If-it-can-die-its-not-you - REMEMBER

if-it-can-die-its-not-you - REMEMBER

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Sitting on my couch, nothing at all is happening... I don't work tomorrow... But my heart is racing and so are my thoughts... Wishing I knew how to change my life so that who I am can be who I am, freely expressing and enjoying who I am... So I don't have to worry about the future... So I don't have to have an autopilot for worrying and fear...

Sitting On My Couch, Nothing At All Is Happening... I Don't Work Tomorrow... But My Heart Is Racing And

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Painting Without Intention

Painting without Intention

Painting I did Today. I love painting where I don't have any plans for it... A blank canvas. I don't plan the brushes, I don't plan the colours. I just make a quick choice in the moment and let the painting paint itself.


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I Drawing I Did In My Early Teens (probably Around 2007-2009).

I drawing I did in my early teens (probably around 2007-2009).

Sketched it on paper, scanned it onto the computer and coloured in photoshop.

I've always loved games like Zelda that includes a lot of nature of magic, fantasy etc.

Something about a lone wolf surviving in the wild, where things aren't perfect but they are natural.


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A three panel comic of Honeydew trying to be at the perfect temperature. The comic is titled "A Real Fan" and is made by Theresa Scovil.  Panel 1: Narration says "Cooling off." Honeydew squints as they sitting in front of an electric fan. They say "No." Panel 2: Narration says "Warming up." Honeydew looks angry wrapped in a blanket, with a drop of sweat on their face. They say "No." Panel 3: Narration says "Cooling off while warming up." Honeydew is wrapped in a blanket while sitting in front of an electric fan. They cheerfully say "Yes."

I'm pretty sensitive when it comes to temperatures, so to be comfortable I have to make sure absolutely everything is perfect. Warm enough on certain parts of me, and cool enough on the other parts.

How aware are you of your thoughts? How sensitive are you? What are the limits? What are the dimensionalities?

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When I try and find myself, I am not there. When I try to know myself, I am unknown. Every time I died, I remain. Who did I forget?

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