Bless the person who made these gifs
MARY POPPINS THOUGH OMFG
You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.
yesss i found it again! one of my all time favourite reads.
Philosophy went to the max right here
OI SCROLL BACK UP AND READ ALL OF IT!
I was really intrigued by this
I haven’t seen this in so long.
Ugh the chills tho I like this
Oh my. Best thing i had ever read. Forever in my blog.
Pinocchio: Corpses and Murder
Original: Pinocchio Kills the Cricket, the Fairy is a Walking, Talking Corpse and Pinocchio Dies
In the very first version of Pinocchio, the marionette is punished by death for being such a naughty boy. Pinocchio teases Gepetto mercilessly and runs away, Gepetto chases him but is caught by a police officer who throws the old man in prison, believing he is abusing the puppet. When Pinocchio returns to Gepetto’s house he meets a hundred year old cricket who tells him naughty boys turn into donkeys. Pinocchio throws a hammer at the cricket and kills it.
Pinocchio ends up nearly getting burned as fire wood, he then bites off an evil cat’s paw and meets a beautiful blue haired fairy who tells him she is dead and waiting for people to take her body away. Pinocchio then gets hung from a tree by the cat with the mutilated paw and the cat’s companion the fox, and they watch as Pinocchio suffocates to death. The End.
The editors weren’t too happy with this ending, so the author added a second part to the story. Here, the beautiful dead fairy rescues Pinocchio and they start living together, but Pinocchio takes up his wicked ways again and eventually turns into a donkey. He is sold to the circus, where he goes lame.
Pinocchio is then brought by a musician, who desires to kill him, skin him, and turn him into a drumhead. The musician ties rocks to the donkey’s neck and lowers him into the ocean to drown. As he drowns, fish eat the flesh off his bones, and the wooden marionette skeleton is left. Pinocchio swims away, but is swallowed by a giant shark, in whose stomach he finds Gepetto sitting at a table trying to eat live fish which keep wriggling out of his mouth. After they escape, Pinocchio busies himself with caring for Gepetto, and eventually as a reward for being a good lad, looking after his father and working hard, he is rewarded by being turned into a real boy.
Dismemberment in Aladdin
Original: Cassim Gets Dismembered
Who the hell is Cassim you ask? Cassim is Aladdin’s long lost father in Disney’s direct-to-video third Aladdin movie; Aladdin and the King of Thieves. In the movie, Cassim, who is the leader of the infamous Gang of Forty Thieves, gives up his wicked ways to attend Aladdin and Jasmines long awaited wedding. Some concepts for the movie were inspired by Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, a tale from 1001 Nights.
In the original version, Ali Baba learns the secret words into and out of the Forty Thieves magical secret treasure trove. Ali Baba reveals the words to his brother Cassim, who rushes to the trove to greedily collect as much gold as he can carry. In his excitement though, he forgets the magic words to get out of the cave. The thieves return, find Cassim and kill him. They divide his corpse into quarters and place the dismembered portions outside the opening of their cave as a warning to future robbers.
When Ali Baba discovers the macabre warning sign, he collects the portions of his brothers’ body and carries them home with him. He asks a slave girl, Morgiana, to make it look as if Cassim died of natural causes. Morgiana finds a skilled tailor, who expertly sews the pieces of Cassim’s corpse back together. The thieves discover where Ali Baba lives, but the slave girl ends up tricking them into killing two of their own, and she kills the rest by pouring boiling oil into the jars where they are hiding. The leader is the only one left, and Morgiana stabs him to death during dinner at Ali Baba’s house. Now that’s one loyal slave!
Original: Cinderella Kills Her Step-Mother
By now, most of us know about the Grimm’s version of Cinderella, where the Prince spreads tar on the palace steps in the hopes that Cinderella will get stuck as she tries to flee. His plan fails however, and only her shoe is left sticking in the tar. Her sisters, who are “beautiful but black of heart” both attempt to fool the Prince into marrying them. One sister slices off her big toe so that she may fit the slipper, the other slices off her own heel. Their deceit is unmasked when Cinderella’s enchanted birds point out the blood on their stockings to the Prince. The sister’s eyes are pecked out as punishment for their cruelty and deceit. Though this is an excellent version of Cinderella, this is not the version Disney actually based their movie on.
