Madness is not a state of mind.

catedrals: cupid-loves-superwholock: mirasen: theartofanimatio...

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 01:10:39 -0400

cupid-loves-superwholock:

mirasen:

theartofanimation:

Sakimichan

OH MY GOSH! THESE ARE BEAUTIFUL!!

AS:KEJFALKjsd;fl WHAT

It’s very, very sad how you have to bash someone else’s idol to say how much better...

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 01:08:04 -0400

It’s very, very sad how you have to bash someone else’s idol to say how much better yours is. It’s even sadder the actual idols don’t even care about this. I don’t understand how bullyng someone else can be a way of supporting a person, But maybe I’m just getting too old to get in the middle of people who clearly have the mind of twelve year olds.

It should be about enjoying music AND RESPECTING someone else’s taste and respecting all artists. Is respect really such a hard thing? If you can’t even have respect for artists, people you don’t even really know, how is it going to be out there? When you get a job, for example? Where will your immaturity take you?
Nowhere, that’s where.

That dumb bitch with the Chris Brown icon who is obsessed with me must be feeling so embarrassed about how wrong he/she/it was about everything they said. Flop bitch Victoria Justice dropped back down to 195 on iTunes. She'll be off the top 200 in a hour.

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 00:33:42 -0400

wonderbolt-dashie:

onehorseshay:

arianaforthefuture:

Must be hard supporting people who’ll never get anywhere.

Is this how you deal with Ariana’s show is already bombing on Nick? Lash out at Victoria?

whoo, you need to lay off the hater aid, playa

Photo

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 00:32:05 -0400

poderfriki: Nintendo’s Evolution by Brandon Winn

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 00:21:52 -0400

poderfriki:

Nintendo’s Evolution by Brandon Winn

Photo

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 00:09:10 -0400

Pessoal em SP acabaram de cantar o Hino na frente da tropa de choque!

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 22:41:42 -0400

heartbreakur: when i look in the mirror: when i try to take a...

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 22:41:07 -0400

heartbreakur:

when i look in the mirror:

when i try to take a picture:

peixesass: pikanoob: seeaann: when friends make plans in front of you but don’t invite you when...

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 22:18:20 -0400

peixesass:

pikanoob:

seeaann:

when friends make plans in front of you but don’t invite you

when accidently making plans in front of friends you don’t want to invite and they invite themselves

when someone hits your pokemon and its super effective

iwillincendiotheheartoutofyou: my blog has become this weird mixture of fandoms, feminism, cats and...

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 22:17:50 -0400

iwillincendiotheheartoutofyou:

my blog has become this weird mixture of fandoms, feminism, cats and really fucking stupid jokes that nobody outside this website would find remotely amusing

A weird thing I find incredibly helpful for art/writing.

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 22:16:17 -0400

sauntering-vaguely-downwards:

deadcantdraw:

Eplans.com is a website that sells blueprints for houses.

This might not seem that helpful but if you want a characters house you can make selections based on what sort of house you want them to live in.

Then browse through the results and find the house you want. Then you can view the blueprints and have a room layout for that house, which can help with visualising the space they live in.

It makes describing generic homes so much easier.

doing an experiment. Reblog if you aren't wearing shoes

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 22:12:47 -0400

yeeitsanna:

light-eco-sage:

amayyy-zayn:

alabasterfrost:

…why do I feel so awkward reblogging this

Shoot, any time I’m at home I’m out of my shoes…

of course i’m not wearing shoes

2013: O ano em que o Brasil cansou de gritar por gols, e...

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 22:12:24 -0400

2013: O ano em que o Brasil cansou de gritar por gols, e decidiu gritar pela história.

Sorry for the inconvenience, we’re changing the country.

#mudança

20-centavos: MUDA BRASIL - FAZ SENTIDO

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 22:12:07 -0400

20-centavos:

MUDA BRASIL - FAZ SENTIDO

Natalie Dormer on Craig Ferguson (17/05/13)

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 21:16:29 -0400

Natalie Dormer on Craig Ferguson (17/05/13)

Reblog if you've formed a meaningful relationship with someone you met online.

