maybe life is all about waking up every day and trying to learn how to appreciate the beauty of the world without allowing the ugliness of everything that has happened to me in the past to interfere with it
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when you keep yourself small all the time (swallowing the words you want to say, seeing everybody else as though they’re automatically above you, downplaying your feelings and achievements), the entire world will constantly be looming over you. that’s not the way to live your life. you’re supposed to be experiencing it, not be subjected to it. (this is your sign to take up more space)
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“Well, I have said this in the past, so I hope i don’t bore you by repeating it, but I think that we live or die under the tyranny of perfection. Socially, we are pushed towards being perfect. Physically, beautiful to conform to standards that are cruel and uncommon, to behave and lead our lives in a certain way, to demonstrate to the world that we are happy and healthy and all full of sunshine. We are told to always smile and never sweat, by multiple commercials of shampoo or beer. And I feel that the most achievable goal of our lives is to have the freedom that imperfection gives us. And there is no better patron saint of imperfection than a monster. We will try really hard to be angels, but I think that a balanced, sane life is to accept the monstrosity in ourselves and others as part of what being human is. Imperfection, the acceptance of imperfection, leads to tolerance and liberates us from social models that I find horrible and oppressive.”
— Guillermo del Toro, on why he has always been intrigued by monsters [x] (via radiophile)
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Growing up fat, you get made fun of for everything you do, even basic shit like eating and laughing and breathing are funny when you do it because youre fat! And its so hard to not carry that with you as you get older, like I’m still embarassed to eat or dance in front of people or smile in pictures and its ridiculous and I hate it and I wish I was treated with more humanity
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auto suggest bewilders me
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Vincent van Gogh (1853–1890), Wild roses
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the idealized version of my tomorrow self will fix this
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Watching a solar eclipse from a rooftop in Rotterdam, Netherlands, April 17, 1912.
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I'm built different. like incorrectly i think
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What the Living Do, Marie Howe
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Eclipse, ink and gelly rolls on 27x36cm paper.
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You still have time to change!
(Words sewn into a leaf)
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