Hereeee’s why I got so many random followers in a really short amount of time.
I’m so, so, so flattered. Thank you so very much.
<3, Ivy
PS: Casey’s actually been around the tumblrverse longer than I have and you should all definitely check her out.
This week my Follow Friday goes to ThinkIvyKink.
She is lovely, intelligent, clever, sexy and kinky. Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s been on Tumblr longer than I have!
Right now she could use lots of love.
So go.
Smother her in loves.
She deserves it.
People can just get lost with each other, in each other. Totally shipwrecked. Marooned. Until the rest of the world recedes beyond the shoreline and it’s just you – the plural kind when you’re yourselves and each other at the same time – and all the sand.
“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
– Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit.
God, this almost made me cry. I really, really hope this works out. I can’t even begin to say how moving/heart-wrenching the look on his face in. He’s in my prayers. Oh my God.
I never reblog this sort of thing, but my heart goes out to this man. I hope he finds her soon and she’s safe. And I really hope she does the healing she needs in order to allow people who lover her back in her life.
“When shall we learn, what should be clear as day,
We cannot choose what we are free to love?”
– W. H. Auden, Canzone.
“Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven’t seen in a long time.”
— Haruki Murakami
Oh my gosh this caption is just the cutest thing to ever happen to tumblr.
Daddy and piglet. Foreva. Foreva-eva. Foreva-eva.
“And when we meet again and introduced as friends, please don’t let on that you knew me when I was hungry and it was your world.”
I wonder how these words leap out at him when he looks at the page. The process of him finding his own poetry and feeling in the books he reads is beautiful. The words are beautiful, too.
I remember
us.
Beautiful
and
exhaustless
we loved.
Both hands
full of
life,
we loved.
The word passion comes from the Latin stem pati, which means to suffer and to endure. This was, of course, grounded in a very deep suffering on a religious level, but I don’t want to get into that right now.
What I’m more interested is how we use it now. Crimes of passion. Passionate love. Passionate sex. We simply throw this term around without even realizing what we’re implying. Crimes of suffering. Suffering love. Suffering sex.
I feel as if we don’t want to suffer. We don’t want to endure. And rather than seeing love as a means of suffering, we see it as an end to suffering. Which, in my opinion, it is not at all.
I don’t mean to say here that suffering is a bad thing. It’s not. Suffering is a human trait. It’s not necessarily being crucified or tortured or oppressed. It’s not even necessarily a bad feeling. It’s more of just this constant tug that drags us from room to room in life, the constant nagging that keeps humanity yearning, the innate tortured aspect of the human condition that allows us to feel so broken that we need someone or something to share and halve it. “You shall love your crooked neighbor with your crooked heart,” says Auden.
Love is suffering. Suffering is love. It seems we always talk about love as this very comfortable thing. And I mean love on all counts. Familial, religious, romantic, platonic, etc. Love is not benign. Love is not the solution. Love does not suddenly calm the storm, save the damsel, and feed the hungry.
And I think that’s why we get so shocked when love is not so simple and when we can’t just be like, “well, we’re here” and then just sort of close the book on the whole thing. Love doesn’t want to handle us lightly, it would drop-kick us to our knees whenever it had the chance. Love is this wild and crazy creature that is this embodiment of our suffering. So, no wonder love is passionate. Sex, too.
I think that’s part of the reason why I love BDSM so much. Aside from the trust, the control and the pleasure aspects of it, it’s an incredibly powerful physical manifestation of our passion, our suffering. The entire process is one of endurance. From enduring the suffering, you experience the pleasure. That’s a hell of a lost of passion there.
I’ll cut this little rant off right here before I just ramble on forever. But, God, language is mind-blowing.