Disney’s Cinderella was based on a very tame story by Charles Perrault, published 1697. Perrault’s version plays out almost exactly like the Disney version. However, both Perrault’s and Grimm’s versions contain elements from The Cat Cinderella, published in 1634, by Giambattista Basile. Though tame for a Basile fairy tale, it is worth noting that in this version, Cinderella confides in her seemingly kind Governess about the cruelty of her step-mother. The Governess tells Cinderella that to fix her problem she will need to kill her step-mother by slamming the lid of a large wooden chest down on her step-mothers throat, which will break her neck.
Cinderella must then convince her father to marry the Governess. Cinderella kills her step-mother and the marriage goes ahead. It turns out though that the Governess was hiding her own seven beautiful daughters out of sight, and when she produces them, Cinderella’s father loses interest in his own daughter. They all start to mistreat Cinderella, abusing her and calling her names, and she is sent to the kitchens to work as a servant (she is now given the name ‘Cat Cinderella’. previously her name was Zezolla). The rest of the story carries like a traditional Cinderella tale, and actually has a happy ending all round, but it’s nice to know that Cinderella wasn’t always so innocent.
Äscher Cliff, Switzerland
Hotel Kakslauttanen, Finland
Ladera Resort, St. Lucia
The Manta Resort, Zanzibar
Rayavadee Krabi, Thailand
Shangri La, Paris
Hotel Ristorante Grotta Palazzese Polignano a Mare, Italy
Villa Escudero, Philippines
That I tend to overcomplicate:
Growing up in
me one thing:
sex is good,
stories are kept hidden
under the blankets,
like little secrets
feasted upon by
a party of two.
But it is not
soft lips, my arms
your nakedness, eyes
staring, sweet smiles,
moans, hands to hands,
me inside of you,
you letting me
in, we slowly dancing
like vynil records
spinning and I
am the pin
I am familiarizing
myself to the music
of each different
game, I try to
under a stand
where I am drifted
away by the fleeting
moments of people
coming in and out
of my life at glimpses.
I told you it is not
always about good times,
most of the times
it is about me
without a you.
Like I being asked
if we can just be friends
after the first night
at the first date,
with traces of
on white sheets,
you, gently moving,
tapping your core,
your hair like crinkles
on the pillows, and I see the lining
of your nose, your lips, you told me
we’ve had heaven that evening.
And to the other one who told me
That there were no great wars –
Four weeks of us like fire trucks
Rushing through our flames, and
You rushed through other
burning shelters, and you rushed
through my ruins, and no matter how
I tried to tell you that we are
each other’s private property,
You are always a cassette player playing
On repeat until the day we lost all
The cords and the electricity and we
Were both drifted apart. We were broken
Records with songs we cannot claim
And to the one who taught me that
We are not rivers rushing through each other
At one point to be together as we
Embrace the ocean, but instead,
Series of streams that make and break
into separate path, one going north,
one going east, and we were troubled
waters happened to meet at one point.
All of these – the sudden goodbyes, the night
that stretches more than the names we draw
with our fingers in the shadows, the sun that
does not shine for two, the memories of
afternoon heat mixing with the smell
Of our sweat, the warmth we’ve had
during rainy days – are boiled down to
one word: sex; and regardless, we never
wanted what would come next so we
are left with just our traces on the bed,
a trace of where we were once,
A silver lining at the wee hours of the evening,
and people unaware of what
they have left in me.
Now, I am left with a box with all
the fragments of memories – the emptied
bottle of whiskey, the cigarette butts, the
cards we played, your little notes
and the covers where your scent found home.
Up to date, I am part island lost in the
geography of flesh and
bones and a found sunken
ship at the bottom of the
tongue, the breaks
in the ribs. I try to grasp
air but my lungs are
filled with smokes of my history,
And I stretch my fingers
up to see which one
held a promise of refuge
amidst the fluxes of ephemerality.
I am hanging on a thread,
a burning candles with audience
that when the flames die,
I have no one to call as my own.
I have never thought
that this could be this hard.
-You Told Me “Mga Simpleng Bagay”, Zakk Habitan
Finally! naka white uniform na ko !!! 😍 hello to more sleepless nights na naman starting tomorrow ! 😂 #FEUturePsychologist #legalwhite 👍💙❤💙
Apparently this is "The clearest photo of Mercury ever taken."
why isnt everyone getting so excited about this, it is literally another planet look at how beautiful it is stop what your doing and look at how alien like this planet is what is living there oh my god mercury
Know what’s so perfect about this black and white Hazel and Augustus photo? It’s slightly out of focus and looks real. That means a great deal to those of us who hold this story so dear.