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 21:02:42 -0400

Photo

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 21:02:30 -0400

walkdownthestreetlikeafckingstar: metaorigin: madfromamyriad: ...

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 20:38:10 -0400

walkdownthestreetlikeafckingstar:

metaorigin:

madfromamyriad:

metaorigin:

madfromamyriad:

superwhoavengelockandme:

And that’s when you knew London wasn’t a complete ditz.

what if she was just witch and she just didn’t understand the muggle world

That explains why we never saw her parents… they were probably too busy with their jobs in the Ministry… 0_o

LONDON’S A SQUIB

BUT WAT IF SHE WASN’T

WAT IF SHE ACTUALLY HAD POWERS BUT HID THEM

GRADUATED FROM HOGWARTS EARLY

AND INTERNED IN OUR WORLD BECAUSE SHE WANTED TO WORK WITH MUGGLES

IT WOULD EXPLAIN WHY SHE FOUND IT DIFFICULT TO USE SO MANY MUNDANE MUGGLE OBJECTS

Photo

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 20:35:01 -0400

cassicucumber: ijustwantedadragonageurl: perfectedflaw: buttho...

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 20:34:21 -0400

cassicucumber:

ijustwantedadragonageurl:

perfectedflaw:

butthole-spaghetti:

gracie-geek:

crazeace:

fuzzlesan:

fuckyeahspookyshit:

Last year, I spent six months participating in what I was told was a psychological experiment. I found an ad in my local paper looking for imaginative people looking to make good money, and since it was the only ad that week that I was remotely qualified for, I gave them a call and we arranged an interview.

They told me that all I would have to do is stay in a room, alone, with sensors attached to my head to read my brain activity, and while I was there I would visualize a double of myself. They called it my “tulpa.”

It seemed easy enough, and I agreed to do it as soon as they told me how much I would be paid. The next day, I began. They brought me to a simple room and gave me a bed, then attached sensors to my head and hooked them into a little black box on the table beside me. They talked me through the process of visualizing my double again, and explained that if I got bored or restless, instead of moving around, I should visualize my double moving around, or try to interact with him, and so on. The idea was to keep him with me the entire time I was in the room.

I had trouble with it for the first few days. It was more controlled than any sort of daydreaming I’d done before. I’d imagine my double for a few minutes, then grow distracted. By the fourth day, however, I could manage to keep him “present” for the entire six hours. They told me I was doing very well.

The second week, they gave me a different room with wall-mounted speakers. They told me they wanted to see if I could still keep the tulpa with me in spite of distracting stimuli. The music was discordant, ugly, unsettling, and it made the process a little more difficult, but I managed nonetheless. The next week, they played even more unsettling music, punctuated with shrieks, feedback loops, what sounded like an old school modem dialing up and guttural voices speaking some foreign language. I just laughed it off; I was a pro by then.

After about a month, I started to get bored. To liven things up, I started interacting with my doppelganger. we’d have conversations, play rock-paper-scissors, I’d imagine him juggling or break dancing, or whatever caught my fancy. I asked the researchers if my foolishness would adversely affect their study, but they encouraged me.

So, we played and communicated, and that was fun for a while…and then it got a little strange. I was telling him about my first date one day and he corrected me. I’d said my date was wearing a yellow top, and he told me it was a green one. I thought about it for a second and realized he was right. It creeped me out, and after my shift that day I talked to the researchers about it. “You’re using the thought-form to access your subconscious,” they explained. “You knew on some level that you were wrong, and you subconscious corrected yourself.”

What had been creepy was suddenly cool. I was talking to my subconscious! It took some practice, but I found that I could question my tulpa and access all sorts of memories. I could make it quote whole pages of books I’d read once, years before, or things I was taught and immediately forgot in high school. It was awesome.

