Changes to my tumblr It had to be done eventually, but now that I’ve had some time to experiment… In an attempt to keep my Tumblr space somewhat more focused and organized—both for myself and my followers—I have decided to set aside this blog and create two new accounts. One will be a refocused version of infinitypalm, and will probably contain reflections on personal freedom, human potential, nonduality, and other related themes. The other account has already been created, and hosts a new blog featuring mostly fandom and other assorted interests. You can check it out here. I will not delete this account for now (and probably not for a while), partly to keep track of things while in transition, partly to keep stuff I’ve done but may not know what to do with. This blog will be renamed though, probably to infinitypalm1 or some such thing, so that the new revamped blog can retain the original name of infinitypalm. TL;DR: I will no longer post on this blog (unless it’s about the switch to my new blogs), and it will no longer be “infinitypalm”. Fandom/random-type blog: tathata-tales Reflective-type blog: infinitypalm (coming soon) Something like that. Just figured I’d give a heads-up.

Changes to my tumblr

It had to be done eventually, but now that I’ve had some time to experiment…

In an attempt to keep my Tumblr space somewhat more focused and organized—both for myself and my followers—I have decided to set aside this blog and create two new accounts.

One will be a refocused version of infinitypalm, and will probably contain reflections on personal freedom, human potential, nonduality, and other related themes.

The other account has already been created, and hosts a new blog featuring mostly fandom and other assorted interests. You can check it out here.

I will not delete this account for now (and probably not for a while), partly to keep track of things while in transition, partly to keep stuff I’ve done but may not know what to do with. This blog will be renamed though, probably to infinitypalm1 or some such thing, so that the new revamped blog can retain the original name of infinitypalm.

TL;DR:

I will no longer post on this blog (unless it’s about the switch to my new blogs), and it will no longer be “infinitypalm”.

Fandom/random-type blog: tathata-tales

Reflective-type blog: infinitypalm (coming soon)

Something like that. Just figured I’d give a heads-up.

“Everything is literally entangled, it can all be communicated with and affected ‘at a distance’ because there is no distance, only a simulation of apparent separation which our limited consciousness feeds us second by second at 11 bits. The ‘telepathy’ which brings people together is no more or less supernatural or unlikely than the ‘telepathy’ which brings two of your fingers together when you think about it. Patience, participation and constant close observation of what’s going on, on the inside and on the outside will soon make you a fine sorcerer, if that’s what you want to be.”
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August vs. Gold If August is Baelfire: August: We made a deal, remember? Gold: *I DON'T KNOW WHAT MY FEELINGS ARE DOING* me: *I DON'T KNOW WHAT MY FEELINGS ARE DOING* If August is Pinocchio: August: Must AVENGE MY GRANDPARENTS who are PUPPETS BECAUSE OF YOU Gold: You BLOCKHEADED piece of FURNITURE, I will give you a SHIN SPLINT you can take all the way back to NEPAL. me: me: One does not simply take the Dark One's dagger
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Reblog if you spend more time lost in your imagination than you do living in reality. cyprith: marchionessofblackadder: meta-dreams: catiematie: firethenightsky: midnightraiyne: loadedremains: REALITY? Reality? What reality? (Source: blogofimpossiblethings)

Reblog if you spend more time lost in your imagination than you do living in reality.

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“You see exactly what you think. When you don’t know what you see, you don’t think. Don’t be afraid to fall down this hole. There’s no bottom.”
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I want a Tumblr best friend. Reblog if I can go on your page and write stupid things in your ask box whenever I’d like to. 3pirouette: ASK me, I love making new friends here :) I can be shy sometimes, but ditto. ;o) (Source: 17blcak)

I want a Tumblr best friend. Reblog if I can go on your page and write stupid things in your ask box whenever I’d like to.

