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“What matters most is how well you walk through the fire,” – A brilliant title of a collection Charles Bukowski’s writings and my general attitude lately.

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“Women should be obscene and not heard." – Groucho Marx.

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That look in her eyes says she’s sorry.

But you can never really be too sure.

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whyexactly:

It’s gonna be ok.

Growing up is a pretty awful thing isn’t it? Time whisks us along faster than we’d like, our bodies change, and our minds wander places they never used to, and sometimes settle on ideas that we don’t understand. We’ve all woken up in the middle of the night in a sweat, rattled by a dream so vivid we’re nearly convinced it was real, shocked at the pictures that crept into our heads while our backs were turned… It can be enough to spark a small-scale existential crisis.

How did all this stuff get there? What’s happening to me? Why is everything so complicated all of a sudden?

…and what the heck am I supposed to do now?

It’s that last one that’s important. I think maybe our biology, our psychology, the ticking clock on the bedside table… They’re not working against us so much as they’re pushing us to work hard at being “us,” and asking that we consider why we’re here in the first place.

We don’t get to control this uncomfortable metamorphosis. No set of ‘medical theories,’ western or otherwise, has demonstrated a complete understanding of how our bodies work. Fortunately, we are resilient creatures.

We can’t expect to shield ourselves from the influence that’s all around us. Others will try to tell us what they think we should be doing, and while there’s great value in considering their ideas, it’s our own compass that should be our guide. Our ‘gut’ will know, even if we don’t yet understand. Trust it.

So what next?

Start small. Find something you like to do and do it as best you can. Maybe it’s something fancy like playing an instrument, or studying the stars, or maybe something as simple as cooking, or drawing, or even volunteering and helping other people… It doesn’t matter what, it matters that you try your best so that at the end of the day you can be proud of yourself.

…and being proud of yourself isn’t always easy. It takes some practice, but it’s worth the effort. Do what you love as best you can, and be good to the people you meet while you do it. It won’t happen overnight, but in time the pieces will start to come together and you’ll have learned a great deal about yourself in the process.

Growing up is all about realizing what you need in order to be happy, and doing it.

Simple as that.

So, dear little anon, I’m sorry you’re having a rough day, but hang in there and rest assured that you’re not alone. If your ears get bent out of shape along the way, all you need to do is straighten them out as best you can and keep on hopping.

Usually I’m reblogging and liking whyexactly for the really sexy stuff he produces.

But the way he responded to his anon is just wonderful and worth a read, no matter what stage of “growing up” you’re at.

(But don’t go on his tumblr, or mine, until you’re 18. Really, yo. That’s the bottom limit cutoff for stages of growing up.)

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(Blah blah my queue spat this out too early blah blah I guess I can start this story.)

Penthouse and I share an interrogation fantasy. I had articulated it to him for a while and had shared that the only time I had tried it, the guy was really half-hearted and was basically like, “one question now blowjob.” Which, I’m sorry, I love sucking dick but that killed it.

We were hanging around and I was messing with Penthouse’s wallet. “What are you doing?” He asked.

I smirked, “oh, I was thinking of hiding it when you weren’t looking so you’d have to ask me where it was.”

“Oh,” he replied, “I suddenly have something to do…elsewhere.” We both laughed and he got up and went to the other room. 

Practically giddy with the fact that this was going to happen, I hid the wallet and waited for him to come back. When Penthouse returned, he feigned surprise at his wallet being gone.

“Sweetheart,” he asked in that Daddy-type voice that makes me blush. “Have you seen my wallet?" I just smirked and shrugged. He grabbed my arm, "did you hide it?” I shrugged again and he pushed me up against the wall. “Where is it?” I shook my head.

Suddenly, I felt him pull the ballgag between my teeth and buckle it at the back of my head. “Fine, when you’re really to tell me, I’ll take this off.” He shoved me towards the bed.

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“I looked at his eyes. I was thinking: they are bluer than the sea. 
But then the sea is not blue at all, is it?” – Judy Budnitz, If I Told You Once.

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Dear Ms. Lemon,

Getting your email this morning was super sad. And then seeing everyone discuss how much they missed you already on my dash was even sadder. But, sort of happy, I suppose, in the sense that you made so many people smile.

Wow this just started sounding like a eulogy.

You’ll be missed on here, lovely lady.

Ivy 

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“You said I came close
as anyone’s come
to live underwater
for more than a month.
You said it was not inside my heart, it was.
The city should tear a kid apart, it does.

m-as-tu-vu:

Transportée ..*

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Whenever I see a picture on here of a girl with that sort of look in her eyes, it’s like something inside of me says, “whatever you want." 

I’m a sucker for powerful gazes.