The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows: sonder -
sonder: n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
“Remember, losing is part of the fun!”
A game over screen I have seen all too many times, from the amazing Faster Than Light.
Prints available here, & you should totes buy one.
Why,Howdy-Owdy You Do?: "You're dead officially, back home." -
The The Doctor used the phrase “back home” while talking to Rose for the last time….because Rose Tyler’s reality was home to The Doctor cause he loved her.
Or not. Most likely not. Probably way off base actually.
Anyways. I finished season 2, and man that was bitter sweet.
I like this show a…
I agree on the body count thing. My main problem with Doctor Who was the writer’s propensity to take the easy way out in the way they connected to the audience.
How do we make the viewer feel sympathy/fear/anxiety/anything at all?
How about we kill that funny guy they’ve known for 20 minutes/the brave young person who volunteered/the innocent bystander/someone’s dog/etc ad nauseam.
Luckily, the show doesn’t just sweep the body count under the rug. It comes up a lot and is often used as moral leverage against the Doctor’s “Blah blah I stand for good!” routine.
I am Andrew Ryan, and I’m here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?
‘No!’ says the man in Washington, ‘It belongs to the poor.’
‘No!’ says the man in the Vatican, ‘It belongs to God.’
‘No!’ says the man in Moscow, ‘It belongs to everyone.’
I rejected those answers; instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose… Rapture, a city where the artist would not fear the censor, where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality, Where the great would not be constrained by the small!
And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well.
(Source: golddoesnotglittler, via itsadani)
My followers are way too nice.
Thanks for the thoughts, peeps.
RE: yesterday’s blog, said thought managed to survive a night of fitful sleep and has me feeling a lot more motivated on life.
I’m often surprised by how quickly my rampant and obnoxiously depressive thought processes can suddenly dissolve upon my waking, and I guess it’s a good sign that I’m feeling better about not feeling like shit all the time.
It’s a bit of a shame that I feel so bound by my circumstances all the time, and that even my favorite thing in the whole wide world, writing, was responsible for several links of the binding chains.
But funnily enough, I’ve written around 1700 words today.
And I’m pretty sure it’s because I basically just convinced myself that I don’t *need* to write in order to be a decent human being.
But I can if it’s something that will make me happy.
I haven’t been very talkative on here, and I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you why that is.
(Okay, in short, I’m unemployed, I haven’t written anything, I live at home, I have a lot of trouble getting to sleep and even more trouble getting out of bed in the morning. It’s gotten more than a little out of hand.)
So, naturally, this blog has been pretty damn quiet for the past few months.
I think the source of all of this is this thought that’s been nagging at me since mid March, and I haven’t talked to anyone about it and I haven’t really even addressed it fully until now.
I think I might need to let go of writing for a bit.
your character discovers he/she has a robotic/mechanical apendage - go!
Me: Hey, check it out, I have a robotic appendage!
Robot Elbow: Yeah!
Me: Cool, what can you do?
Robot Elbow: Well, I can bend, and turn a little bit, and I’m shiny and metal.
Robot Elbow: And also I can talk.
Me: *dies, for some reason*
Robot Elbow: …
Robot Elbow: So.
Robot Elbow: Got anything to drink?
Creative Rock Bottom: Nah.
Robot Elbow: …
Robot Elbow: …
Robot Elbow: …
Robot Elbow: *sigh*