Talks Tumblr Quotes

I was stressed and scared and I had to hurry to be someone, become something, do something. I was running and talking and cursed myself when I wasted my time on things that wouldn’t get me anywhere. It was work and it was money and I was never where I was, always somewhere else in my head far, far away.

Talk to yourself like a cherished friend. Treat yourself with love and care. You are perfect, just as you are.

What romanticizing mental illness is it can happen in a lot of ways. The main culprits that I will be talking about is Tumblr and its really unhealthy tendency to perpetuate certain ideas about mental health and normalize things that maybe shouldn't be normalized.

The Internet is a fad that is full of Tumbling and children who write explicit fan fiction pornography based upon my boyfriend’s books. They should be outside playing with pinecones or hula hoops or whatever it is children do these days, not talking about a fictional threesome that will never happen.

According to neuroscience research from 2012, it is intrinsically rewarding to talk about oneself. This is perhaps why Facebook, Twitter and blogging platforms like Tumblr have been such successful products.

But the thing about being a disaster in middle school is that the shame of it never fully goes away. Even after your braces are off and your hair is exactly the way girls wear it on Tumblr, underneath it all, you’re still just as unsure whether someone actually likes you, or is only talking to you so they can laugh about it afterward.

THE CURIOUS THING was that Facebook and Twitter and Tumblr and Blogspot, a media platform owned by Google, were the stomping grounds of self-styled intellectual and social radicals. It was where they were talking. It was where, they believed, the conversation was shifting. They were typing morality lectures into devices built by slaves on platforms of expression owned by the Patriarchy, and they were making money for the Patriarchy. Somehow this was destroying the Patriarchy. So there is always hope.

I was on my way to talk to Davis when the car hit me". . . . . . "A dark figure emerged from the shadows, half-lit by the glittering streetlight and the pale glow of the moon". . . . . . . "Huge black wings erupted out of her back like a blooming rose. She was beautiful." . . . . "I knew who this woman was.’Are you Death?'" . . . . . “'Most people have something holding them down to this world,' she said, 'like a tether on a balloon. It could be something material, a person, or persons, an unfinished goal. There are many reasons to want to keep living. I wonder, Juvenalius, what is yours?' I smiled just thinking about it. 'His name’s Davis.' Her hand stroked my cheek so gently I wanted to cry. 'Tell me about him,' she whispered." And Juvenalius does. And you will be transfixed as Juve's first friend comes to life in his memory in this Tale with a gay twist.

Already, when Facebook bought Instagram, it felt as though the walls of the Internet were closing in a little tighter around us users. The broad expanse of possibility, of messiness, on a network like Geocities or the personal expression of Tumblr was shut down. Digital life became increasingly templated, a set of boxes to fill in rather than a canvas to cover in your own image. (You don’t redesign how your Facebook profile looks; you just change your avatar.) I felt a certain sense of loss, but at first the trade-off of creativity for broadcast reach seemed worthwhile: You could talk to so many people at once on social media! But that exposure became enervating, too, and I missed the previous sense of intimacy, the Internet as a private place—a hideout from real life, rather than the determining force of real life. As the walls closed in, the algorithmic feeds took on more and more influence and authority.

In the beginning, there was the internet: the physical infrastructure of wires and servers that lets computers, and the people in front of them, talk to each other. The U.S. government’s Arpanet sent its first message in 1969, but the web as we know it today didn’t emerge until 1991, when HTML and URLs made it possible for users to navigate between static pages. Consider this the read-only web, or Web1. In the early 2000s, things started to change. For one, the internet was becoming more interactive; it was an era of user-generated content, or the read/write web. Social media was a key feature of Web2 (or Web 2.0, as you may know it), and Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr came to define the experience of being online. YouTube, Wikipedia, and Google, along with the ability to comment on content, expanded our ability to watch, learn, search, and communicate. The Web2 era has also been one of centralization. Network effects and economies of scale have led to clear winners, and those companies (many of which I mentioned above) have produced mind-boggling wealth for themselves and their shareholders by scraping users’ data and selling targeted ads against it. This has allowed services to be offered for “free,” though users initially didn’t understand the implications of that bargain. Web2 also created new ways for regular people to make money, such as through the sharing economy and the sometimes-lucrative job of being an influencer.

Here are a few ways you can encourage students to share, although I bet you can get with them and come up with creative ideas of your own. • Post their testimony as a Facebook note or on their blog or Tumblr, and link to that with Twitter or status updates. Or, send a message to friends and ask them to read it and give their feedback. • Tweet or post key verses, maybe a series noting the narrative of the gospel. • Set aside an hour a week online just for the gospel, like “virtual visitation” where they take that time to talk to a friend about Christ.

