words to live by

Aug. 3rd, 2020 | 08:53 pm

"love yourself like your life depends on it"

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vai ne

Jul. 12th, 2020 | 09:47 pm

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(subjectless)

Jul. 6th, 2020 | 05:10 pm

“To say that straight men are heterosexual is only to say that they engage in sex (fucking exclusively with the other sex, i.e., women). All or almost all of that which pertains to love, most straight men reserve exclusively for other men. The people whom the admire, respect, adore, revere, honor, whom the imitate, idolize, and form profound attachments to, whom they are willing to teach and from whom they are willing to learn, and whose respect, admiration, recognition, honor, reverence and love they desire… those are, overwhelmingly, other men. In their relations with women, what passes for respect is kindness, generosity or paternalism; what passes for honor is removal to the pedestal. From women they want devotion, service and sex.

Heterosexual male culture is homoerotic; it is man-loving.”

-Marilyn Frye, The Politics of Reality

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(subjectless)

May. 31st, 2020 | 11:14 pm

Maija beigu un jūnija sākuma galvenā problēma ir tāda, ka agrie vasaras rīti ir ļoti skaisti, bet tādas arī vasaras pēcpusdienas, un vasaras saulrieti, un vasaras vakari, un vasaras naktis, un pa kuru laiku lai cilvēks guļ?!!

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(subjectless)

May. 29th, 2020 | 03:34 pm

"(..) the perceptual shift that distinguishes work from play, even when the task and goals are identical: working typically means finding “the least effortful way of achieving [one’s] goal” and being done with it, while in play, goals “are subordinate to the means for achieving them” such that the joy is in the process (..)"

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(subjectless)

May. 20th, 2020 | 06:27 pm

Vakar iestājos "Progresīvajos".

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Kā es jūtos pēdējo nedēļu

May. 16th, 2020 | 10:45 pm

Latvija - Raivjdzintarzeme.

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(subjectless)

May. 4th, 2020 | 11:35 pm

Gribu ziņot, ka esmu ļoti apmierināta ar Tūvi. Tā kā Tūve ir visgudrākais kaķis, kādu esmu jebkad pazinusi, nolēmu, ka pienācis laiks viņā attīstīt abstrakto domāšanu, un sāku viņu apmācīt teātra mākslas izpratnē. Tūvei ir paniskas bailes no putekļusūcēja - jau izdzirdot, ka es tikai tuvojos putekļsūcēja glabāšanas kaktam, viņa uzreiz mēdz mesties uz slēptuvi aiz dīvāna. Pēdējās reizes pirms mājas sūkšanas es viņu esmu pasākusi informēt, ka apokalipses stunda tuvojas, izspēlējot viņas priekšā nelielu etīdi, kurā atdarinu putekļsūcēja skaņu un sūkšanas kustības. Pirmajā reizē viņa raudzījās uz mani kā uz plānprātīgu, otrajā reizē viņas pierē jau iezagās saspringtu pārdomu krunka, un rau - trešajā reizē, tas ir, šodien, viņa acumirklī saprata, ko šī etīde nozīmē un metās uz slēptuvi, vēl pirms biju tikusi etīdei līdz galam. Domāju, ko lai ievieš viņas izglītībā kā nākamo soli, varbūt jādod risināt sudoku vai jānopērk viņai kurss Courserā, lai mācās kodēt.
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(subjectless)

May. 2nd, 2020 | 10:27 pm

Manam slavenākajam sencim šodien 140. (Tikai pagājšgad uzzināju, ka esam radinieki.)

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(subjectless)

Apr. 26th, 2020 | 07:48 pm

Btw, viendzimuma partneriem veltītā iniciatīva, kas neveiksmīgā kārtā tika palaista īsi pirms ārkārtas stāvokļa izsludināšanas, pusotra mēneša laikā bez jebkādas mediju uzmanības vai kampaņas saviem spēkiem tomēr tikusi līdz tam, ka pietrūkst vairs nieka 48 parakstu, prikiņ: https://manabalss.lv/viendzimumu-partneru-registresana/show

UPD (20:27) - vairs tikai 20
UPDD (20:32) - 9
UPDDD - WE DID IT, PEOPLE

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(subjectless)

Apr. 26th, 2020 | 07:19 pm

Gribu pieseivot arī šo fragmentu no The Holistic Psychologist instagrama žurnāla:

"Trauma is not just the “big” things. In fact, it isn’t about the “size” of the trauma at all. It’s the impact. It’s the way the brain (+body) perceive that impact + how much support there is to process that impact. As Dr. Gabor Mate says, trauma is not what happens, it’s the pain that’s gone unresolved.

