LindsieLithium.
- Name
- Lindsie
- Age
- -
- Gender
- Female
- Location
- Shooting up
Member since February 4th, 2006
Contact
- PM
- Send a private message
- Friends
- Add to friends
About
I'm Lindsie.
Expect resistance
This world, the so-called “real world,” is just a front. Pull back the curtain and you’ll see the libraries are all filled with runaways writing novels, the highways are humming with escapees and sympathizers, all the receptionists and sensible mothers are straining at the leash for a chance to show how alive they still are. . . and all that talk of practicality and responsibility is just threats and bluffing to keep us from reaching out our hands to find that heaven lies in reach before us. You can taste it in the shock and roar of a first, unexpected kiss, or in the blood in your mouth that instant after an accident when you realize you’re still alive. It blows in the wind you feel on the rooftops of a really reckless night of adventure. You hear it in the magic of your favorite songs, how they lift and transport you in ways that no science or psychology could ever account for. It might be you’ve seen evidence of it scratched into bathroom walls in a code without a key, or you’ve been able to make out a pale reflection of it in the movies they make to keep us entertained. It’s in between the words when we speak of our desires and aspirations, still lurking somewhere beneath the limitations of being “practical” and “realistic.” When poets and radicals stay up until sunrise, wracking their brains for the perfect sequence of words or deeds to fill hearts (or cities) with fire, they’re trying to find a hidden entrance to it. When children escape out the window to go wandering late at night, or freedom fighters search for a weakness in government fortifications, they’re trying to sneak into it—for they know better than us where the doors are hidden. When teenagers vandalize a billboard to provoke all-night chases with the police, or anarchists interrupt an orderly demonstration to smash the windows of a corporate chain store, they’re trying to storm its gates. When you’re making love and you discover a new sensation or region of your lover’s body, and the two of you feel like explorers discovering a new part of the world on a par with a desert oasis or the coast of an unknown continent, as if you are the first ones to reach the north pole or the moon, you are charting its frontiers. It’s not a safer place than this one—on the contrary, it is the sensation of danger there that brings us back to life: the feeling that for once, for one moment that seems to eclipse the past and future, there is something real at stake. Maybe you stumbled into it by accident, once, amazed at what you found. The old world splintered behind and inside you, and no physician or metaphysician could put it back together again. Everything before became trivial, irrelevant, ridiculous as the horizons suddenly telescoped out around you and undreamt-of new paths offered themselves. And perhaps you swore that you would never return, that you would live out the rest of your life electrified by that urgency, in the thrill of discovery and transformation—but return you did. Common sense dictates that this world can only be experienced temporarily, that it is just the shock of transition, and no more; but the myths we share around our fires tell a different story: we hear of women and men who stayed there for weeks, years, who never returned, who lived and died there as heroes. We know, because we feel it in that atavistic chamber of our hearts that holds the memory of freedom from a time before time, that this secret world is near, waiting for us. You can see it in the flash in our eyes, in the abandon of our dances and love affairs, in the protest or party that gets out of hand. You’re not the only one trying to find it. We’re out here, too . . . some of us are even waiting there for you. And you should know that anything you’ve ever done or considered doing to get there is not crazy, but beautiful, noble, necessary. Revolution is simply the idea we could enter that secret world and never return; or, better, that we could burn away this one, to reveal the one beneath entirely.
