VIDEO ESSAYS 2 (PT. 1)
The Adorkable Misogyny of The Big Bang Theory
what happens to youtubers after they “expire?”
the problem with aesthetics
QUEERING THE SLASHER: SCREAM
why you hate learning
Heterofatalism: WHY straight women aren’t okay.
How David Fincher Uses Pop Music
Dunkirk - The Art Of Fear
THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E. (2015): Style Vs. Substance
Homosexuality Is Not Moral And Here’s Why
Alternative self help is brainwashing you.
How To Harm Your Audience - Wonder Woman 1984
Dark Academia: The Corruptive Allure of Aesthetic Beauty
TW: trigger warnings aren’t helping you
How CAGE THE ELEPHANT Overcame Their Fear of Music
Netflix’s Decisions are a Very Funny Joke
What Makes Disney Villains so Gay?
Succession Deserves the Hype
the problem with teen dramas
Miss Congeniality’s Mixed Messages | Good & Bad Takeaways
The Lotus Blossom Stereotype - Dangers of the Asian Fetish
How To Do A Fight Scene
Why the Media NEEDED Joker to Fail
you’re not s3xually liberated, you’re 16
Why You Should Stop Using Times New Roman
Why a movie like Who Framed Roger Rabbit will NEVER be made again
The Babadook: The New Physicality of Ghosts in Horror
Get Out — A New Perspective in Horror
Why The Shining is Terrifying
The Importance of Horror (Why Horror Movies Don’t Suck)
Vaping: A Lesson in Irony
I don’t have a dream job: self-help scam or revolutionary concept?
How To Do A Plot Twist
Hunger Games clones and how they work
Why The End of Jenna Marbles Is The End of Authenticity
This Angel YA romance killed my ability to feel joy or love
tiktok is kind of bad for fashion
The Problem with Museums
Is TikTok Hurting the Music Industry?
I HATE “Guilty Pleasure” Music (A Rant)
our obsession with glowing up
Triumph of the Will and the Cinematic Language of Propaganda
Talent Belongs to the Beautiful - How Media Manipulates your Tastes
Edgar Wright - How to Do Visual Comedy
NIETZSCHE: THE MAN WHO VIBE CHECKED GOD
KANYE EXPLAINED: A Guide To Bipolar Disorder & Creativity
Sleep is Just Death Being Shy
This Is NOT How People Talk
Men In Black International — How to Build a Toxic Hero
How Spielberg Shoots A Film At 3 Budget Levels
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How to write a metaphor:
And then Isaac will suffer
Concorde will fly.
"Concorde", Black Country New Road
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I think I'll have a panic attack today. Or an anxiety one. I don't know the difference, honestly. Just the feeling. It's a realisation of all the weight that you have atop your shoulders and of your solitude in holding it all up.
I had numerous realisations yesterday. I realised I don't really do things for myself. Somewhere at their latent core, all my deeds are done directed outwards. Why do I party? Because I might miss out and I'm supposed to live my youth to the fullest. Because that is the image etched into my brain. Why do I do most things? Because other human beings, like myself, are sad and pathetic and the idea of making someone happy is enticing.
Oh, and also. I realise I pity almost everyone. I feel bad for every single soul on the face of the earth, because well, everyone's fighting their demons and scaling their mountains. So yes, I'm allowed to botch about people, but I'm also supposed to recognise the granite grey their lives are. Everyone has reasons, influences, angels and heroes that make them what they are.
I could just never extend either line of reasoning all the way to myself. I ran out of chalk or a soft drizzle erased it all midway. So I ended up with this sharp dislike for myself. Crystal, green. Sharp enough to make your eyes bleed. But just fine enough to escape vision. No one sees it. I forget it frequently too.
Sometimes I try to tell people of this chain binding your heart, digging into it. But I've enveloped myself in too many abstractions. Any kink in the way I talk will give away the fetus hidden beyond the amnion. Hence, I talk weird. In metaphors and slight directions towards the final destination. Because, obviously I cannot talk in simple words and tell people I'm lonely or weak or one of my hundred other flaws. That would be utterly aromantic. Can't have that, no. I certainly cannot let my insecurities peek out. But we digress. I give people poems and expect them to figure the riddle out.
My desire to be seen. And my desire to be seen by only the intelligent and the sensitive. They lead to my current stasis. No one sees me and the more people I meet, the stronger my belief of never being understood grows.
I've grown mature over the years. I saw a junior writing an elongated post on him being misunderstood and mislabeled and his qualms with the realm of small talk. I thought that was an immature thing to do, laying yourself bare before the people. They'd label it all an attention grab. They don't get you like I get you and I hope I could tell you to let go. But I'm mature, unlike the kid. I keep to myself and talk to no one about anything I care about and laugh off the deaths of people near me because crying is so edgy and futile.
But sometimes I just.
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i like your shoelaces :)
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What happens to the best dreams we tell no one about?
I have poor memory. How do I tell her I dreamed about her?
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So, where do we go?
I'm awake at 2:07 A. M. Ideally, I shouldn't be. It's not so much about physical health, or the related, as much as it is about loneliness. No one's awake, is the issue. I don't want to talk to the people who are awake right now, is the issue. I can't type this out to the person I want to type it out to, because obviously I do not want to come off as some sort of sad, creepy person just flooding them with my minor inconveniences.
I open WhatsApp. No messages. Except shitpost happening in the college undergrad group. I deactivated Insta a few days ago. It was too much. I thought of getting back there. But then again, no one would be there either. No point in installing multiple walls with different colour schemes on them.
Passive scrolling is different. I want to actively type. I want to talk to someone. About things that I actually want to talk about. About how pathetic I've become and how I can't find a way out. My friends call me attention seeking if I type out anything weird in the group. They don't mean it (they genuinely don't, it's just a circlejerk) but it hurts. And I don't feel like talking to them. The one person who's absolutely nice to me has already slept off. Her sleep schedule isn't as messed up as mine.
So here I am. Because I have no idea of where else to go. This is actually nice, writing all this. I don't want to die, I honestly don't. But I want to run away. Far, far away. And I will; if only someone tells me where I'll be at peace.
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Sue Law: The Life and Death of a Relationship (2007)
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