In my case, (..) because I learned quickly the way to be seen was through achievement, I achieved. I believe MANY overachievers have high levels of dissociation. A trauma response rewarded by society. Where everyone in your life believes you’re “ok” and (a famous line said within my family) “that nothing bothers you.” A product of a detached emotional response."

(https://www.instagram.com/p/B_VgsYCgigi/)

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(subjectless)

Apr. 23rd, 2020 | 02:41 pm

Bārs A. ir īsta proletāriešu dzertuve.

-Juri, vai vari man uztaisīt kādu īpaši interesantu bezalkoholisku kokteili, kas noderētu panākumu nosvinēšanai?
-Jā, nu, es varu tev šo limonādi... pārliet glāzē.

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(subjectless)

Apr. 19th, 2020 | 11:44 pm

Man diez ko neveicas ar apņemšanos līdz izolācijas laika beigām katru dienu kaut ko ierakstīt cibā, saasinātā formā atduros pret to pašu iemeslu, kādēļ vispār reti te rakstu - nav pamata piesārņot ēteru, ja nav ko teikt. Šad tad var izlīdzēties ar kaut kā iecitēšanu, bet tur jau tas pats, nav tā, ka katru dienu uzduries kam citēšanas cienīgam. Esmu jau divas dienas iekavējusi, bet turu uzskaiti, grasos nākotnē atstrādāt, kolīdz būs sakāms kas vairāk par "nomazgāju traukus, uzvārīju zupu, Morisejs joprojām resns".

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(subjectless)

Apr. 16th, 2020 | 09:45 pm

I’ve come to understand that “social anxiety disorder” isn’t a disorder at all. It’s a learned preoccupation with the perception of people’s opinion of us. Something we learned as children: to be hyper vigilant to the mood state of parents in order to survive + attempt to get needs met. A symptom of codependency dynamics so many of us grow up in.

We also can’t sit with ourselves. There’s too much nervous system activation. Anxiety. Fear. So we distract + numb. No one taught us how to feel an emotion, process it, + release it without shame. Emotions are “too much” (for some of us this is even more true if our parents labeled certain emotions as wrong or any way we felt as too much.) All of these behaviors are adaptations. Coping mechanisms. The manifestation of enmeshment (families without boundaries), codependency (lack of clear end of self + beginning of another), + trauma that’s been passed from generation to generation.

All patterns that we can unlearn by connecting with our inner child, beginning to place boundaries, healing self betrayal by making (+ keeping) small promises to ourselves daily.

If this is you, you’re normal. Responding in a way to what you learned. AND, you are more than capable of healing.

(the.holistic.pshychologist / IG: https://www.instagram.com/p/B_A1HtLJ9MA/)

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(subjectless)

Apr. 14th, 2020 | 12:10 am

Losing Haringey

In those days, there was a kind of fever that pushed me out of the front door, into the pale, exhaust-fumed park by Broadwater Farm or the grubby road that eventually leads to Enfield: Turkish supermarket after chicken restaurant after spare car part shop. Everything in my life felt like it was coming to a mysterious close: I could hardly walk to the end of a street without feeling there was no way to go except back. The dates I’d had that summer had come to nothing, my job was a dead end and the rent cheque was killing me a little more each month. It seemed unlikely that anything could hold much longer. The only question left to ask was what would happen after everything familiar collapsed, but for now the summer stretched between me and that moment

It was ferociously hot, and the air quality became so bad that by the evening the noise of nearby trains stuttered in in fits and starts, distorted through the shifting air. As I lay in the cool of my room, I could hear my neighbors discussing the world cup and opening beers in their gardens. On the other side, someone was singing an Arabic prayer through the thin wall. I had no money for the pub so I decided to go for a walk

I found myself wandering aimlessly to the west, past the terrace of chip and kebab shops and launderettes near the tube station. I crossed the street, and headed into virgin territory - I had never been this way before. Gravel-dashed houses alternated with square 60s offices, and the wide pavements undulated with cracks and litter. I walked and walked, because there was nothing else for me to do, and by degrees the light began to fade

