Wasting time while wasting away...

The easiest way to explain it, my brain hates being restless. Just like the high you get after stepping off the cross trainer forty five minutes later, my brain is addicted to the surge of goodness it recieves when I work it hard.

I call it strength training: Pushing my brain boundaries, trying to think beyond my norm. None of that "If a tree falls and nobody hears it, did it really make a sound?" bullshit - that stuff is purely personal opinion. There is no sure answer, and I dislike that = I crave evidence. I want to dive into the hard yards; What's at the end of the universe? Et cetera, et cetera. Stuff that us earthlings will never know, but we'll most likely spend a huge amount of our existance attempting to either ignore (superficial bitches) or answer (brainy geniuses).

I can't figure out if I'm stupid for craving such thinking.
I know I will never discover the answer, so why over-analyse and expand these thoughts?
OR Why prevent mental growth purely because there is no productive result?

Am I wasting time thinking, or am I wasting time not thinking?

Ophelia

Baby name wizard #1

Pluto Exon Ophelia Antonia Ruby Tuesday Xander James (for a girl) River Micah Casper Indiana

Persephone per-SEHF-ə-nee Sephy
Greek goddess of generation and death / personification of spring
Queen of the underworld / daughter of Zeus / in the movie WONDER WOMAN

Ophelia

Nowadays, the simplest of things are taken for granted.

I found joy in the most simplest. Shadows. I'm a new age Peter Pan: I am forever entertained by the entertainment my shadow brings. My shadow has become my new security blanket. 

Friends and family can come and go:

                                                     wealth to poverty

                                                     health to sickness

Feels good knowing that anything can happen in my life yet my shadow will always follow me;
                                                     birth to death.

Shadows may mimic every movement we do, but they are always distorted. A tortured clone of yourself. Shadows stay forever. Even in Hiroshima. Bombs dropped, people disintegrated. The only survivors were their shadows; etched into the ruins.

They stick with us, no matter what. I guess it's nice to know: when nobody believes in you, at least it looks like somebody does.

Buzz and Ophelia

Seek Solace.

Solace: Comfort or consolation in a time of distress or sadness.

I am not one who gives commentary on religious beliefs - for who am I to say what is right and wrong?
Nevertheless, I like to think of myself as an Energ-ist. While my religion may not be real, my beliefs are; based on the concept that energy never dies. A form of reincarnation, if you will:
- A nice balance between Buddhism (although I think Budhism is the #1 religion)
- and Jedi (which recently has been announced as an official religion) 

I like to think of my body as a temple, my very own Pyramid of Giza. (I have a strange magnetism towards Egypt)

Art is my food;
                       the only way to nourish my soul.
My soul is living energy; currently seeking solace inside of my temple. 

Without art: My body, my soul will wither and eventually will crumble, but this energy will not.

If I am buried, my energy will soak back into the soil of the earth / If I am cremated, my energy will rise and disperse into the air like smoke.

Forever will my energy move around the universe - seeking solace, a home, in any lifeform.
My energy will never die, a part of me will always be living.

Buzz

(Beauty Age Defying) Luck

My aura is like an hourglass - the sand fills the majority of my being. Too bad the DNA of my sand is made up of luck's evil twin, bad luck.

I want to drop my aura off my balcony and watch the glass shatter on the (gum-covered) sidewalk.
I could leave all my bad luck on the pavement - this black hole of bad luck will become single grains of mediocre luck.
        OR, I could collect up every shard of my aura and bring it back home.

The newest skincare, set to hit beauty counters this summer: Beauty Age Defying luck; sliced, ground up, mashed to a pulp and baked at 300 degrees. These ingredients - recently discovered in the depts of your aura - combined with some other promotional bullshit, has unbelievable results.

Trust me, I've tried it.

Ophelia

Source: gurlscout.tumblr.com

Miss Clavel turned on her light and said, "Something is not right."

Title: Madeline (1989)

Going through the motions of living:
Same faces
Same expressions
Same routine
Same teachers
Same teachings - yet something is different.

Faking it 'til you make it - how long 'til it's made? My routine has become just that, a routine.

Do people overthink living? We're constantly driven to broaden our horizons, push our boundaries and forever learn new skills. Yes: Learning. Can we learn without living?

Criticizing ourselves for mundane activities; struggling to accept the necessity of normality, regardless of our complexities.

PASTA FOR DINNER, NO CARDIO, I HUNG OUT THE WASHING TODAY.

Ophelia

Goblin Cat.

Photographer: Buzz

Model: Tibs

Medium: Fisheye Camera

Buzz

Walk, don't Walk.

In a concrete jungle, two men were trapped.

Mr. Red; an ex-marine.
Easily identified by his brick-red, double breasted, suit,
                                rosy cheeks
                                firey hair
                                and harsh stance.
A (once) proud man; now bitter and angry, red with resent. Confided to living the rest of his life inside of a black box - void of any possibility.