Picture 1
Picture 2
Picture 3
Expect resistance
This world, the so-called “real world,” is just a front. Pull back the curtain and you’ll see the libraries are all filled with runaways writing novels, the highways are humming with escapees and sympathizers, all the receptionists and sensible mothers are straining at the leash for a chance to show how alive they still are. . . and all that talk of practicality and responsibility is just threats and bluffing to keep us from reaching out our hands to find that heaven lies in reach before us. You can taste it in the shock and roar of a first, unexpected kiss, or in the blood in your mouth that instant after an accident when you realize you’re still alive. It blows in the wind you feel on the rooftops of a really reckless night of adventure. You hear it in the magic of your favorite songs, how they lift and transport you in ways that no science or psychology could ever account for. It might be you’ve seen evidence of it scratched into bathroom walls in a code without a key, or you’ve been able to make out a pale reflection of it in the movies they make to keep us entertained. It’s in between the words when we speak of our desires and aspirations, still lurking somewhere beneath the limitations of being “practical” and “realistic.” When poets and radicals stay up until sunrise, wracking their brains for the perfect sequence of words or deeds to fill hearts (or cities) with fire, they’re trying to find a hidden entrance to it. When children escape out the window to go wandering late at night, or freedom fighters search for a weakness in government fortifications, they’re trying to sneak into it—for they know better than us where the doors are hidden. When teenagers vandalize a billboard to provoke all-night chases with the police, or anarchists interrupt an orderly demonstration to smash the windows of a corporate chain store, they’re trying to storm its gates. When you’re making love and you discover a new sensation or region of your lover’s body, and the two of you feel like explorers discovering a new part of the world on a par with a desert oasis or the coast of an unknown continent, as if you are the first ones to reach the north pole or the moon, you are charting its frontiers. It’s not a safer place than this one—on the contrary, it is the sensation of danger there that brings us back to life: the feeling that for once, for one moment that seems to eclipse the past and future, there is something real at stake. Maybe you stumbled into it by accident, once, amazed at what you found. The old world splintered behind and inside you, and no physician or metaphysician could put it back together again. Everything before became trivial, irrelevant, ridiculous as the horizons suddenly telescoped out around you and undreamt-of new paths offered themselves. And perhaps you swore that you would never return, that you would live out the rest of your life electrified by that urgency, in the thrill of discovery and transformation—but return you did. Common sense dictates that this world can only be experienced temporarily, that it is just the shock of transition, and no more; but the myths we share around our fires tell a different story: we hear of women and men who stayed there for weeks, years, who never returned, who lived and died there as heroes. We know, because we feel it in that atavistic chamber of our hearts that holds the memory of freedom from a time before time, that this secret world is near, waiting for us. You can see it in the flash in our eyes, in the abandon of our dances and love affairs, in the protest or party that gets out of hand. You’re not the only one trying to find it. We’re out here, too . . . some of us are even waiting there for you. And you should know that anything you’ve ever done or considered doing to get there is not crazy, but beautiful, noble, necessary. Revolution is simply the idea we could enter that secret world and never return; or, better, that we could burn away this one, to reveal the one beneath entirely.
Picture 1
Picture 2
Picture 3
I dont mean to sound like some creepy forty year old internet pepophile
but your amazingly pretty 0.0
Maximum Ride, July 14th, 2008 at 02:57:34pm
ikr.
j3sse asth3n!a., July 14th, 2008 at 09:51:05am
*hides behind a table*
Don't explode. Please. I'm just a small, innocent squirrel. I do not deserve to die D:
The SquirrelMeister, August 10th, 2007 at 01:42:16am
You're a grenade?
*runs* AHHHHHH PERSON GO BOOM!
The SquirrelMeister, August 10th, 2007 at 01:40:39am
Oooh whats your hair like now? :]
I'm getting mine cut on Wednesday.
I love gettting my hair done ^_^
how are you?
glamour for better, July 20th, 2007 at 11:44:22pm
awwwh. niice : D
I'm not better than you girl. srrsly. :D You beat me hands down any day! haha
My day is going alright actually. I'm pretty tired but okay :]]
How about you?
glamour for better, July 15th, 2007 at 07:08:09pm
You are so. wait. Not pretty. You're fxcking beautiful
Don't try and deny it :D
Aww thanks haha.
glamour for better, July 12th, 2007 at 01:59:53am
Oh nice one : D Sounds funfun :] Future bf? Now that sounds interesting xDD
WILL YOU STOP BEING SO PRETTY DAMNIT D:
i'm so jealous :]
glamour for better, July 1st, 2007 at 07:50:58pm
aw yeah. some people are dumb! haha unlucky for them :]]
'sup? :]
glamour for better, June 29th, 2007 at 10:17:53pm
Is so true! :]
I'm quite good thanksss.
Heartburn? Oh deary me. Doesnt sound to goood
How are you otherwise?:]]
glamour for better, June 28th, 2007 at 07:03:36pm
oh why thank you :]
Not as cool as you thoughhh
glamour for better, June 28th, 2007 at 07:01:11pm
lol, thats cool anyway. yeah to me i dont care as long as they're cute and have good behavior. I have two dogs and they were originally supposed to be hunting dogs but their too adhd to to that so they're just living the good life and being spoliled out of their minds.
Your X Lover is Dead, June 20th, 2007 at 05:24:56pm
np, What kind is it?
Your X Lover is Dead, June 19th, 2007 at 05:59:27pm
your doggy is adorable, aww I love dogs.
Your X Lover is Dead, June 19th, 2007 at 05:53:29pm
Lol. You're "good and history."
What?
Poses, May 18th, 2007 at 03:16:04am