That was around the time I started “calling up” my double outside of the research center. Not often, at first, but I was so used to imagining him by now that it almost seemed odd not to see him. So, whenever I was bored, I’d visualize my double. Eventually, I started doing it almost all the time. It was amusing to take him along like an invisible friend. I imagined him when I was hanging out with friends, or visiting my mom; I even brought him along on a date once. I didn’t need to speak aloud to him, so I was able to carry out conversations with him and no one was the wiser.

I know that sounds strange, but it was fun. Not only was he a walking repository of everything I knew and everything I had forgotten, he also seemed more in touch with me than I did at times. He had an uncanny grasp of the minutiae of body language that I didn’t even realize I was picking up on. For example, I thought the date I brought him along on was going badly, but he pointed out how she was laughing a little too hard at my jokes and leaning towards me as I spoke, and a bunch of other subtle clues I wasn’t consciously picking up on. I listened and let’s just say that the date went very well.

By the time I’d been at the research center for four months he was with me constantly. The researchers approached me one day after my shift and asked me if I’d stopped visualizing him. I denied it and they seemed pleased. I silently asked my double if he knew what prompted that, but he just shrugged it off. So did I.

I withdrew a little from the world at that point. I was having trouble relating to people. It seemed to me that they were so confused and unsure of themselves, while I had a manifestation of myself to confer with. It made socializing awkward. Nobody else seemed aware of the reasons behind their actions, why some things made them mad and others made them laugh. They didn’t know what moved them…but I did, or at least I could ask myself and get an answer

A friend confronted me one evening. He pounded at the door until I answered it and came in fuming and swearing up a storm. “You haven’t answered when I called you in fucking weeks, you dick!” he yelled. “What’s your fucking problem?”

I was about to apologize to him and probably would have offered to hit the bars with him that night, but my tulpa grew suddenly furious. “Hit him,” it said, and before I knew what I was doing, I had. I heard his nose break. He fell to the floor and came up swinging, and we beat each other up and down my apartment. I was more furious than I have ever been, and I was not merciful. I knocked him to the ground and gave him two savage kicks to the ribs, and that was when he fled, hunched over and sobbing.

The police were by a few minutes later, but I told them that he had been the instigator and since he wasn’t around to refute me, they let me off with a warning. My tulpa was grinning the entire time. We spent the night crowing about my victory and sneering over how badly I’d beaten my friend.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when I was checking out my black eye and cut lip in the mirror, that I remembered what had set me o ff. My double was the one who’d grown furious, not me. I’d been feeling guilty and a little ashamed, but he’d goaded me into a vicious fight with a concerned friend. He was present, of course, and knew my thoughts. “You don’t need him any more. You don’t need anyone else,” he told me; I felt my skin crawl.

I explained all this to the researchers who employed me, but they just laughed it off. “You can’t be scared of something that you’re imagining,” one told me. My double stood beside him and nodded his head, then smirked at me.

I tried to take their words to heart, but over the next few days I found myself growing more and more anxious around my tulpa, and it seemed that he was changing. He looked taller and more menacing. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and I saw malice in his constant smile. No job was worth losing my mind over, I decided. If he was out of control, I’d put him down. I was so used to him at that point that visualizing him was an automatic process, so I started trying my damnedest to not visualize him. It took a few days, but it started to work somewhat. I could get rid of him for hours at a time, but every time he came back, he seemed worse. His skin seemed ashen, his teeth more pointed. He hissed and gibbered and threatened and swore. The discordant music I’d been listening to for months seemed to accompany him everywhere. Even when I was at home; I’d relax and slip up, no longer concentrating on no seeing him, and there he’d be, and that howling noise with him.

I was still visiting the research center and spending my next six hours there. I needed the money, and I thought they weren’t away that I was now not actively visualizing my tulpa. I was wrong. After my shift one day, about five and a half months in, two impressive men grabbed me and restrained me, and someone in a lab coat jabbed a hypodermic needle into me.