Mr. Green; an addict.
With a sickeningly pale complexion (and his green tracksuit), he sits alone in the dark of the black box he inhabits; only occasionally does he stroll to stretch his withered legs.
Once the life of the party
        - now depressed and green with envy.

Two men, neighbours. Irony: Parallels in streets of total interaction.
How sad: So similar, so (perfect for one another) - yet their whole being restricts them from their soulmate.

Crossing lights.

Buzz

The Shortest Horror Story.

The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door...
- Fredric Brown


 Buzz

Tempted by contempt.

WE ALL ARE desperately trying to take hold of the situation called life. Sadly, my life - the fucker - doesn't want to shape after me. Or alas, it tries to,
                   but is overcome by my greed, lust, envy and the other four vices humans use to sin.

In love with dedication, but succumbs to temptation.
(Devoted to God Almighty, but is forever lured to party with the Devil)
We accept temptation sight unseen - lacking the essential knowledge until it's far too late. contract signed, keys cut.

Temptation fully defines our existance. It emits a metaphorical phermone that pulls us towards our mistakes and forever reminds us of our ultimate - our reward for resisting to temptation.

Nobody can be contempt when we have temptation.

Ophelia

Writing what I cannot write.

5000 languages - yet humanity is still bound by words. The entity of communication is made up of that.
The complexity of human development is almost fully diminished when our narrowmindedness of communication is revealed.

My brain does not think in words / nor numbers / nor symbols.
Almost like the invisible expansion of radiation
- ideas diffuse and expand,
- undefinable,
- but totally comprehendable to myself.

Who got to decide the words? Humanity will forever suffer from who's choices - we've evolved to only share ideas / feelings that were significant enough to own words. Hence we are banished from growing, expanding, developing.

Thank you, who.

Proportions.

Ants; think of how many roam this planet. If one were to die, would you mourn its life?
More even, a grain of sand. If a grain of sand in the middle of the Sahara were to unexplainably vanish, would you grieve?

See that red dot in the rectangle above?  That dot is you.

A lone soul / active energy / a mere being.
You will face great difficulties.
You will meet ultimate loves.
At times you will feel happy, and others, not.
You will meet thousands of other people, just like you.

That white rectangle above is the universe. That red dot is you.

Your life to you is important, your life to space is irrelevant.
Verman walking amongst awesome power.
Amongst great giants, nothing but grains of sand.

Buzz

Frostbitten

Photographer: Lisa Anne Craig

Medium: Diana+

Ophelia

Death by the Driver

Road rage - Road kill

How simple is the continuation of seemingly random events; of course sadness will follow more sadness. The future is already written in my blood / has already found its way into my innocent genes. I can no longer write my own life, it is already written. The bonds are too strong, they cannot be denied.
Who knows when we relinquish our control - when our past actions set our future actions into concrete.

I've clearly stopped thinking. Do I really mind? (no.)

Ophelia

Feeling blue?

I, Buzz, admit I regret not paying attention in English lessons.
And now, after dropping out of high-school, I am finding it extremely difficult to string together even the most simplest of sentences. Adding wit, let alone grammar is nearly impossible.

So, I leave you with this basic and Neanderthal-like written piece of what goes on inside my head.

'When you say words, I feel colours'

Synesthesia for you.

Buzz

Tabby vs. Russian Blue.

Photographer: Nathan Brook

Models: Chico and Buzz

Medium: iPhone built-in camera, Microsoft Paint

Buzz

What a catastrophe.

Photographer: Lisa Anne Craig

Model: Some cat

Medium: Diana+ and Microsoft Paint

Ophelia

Being seven more than twenty.

It commands a personality of it's own and gives me a feeling of (for lack of a sufficient english word) "satisfaction".
The internal feeling of sliding into a oversized bean bag - contempt.

A perfect cube / atomic number of cobalt / the sum of uranus' moons / letters in the Hebrew alphabet / number of bones in the human hand / meaningless facts that lack all significance

TWENTY SEVEN somehow reflects things I respect. I aim to be TWENTY SEVEN. TWENTY SEVEN is my inspiration.
(This font did not do TWENTY SEVEN justice, so I resorted to caps lock in order to demonstate it's importance)

Ophelia

'You are free to invent your life'

Photographer: Morgan Crowley

Model: Harry Bug Crowley

Medium: Fortune Camera Film

Buzz

Dying would be a wonderful adventure

Steal a needle off a bum and inject yourself with nutmeg -
Find a snake in the Australian outback -
Slit your wrists during the 6 o'clock news and watch the blood run dry -
Jump off the biggest tower in the world -
Serenade a vampire -
Consume nothing but celery and vodka -
Become a cannibal and eat yourself -
Fall in love -

Count the ways to commit suicide.
Ophelia