3pirouette:

ASK me, I love making new friends here :)

I can be shy sometimes, but ditto. ;o)

(Source: 17blcak)

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"Rumpelstiltskin" as told by Anne Sexton Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out. No bigger than a two-year-old whom you’d call lamb chop yet this one is old and malformed. His head is okay but the rest of him wasn’t Sanforized? He is a monster of despair. He is all decay. He speaks up as tiny as an earphone with Truman’s asexual voice: I am your dwarf. I am the enemy within. I am the boss of your dreams. No. I am not the law in your mind, the grandfather of watchfulness. I am the law of your members, the kindred of blackness and impulse. See. Your hand shakes. It is not palsy or booze. It is your Doppelganger trying to get out. Beware … Beware … There once was a miller with a daughter as lovely as a grape. He told the king that she could spin gold out of common straw. The king summoned the girl and locked her in a room full of straw and told her to spin it into gold or she would die like a criminal. Poor grape with no one to pick. Luscious and round and sleek. Poor thing. To die and never see Brooklyn. She wept, of course, huge aquamarine tears. The door opened and in popped a dwarf. He was as ugly as a wart. Little thing, what are you? she cried. With his tiny no-sex voice he replied: I am a dwarf. I have been exhibited on Bond Street and no child will ever call me Papa. I have no private life. If I’m in my cups the whole town knows by breakfast and no child will ever call me Papa I am eighteen inches high. I am no bigger than a partridge. I am your evil eye and no child will ever call me Papa. Stop this Papa foolishness, she cried. Can you perhaps spin straw into gold? Yes indeed, he said, that I can do. He spun the straw into gold and she gave him her necklace as a small reward. When the king saw what she had done he put her in a bigger room of straw and threatened death once more. Again she cried. Again the dwarf came. Again he spun the straw into gold. She gave him her ring as a small reward. The king put her in an even bigger room but this time he promised to marry her if she succeeded. Again she cried. Again the dwarf came. But she had nothing to give him. Without a reward the dwarf would not spin. He was on the scent of something bigger. He was a regular bird dog. Give me your first-born and I will spin. She thought: Piffle! He is a silly little man. And so she agreed. So he did the trick. Gold as good as Fort Knox. The king married her and within a year a son was born. He was like most new babies, as ugly as an artichoke but the queen thought him in pearl. She gave him her dumb lactation, delicate, trembling, hidden, warm, etc. And then the dwarf appeared to claim his prize. Indeed! I have become a papa! cried the little man. She offered him all the kingdom but he wanted only this - a living thing to call his own. And being mortal who can blame him? The queen cried two pails of sea water. She was as persistent as a Jehovah’s Witness. And the dwarf took pity. He said: I will give you three days to guess my name and if you cannot do it I will collect your child. The queen sent messengers throughout the land to find names of the most unusual sort. When he appeared the next day she asked: Melchior? Balthazar? But each time the dwarf replied: No! No! That’s not my name. The next day she asked: Spindleshanks? Spiderlegs? But it was still no-no. On the third day the messenger came back with a strange story. He told her: As I came around the corner of the wood where the fox says good night to the hare I saw a little house with a fire burning in front of it. Around that fire a ridiculous little man was leaping on one leg and singing: Today I bake. Tomorrow I brew my beer. The next day the queen’s only child will be mine. Not even the census taker knows that Rumpelstiltskin is my name … The queen was delighted. She had the name! Her breath blew bubbles. When the dwarf returned she called out: Is your name by any chance Rumpelstiltskin? He cried: The devil told you that! He stamped his right foot into the ground and sank in up to his waist. Then he tore himself in two. Somewhat like a split broiler. He laid his two sides down on the floor, one part soft as a woman, one part a barbed hook, one part papa, one part Doppelganger. (Source: bijouisawesome)

"Rumpelstiltskin" as told by Anne Sexton

Inside many of us
is a small old man
who wants to get out.
No bigger than a two-year-old
whom you’d call lamb chop
yet this one is old and malformed.
His head is okay
but the rest of him wasn’t Sanforized?
He is a monster of despair.
He is all decay.
He speaks up as tiny as an earphone
with Truman’s asexual voice:
I am your dwarf.
I am the enemy within.
I am the boss of your dreams.
No. I am not the law in your mind,
the grandfather of watchfulness.
I am the law of your members,
the kindred of blackness and impulse.
See. Your hand shakes.
It is not palsy or booze.
It is your Doppelganger
trying to get out.
Beware … Beware …

There once was a miller
with a daughter as lovely as a grape.
He told the king that she could
spin gold out of common straw.
The king summoned the girl
and locked her in a room full of straw
and told her to spin it into gold
or she would die like a criminal.
Poor grape with no one to pick.
Luscious and round and sleek.
Poor thing.
To die and never see Brooklyn.