I woke up from my stupor back in the room, strapped into the bed, music blaring, with my doppelganger standing over me, cackling. He hardly looked human any more. His features were twisted. His eyes were sunken in their sockets and filmed over like a corpse’s. He was much taller than me, but hunched over. His hands were twisted, and his fingernails were like talons. He was, in short, fucking terrifying. I tried to will him away, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate. He giggled and tapped the IV in my arm. I thrashed in my restraints as best I could, but could hardly move at all.

“They’re pumping you full of the good shit, I think. How’s the mind? All fuzzy?” He leaned closer and closer as he spoke. I gagged; his breath smelled like spoiled meat. I tried to focus, but I couldn’t banish him.

The next few weeks were terrible. Every so often, someone in a doctor’s coat would come in and inject me with something or force-feed me a pill. They kept me dizzy and unfocused, and sometimes left me hallucinating or delusional. My thought-form was still present, constantly mocking. He interacted with, or perhaps caused, my delusions. I hallucinated that my mother was there, scolding me, and then he cut her throat and her blood showered me. It was so real that I could taste it.

The doctors never spoke to me. I begged at times, screamed, hurled invectives, demanded answers. They never spoke to me. They may have talked to my tulpa, my personal monster. I’m not sure. I was so doped and confused that it may have just been more delusion, but I remember them talking with him. I grew convinced that he was the real one and that I was the thought-form. He encouraged that line of thought at times, but mocked me at others.
‘
Another thing that I pray was a delusion: he could touch me. More than that, he could hurt me. He’d poke and prod at me if he felt I wasn’t paying enough attention to him. Once, he grabbed my testicles and squeezed until I told him I loved him. Another time, he slashed my forearm with one of his talons. I still have a scar; most days I can convince myself that I injured myself, and just hallucinated that he was responsible. Most days.

Then, one day, while he was telling me a story about how he was going to gut everyone I loved, starting with my sister, he paused. A querulous look crossed his face, and he reached out and touched my head. Like mother used to when I was feverish. He stayed still for a long moment and then smiled. “All thoughts are creative,” he told me, then he walked out the door.

Three hours later, I was given an injection and passed out. I awoke unrestrained. Shaking, I made my way to the door and found it unlocked I walked out into the empty hallway and then ran. I stumbled more than once, but I made it down the stairs and out into the lot behind the building. There, I collapsed, weeping like a child. I knew I had to keep moving, but I couldn’t manage it.

I got home eventually; I don’t remember how. I locked the door and shoved a dresser against it, took a long shower, and slept for a day and a half. Nobody came for me in the night, and nobody came the next day or the one after that. I twas over. I’d spent a week locked in that room, but it had felt like a century. I’d withdrawn so much from my life beforehand that nobody had even known I was missing.

The police didn’t find anything. The research center was empty when they searched it. The paper trail fell apart. The names I’d given them were aliases. Even the money I’d received was apparently untraceable.

I recovered as much as one can. I don’t leave the house much, and I have panic attacks when I do. I cry a lot. I don’t sleep much, and my nightmares are terrible. It’s over, I tell myself. I survived. I used the concentration those bastards taught me to convince myself. It works, sometimes.

Not today, though. Three days ago, I got a phone call from my mother. There’s been a tragedy. My sister’s the latest victim in a spree of killings, the police say. The perpetrator mugs his victims, then guts them.

The funeral was this afternoon. It was as lovely a service as a funeral can be, I suppose. I was a little distracted, though. All I could hear was music coming from somewhere distant. It was discordant, unsettling stuff that sounds like feedback, shrieking, and a modem dialing up. I hear it still – a little louder now.

Oh my god…

…I…

…I’m generally not into creepypastas but holy shit…

………

Holy shit what the hell did I just read

the scary part is that this is an actual thing. you can actually have a tulpa. it is a theory that slenderman among other myths are tulpas or thoughtforms (something created by collective thoughts of one or more individuals).
it’s so terrifying to think of what your mind can create.

Holy tits…

WHY IS THIS BACK

liTERALLY HORRIFIED JESUS CHRIST