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Everyone, I’ve moved to @senseandsensesubility
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“Fire, help me to forget.”
— Florence Welch, from “Useless Magic: Lyrics & Poetry,” published c. 2018
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align yourself with me // @evrogina
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[Text ID: “You, the end and the beginning.”]
Rumi, from Love: The Joy That Wounds - The Love Poems of Rumi (trans. from Persian to French by Mahin and Nahal Tajadad and Jean-Louis Carriere; trans. from French to English by Elfreda Powell)
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“The sea speaks to me and I begin to understand.”
— Semyon Lipkin, tr. by Yvonne Green, from Poems; “By The Sea,”
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imagine being the first amish bitch in your village to like get your body done like ass shots titties done and like beat face contoured… and then you walked into like the saloon or whatever amish people have and everyone dropped their irish fiddles and was shookedt? like everyone churning butter was just in shock and you walked across the artisanal wood floors in your wantmylook.com thigh high lace up heeled boots like your life depended on it… yes god
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sylvia plath really had the audacity to word my thoughts better than i ever could
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bold of you to assume i won’t tell you i love you again just because i did ten seconds ago
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@mistressalef And here I just stumbled across you, watching Supernatural. Must’ve been a slow day for Aphrodite for her to make it that easy. 💖
do you have any tips for finding dom girls?
tbh dom women who actually know theyre doms r pretty hard to come by. online is ur best bet for girls who already know about the kink and the community but you never rly know !
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thanks youtube i always wanted to know how to grill an egg
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what do you think about memento mori/skulls/representations of death? I own several carved crystal skulls, I do not really believe in 'crystal healing' so to speak, but the jungian idea of skulls evoking a sense of death perspective and ancestral knowledge through a cranium (a host of knowledge and the self continuing through death)
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Fanuary Requests 04 - Small Defenders
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TW: Eating disorder-ish and just overall negativity.
2/2/20
“Because it’s better to look—to think you look fat than sick.”
So, fun story time. I had weight loss surgery about a year ago. I’ve lost about a 100 pounds, give or take—I’m in better shape than I’ve been in ages. But even with that said, I’m still struggling with healthy eating thoughts. I still have days where I look in the mirror and think, ‘Oh fuck, I’m ugly,’ or days after I do my makeup and I just wonder why I even bother. And before anyone tries to argue with me, don’t. I know fat isn’t ugly, but until you’ve sat on your bathroom floor crying because jeans are fitting a bit snugger than you think they should, until you go through your phone and see old pictures of yourself and think, ‘Fuck, why didn’t anyone tell me I was fat,’ please don’t judge me. Because this isn’t a generalization.
This is how I feel about myself. Not anyone else.
So with that disclaimer out of the way, @mistressalef and I were just watching the halftime show. Shakira and JLo are fucking amazing. They’re talented and gorgeous and I was in love—I mentioned to Bara that I wanted Shakira’s sparkly red outfit. I love sparkles and red is my favorite color, so of course I did. But then I added, “I don’t think anyone wants to see me in that, though,” and laughed it off as a joke. But it wasn’t a joke. My mood spiraled from there and now I’m sitting I’m on the couch, trying not to cry as I write this.
The other day, Bara mentioned she’d like me not to wear makeup when we went to do something—that she liked my face as it was, and would love it see it. I remember freezing—I don’t wear makeup when we go to Walmart or whatever, but if we’re going out, out? Of course I do. It’s been that way for a good year and a half. I feel better. It’s the same reason I tone my hair weekly—I feel better. But at the same time, Bara loves my natural hair color and loves how I look without makeup. I feel like I’m letting her down when I just can’t bring myself to go out without any of it on, or my hair semi presentable (in my opinion).
So now we skip back to the present. I’m sitting on the couch and I just made myself a crown and coke—one of my favorite drinks. I don’t drink soda much except in mixed drinks, so I normally excuse it since it’s a weekly or even biweekly thing. But this time as I reached for a drink, I froze and couldn’t help but wonder how many calories are in that, how many calories I’ve eaten today, and of how many calories I ate yesterday. There’s still that voice in the back of my head that sneers, ‘Careful there, Val. You don’t want to gain that weight back, do you? Where will you be then? Bara won’t want you.’
Bara won’t want you.
That’s the thought that shakes me, that keeps me awake. I know that there are other, more rational reasons to watch what I eat and drink. That I need to stay in shape because it’s good for me, and I like who I am when I’m healthy. But fuck, y’all. Rational thoughts aren’t what keeps me awake. Rational thoughts aren’t what makes me cry and want to not eat for a week. The thought that Bara won’t want me is what shakes me to my core. The thought that I’ll disappoint everyone is what shakes me. It’s what makes me look back at old pictures of me and shudder in horror because fuck, I looked like that? It’s what makes me freak out when my jeans seem too tight, (even if it’s just after a wash and I know they logically they’ll be a bit tight) or when my face looks too puffy in the mirror (and I ignore the fact I’ve been sick for the last week or so).
Then equally, there’s that voice that whispers that Bara wanted me even then. She’s told me that herself, and I believe her. I really do. She wouldn’t lie to me—I trust her more than anything.
All the same, I feel like I let her down when I have these thoughts. Because she loves me, and thinks I’m worthy and wonderful and all these other things. Who am I to doubt her? She’s my Alpha, my Domme, my best friend. I have to trust her when it comes to this.
I don’t know what the point of this is. Maybe I just needed to get it out. I’m tired and frustrated and feeling discouraged and a whole other mismatch of stuff.
Now, I’m going to go back to listening to Bara yell at the TV and sipping at my drink and ignoring the voice in my head that sneers and calls me all sorts of names ironically, the voice often sounds like my batshit crazy ex. Talking about him (and how he expected me to be able to domme him) will be for another day.
I’m going to instead listen to the words of my Alpha, that I’m beautiful, and of the wonderful Taylor Swift .
Because it’s better to think I look fat than to look sick.
Remember that for me,
Val.
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MISS AMERICANA (2020), dir. Lana Wilson
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