She wept,
of course, huge aquamarine tears.
The door opened and in popped a dwarf.
He was as ugly as a wart.
Little thing, what are you? she cried.
With his tiny no-sex voice he replied:
I am a dwarf.
I have been exhibited on Bond Street
and no child will ever call me Papa.
I have no private life.
If I’m in my cups the whole town knows by breakfast
and no child will ever call me Papa
I am eighteen inches high.
I am no bigger than a partridge.
I am your evil eye
and no child will ever call me Papa.
Stop this Papa foolishness,
she cried. Can you perhaps
spin straw into gold?
Yes indeed, he said,
that I can do.
He spun the straw into gold
and she gave him her necklace
as a small reward.
When the king saw what she had done
he put her in a bigger room of straw
and threatened death once more.
Again she cried.
Again the dwarf came.
Again he spun the straw into gold.
She gave him her ring
as a small reward.
The king put her in an even bigger room
but this time he promised
to marry her if she succeeded.
Again she cried.
Again the dwarf came.
But she had nothing to give him.
Without a reward the dwarf would not spin.
He was on the scent of something bigger.
He was a regular bird dog.
Give me your first-born
and I will spin.
She thought: Piffle!
He is a silly little man.
And so she agreed.
So he did the trick.
Gold as good as Fort Knox.

The king married her
and within a year
a son was born.
He was like most new babies,
as ugly as an artichoke
but the queen thought him in pearl.
She gave him her dumb lactation,
delicate, trembling, hidden,
warm, etc.
And then the dwarf appeared
to claim his prize.
Indeed! I have become a papa!
cried the little man.
She offered him all the kingdom
but he wanted only this -
a living thing
to call his own.
And being mortal
who can blame him?
The queen cried two pails of sea water.
She was as persistent
as a Jehovah’s Witness.
And the dwarf took pity.
He said: I will give you
three days to guess my name
and if you cannot do it
I will collect your child.
The queen sent messengers
throughout the land to find names
of the most unusual sort.
When he appeared the next day
she asked: Melchior?
Balthazar?
But each time the dwarf replied:
No! No! That’s not my name.
The next day she asked:
Spindleshanks? Spiderlegs?
But it was still no-no.
On the third day the messenger
came back with a strange story.
He told her:
As I came around the corner of the wood
where the fox says good night to the hare
I saw a little house with a fire
burning in front of it.
Around that fire a ridiculous little man
was leaping on one leg and singing:
Today I bake.
Tomorrow I brew my beer.
The next day the queen’s only child will be mine.
Not even the census taker knows
that Rumpelstiltskin is my name …
The queen was delighted.
She had the name!
Her breath blew bubbles.

When the dwarf returned
she called out:
Is your name by any chance Rumpelstiltskin?
He cried: The devil told you that!
He stamped his right foot into the ground
and sank in up to his waist.
Then he tore himself in two.
Somewhat like a split broiler.
He laid his two sides down on the floor,
one part soft as a woman,
one part a barbed hook,
one part papa,
one part Doppelganger.

(Source: bijouisawesome)

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“It is the body which is immortal. It only changes its form after clinical death, remaining within the flow of life in new shapes. The body is not concerned with “the afterlife” or any kind of permanency. It struggles to survive and multiply NOW. The fictitious “beyond”, created by thought out of fear, is really the demand for more of the same, in modified form. This demand for repetition of the same thing over and over again is the demand for permanence. Such permanence is foreign to the body. Thought’s demand for permanence is choking the body and distorting perception. Thought sees itself as not just the protector of its own continuity, but also of the body’s continuity. Both are utterly false.”
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