I just watched the Saturday video. I’m so glad she can make fun of herself.
Try it again, breathing's just a rhythm
"I am a millenial. Generation Y. Born between the birth of AIDS and 9/11. Give or take. They call us the global generation. We are known for our entitlement and narcissism. Some say it’s because we’re the first generation where every kid gets a trophy for just showing up. Others thinks it’s because social media allows us to post every time we fart or have a sandwich for all the world to see. But it seems our one defining trait is a numbness to the world. An indifference to suffering."
American Horror Story Coven, Madison Montgomery (via zo-mbie)
Wanted to share this helpful tool with anyone who needs it. A lot of people have a hard time putting their feelings into words and identifying what emotions they are feeling. This is called a feeling wheel. It can help you get to the core emotion you are experiencing and help you name each feeling when you’re overwhelmed with many emotions
We use this with clients. Highlight the feelings that are safe for you to feel in one color. Highlight the ones that are unsafe for you to feel or you don’t know how to feel in another color.
So wait, in one post you said both “We’re social animals with a biological imperative to reproduce. That’s it. That’s all. Love is a neurochemical response with a shelf life long enough to perpetuate the species.” and “All we have in this world is relationships with other people. At this stage in our evolution, nothing else matters.” I mean, yell at me all you want, but I’m confused. Is love not a relationship with another person? Does that mean it doesn’t matter or it’s all that matters? I don’t get it.
Both. It’s both, my friend. Love doesn’t matter, and yet it’s all that matters.
This doesn’t have to be confusing. You just have to be willing to accept the premise that nothing matters. We’re all dust. Not just our individual selves, but the entirety of the human experiment. It’s all going to be a pile of ashes one day.
Most people recoil at the thought of annihilation. It terrifies them. They invent silly gods and ridiculous myths of armageddon or eternal life, all to stave off the creeping inevitability of the nothingness to which we will all return.
Don’t recoil from your own impermanence. Accept it. Embrace it. Gaze into the abyss, and let the abyss gaze back into you, because if you can let go of your fear while maintaining eye contact with nothingness, the singular importance of love will crystalize right in front of you. It will be an unavoidable revelation.
Love doesn’t matter, and yet it’s all that matters. The contradiction melts away once you come to terms with not just yours but everything’s eventual annihilation. Sure, love is just a neurochemical response with a shelf life long enough to perpetuate the species, but so what? It’s all we’ve fucking got.
Britney’s new "Work Bitch" video makes me think of you.
Really? Because it makes me think of popular culture’s conspiratorial role in perpetuating the myth of social mobility as a function of conspicuous consumption during late-stage capitalism.
You want a Bugatti? You want a Maserati? Well, it doesn’t matter if you work, bitch. You will never have those things. You will not live fancy. You will not live in a big mansion. You will not party in France.
But by all means, work bitch. Slave away for your hourly wage so you can save up enough disposable income to purchase a bottle of Britney’s Hidden Fantasies perfume or a Beats by Dre Pill Speaker. I mean, are you fucking kidding me with that product placement?
Just look at this image. It’s the most brilliant and insidious visual metaphor I’ve ever seen in a music video. Voiceless and obedient, silenced in voluntarily bondage to a plastic pop culture artifact. Push the button and Brittany’s latest club hit spews forth from her mouth instead of original thoughts and opinions.
You know who that is? She’s you, bitch. You’re the one wearing a bit gag. You’re the one being whipped. You’re the one chained up by a millionaire on top of an inverted pyramid. And of course, you’re the one who thinks it’s all so hot.
"You better work, bitch" isn’t a suggestion. It’s not encouragement. It’s a fucking order, one that you blindly follow in the hopes that some day you might earn an invitation to the sexy Vegas dance party in the sky.
Well, guess what? That will never happen.
Now get to work, bitch.