where my rawest need is for song lyrics and movie scores to be real-life explanations of our human condition.  Sadly, to wish for a connection based on anything other than the rational is to be juvenile.  In of itself, that is the greatest failure of humankind.

I digress and remain unwavered, still.  To be jaded is to surrender yourself to age, experience and disappointment.  It’s not plausible to attempt explanation of what creative stimuli evoke in the way of passion and possibility and it’s far underestimated.

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The Mindset of a CrossFitter

my second job

my second job

(Source: suppleleopardchacha)

“Your body is a temple, love, and it makes me wanna cry …”

Lemon Water

Myriad Creatures ensures a viable creative atmosphere.  My struggles for weeks have overtaken the right sphere, rendering my intelligence lost.  I’ve been putting up various  ”away” messages.  Remember those?  Nothing more than an excuse to have vacancy on your mind.  Missing in action.  Away from my desk right now.  Out of office.  In case of an emergency … go to hell.

I’ve discovered certain somethings that provide my innovative lifeblood. Some … well, most … are extremely painful.  The disconnect between my peers and myself.  The disconnect between what I inferred from my surrounding versus what the reality is.  The world has changed so much from the stories I’ve read and heard, passed through the grapevine from grandparent to parent to child.  Each filled with the light of promise, intrigue and possibility.  Brimming over with love; whatever that actually means.  The illusion has grown far dimmer at 26.  How dismal my outlook must be, you assume.  Well, no.  I falter often, almost as though its my destiny to do so over and over again, learning and re-learning the same lessons with subtle differences.  Each time, determined to regain an appreciation for love and truth, in their rarest of forms.  Each interaction substantiates my claim that goodness exists, masked every so masterfully behind all those things I’ve come to love as a “millenial.”  Online presences and phantom texts prove outlets for deception … moreso than they are outlets for open communication.  Technology implores us to reconnect … to regain our relationship with one another … instead we abuse our privilege long enough to have our cake and eat it too.  Forging new relationships quickly eliminates romance, chivalry and the hopefulness in a new conversation.  The spark is extinct.  Replaced by a fuck.  Setting into motion a new mess of uncertainty created from the lack of disclosure.  Does any of this make sense?  

The world we live in is a far stretch from the one I remember.

“Feel the fear. Do it anyway.”