I forget,” said Tuesday, “you’re the last Luddite teen in America.” “It does not make me a Luddite,” Dorry said, “to not want to give it up to Mark Zuckerberg.” “Dear Dorothea.” Tuesday put a warm hand on her shoulder. “The first time you share your private information with an internet monolith is a very special, magical—” “I’m saving myself for Tumblr.

I do not wait till i am in trouble till i can call on God. I have learned to speak the way God speaks, I have learned to see things the way God sees and I have also learned to handle it the way God handles it. Christ is the daily language of my mouth and faith is my daily talk and my actions have become the language of my life.

When a Dominant gains the trust and respect of their submissive they not only create an environment of desire but also safety; both physical and, perhaps most importantly, emotional. The Dominant, through their nurturing and protective (not smothering) way, makes it possible for a submissive to sense and express feelings long repressed. The Dominant enables a submissive to talk about anything, explore ideas and desires long thought to be taboo, and challenges them to be better and more in all facets of their lives. As a result, the submissive feels open, safe, energized, desirous and desired. It is this nurturing process that allows a Dominant deep inside the soul of the submissive in a way no one has ever been given access before. But once that access to the heart and mind of a submissive has been granted and that intense vulnerability exposed, she is a very fragile and delicate being that must be treated by the Dominant with considerable care, appreciation, and continued devotion. This is where many domestic partners and wannabe doms completely fall flat and do great harm. Having attained their physical desires after gaining a little access, perhaps even through outright narcissistic deceit, they turn on the submissive and use their vulnerability against them in the form of neglect, manipulation, or even abuse. Having dropped their defenses and allowed someone in, only to be trampled or ignored, the submissive is left feeling emotionally battered and cold. The walls go back up, perhaps never to come down again for the domestic partner, wannabe Dom, or any man.

You can talk about everything, your deepest struggles and your most terrific happiness, with a #supersoulfriend. Send your #SSF a hug today!

there’s dozens of stories about some kid from our world falling into a different, magical one, being the chosen one or the close companion of the chosen one and saving the world, and then going home where they’re delighted to see their family again and have a new appreciation of their own life. but what about someone who didn’t miss it? what if you save the world and you’re given your medal and stripped of the magic you learned and put back in a world you never missed? and you’re furious. maybe you gave up a few years of your life. you have callouses and muscles and a few scars and maybe a missing eye or something. you definitely have some blood on your hands. you might have PTSD you can’t talk to anyone about. and suddenly you’re fifteen again, in a body that’s too soft and too short and too complete. you’re always cold because there’s no magic burning in your veins anymore, and even as you grow up the feeling of not fitting doesn’t go away because when you look in the mirror at eighteen you look all wrong: this is not what you’re supposed to look like at eighteen. the sky clouds and you rub at the phantom ache of injuries this body never received. you wake up screaming sometimes remembering the sorcerer who burnt your hand to ashes, or the final battle you almost didn’t make it through, or the moment you felt the magic in you go out. but here’s the thing: they took you and made you into a weapon that was determined enough and powerful enough to save a whole world. they can put you back where they found you but they can’t undo everything. and there’s this, too: the place between worlds clings to you. you can’t tease fire out of the air but you can feel the pull of the doorways all the time, although none of them so far go to your world. but you try to make it work for a decade, anyway. you’re dutiful. but one night you leave work late and for the thousandth time you catch yourself searching the sky for firebirds. and you break. of the three portals within five hundred miles, one is a howling, frozen wasteland and one is a deep violet void, but one opens into a misty forest that you step into and don’t look back. it’s not your world, but if you keep going long enough, you’ll get there. (and maybe much, much later, hundreds of worlds later, you climb through a window, or a door of woven branches int he middle a field, or push aside a curtain, and as you set foot on new land you feel the fire in your veins and sparks at your fingertips and finally, finally, you’re home)

The weird thing about growing apart from friends is that you can never fully be rid of them. I don't think once about the girl I promised to never lose contact with for weeks at a time but whenever I see a certain book series I'll think about how much she loved it. I haven't talked to my old friends from camp in months but I'll never not like their pictures when they come up on my feed, and I'll never not like the friends themselves either. And it stings a bit when a boy I used to talk to for hours doesn't say hi to me when I see him in the cafeteria but whenever I see a supermarket cake I'll remember the time in middle school when I brought one to school for his birthday and he ate three slices and told me it was the best cake he'd ever had. You can pull away from friends but never fully break apart. The process of growing apart has a beginning but never an end