The mouth of an avenue led me to the verge of a long, greasy A-road that rose up in the far distance, with symmetrical terraces falling steeply down then up again from a distant railway station. There were four benches to my right, interspersed with those strange bushes that grow in the area, whose blossoms are so pale yellow they seem translucent, almost spectral; and suddenly tired, I sat down. I held my head in my hands, feeling like shit, but a sudden breeze escaped from the terraces and for a moment I lost my thoughts in its unexpected coolness. I looked up and I realized I was sitting in a photograph

I remembered clearly: this photograph was taken by my mother in 1982, outside our front garden in Hampshire. It was slightly underexposed. I was still sitting on the bench, but the colors and the planes of the road and horizon had become the photo. If I looked hard, I could see the lines of the window ledge in the original photograph were now composed by a tree branch and the silhouetted edge of a grass verge. The sheen of the flash on the window was replicated by bonfire smoke drifting infinitesimally slowly from behind a fence. My sister’s face had been dimly visible behind the window, and -yes- there were pale stars far off to the west that traced out the lines of a toddler’s eyes and mouth

When I look back at this there’s nothing to grasp, no starting point. I was inside an underexposed photo from 1982 but I was also sitting on a bench in Haringey

Strongest of all was the feeling of 1982-ness: dizzy, illogical, as if none of the intervening disasters and wrong turns had happened yet. I felt guilty, and inconsolably sad. I felt the instinctive tug back - to school, the memory of shopping malls, cooking, driving in my mother’s car. All gone, gone forever

I just sat there for a while. I was so tired that I didn’t bother trying to work out what was going on. I was happy just to sit in the photo while it lasted, which wasn’t for long anyway: the light faded, the wind caught the smoke, the stars dimmed under the glare of the street-lamps. I got up and walked away from the squat little benches and an oncoming gang of kids

A bus was rumbling to my rescue down the hill, with a great big ‘via Alexandra Palace’ on its front, and I realized I did want a drink after all

(Alasdair MacLean)

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(subjectless)

Apr. 2nd, 2020 | 05:59 pm

Kā jums liekas, kāpēc mums ir viszemākie saslimstības rādītāji un vienīgajiem joprojām 0 nāves gadījumu visās Baltijas valstīs? Iedzīvotāju blīvums un dabiskā introverce visās trijās valstīs apmēram taču ir vienāda. Jeb tā ir statistiski nenozīmīga sakritība, par ko nav vērts lauzīt galvu?

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(subjectless)

Mar. 18th, 2020 | 04:09 pm



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(subjectless)

Mar. 12th, 2020 | 04:36 pm

Jaunās sērgas trauksmei, protams, ir arī kaut kādas pozitīvas blaknes, piemēram, man šķiet, ka jūs vairāk esat sākuši rakstīt cibā. Rakstiet, rakstiet, ļaudis! Rakstiet par saviem iekšējās un ārējās realitātes notikumiem, lieciet pārdomas un trauksmi te. Pulcēsimies šajā virtuālajā viesistabā, ja reālās uz kādu laiku jāaizslēdz.

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(subjectless)

Mar. 10th, 2020 | 05:19 pm

Diennakts laikā jau savākta trešdaļa parakstu, oho: https://manabalss.lv/viendzimumu-partneru-registresana/show. Iepriekšējā iniciatīva (kas bija kopdzīves likums, nevis "viendzimuma partneru reģistrēšana", bet nu lai jau, galvenais, lai šis jautājums jebkādā formā tiek atkal un atkal aktualizēts) aizņēma sazincik gadus, kamēr aizvilka līdz 10k. Es prognozēju, ka plato tiks sasniegts pie 4 tūkstošiem, optimistiskākajā scenārijā pie sešiem.

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Parunāsim par kārdinājumiem

Feb. 23rd, 2020 | 02:01 pm

Poll #21339 Your Biggest Vice
Open to: All, results viewable to: All

Atlikušo mūžu tu drīksti lietot tikai vienu no sarakstā uzskaitītajām substancēm, bet nevienu citu. Ko tu izvēlies?

View Answers

Kafija
35 (29.4%)

Alkohols
30 (25.2%)

Nikotīns
7 (5.9%)

Gandža
5 (4.2%)

Psihedēliķi
10 (8.4%)

Saldumi / rafinētais cukurs
32 (26.9%)

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