Some of the hundreds of love letters I found at an abandoned mansion in Cornwall 2013
Realistic House Plant Cupcake by Alana Jones-Mann
Inspired by a gardening project, Brooklyn-based baker Alana Jones-Mann decided to make cupcakes that look like common miniature cacti. Using frosting, green food coloring and of course, baking talent, Alana successfully made a bunch of cacti cupcake cuteness and even planted them on soil (crushed graham crackers). These realistic cacti cupcake are made with such impressive details that some of them even appear sharp to the touch. If you like those edible cacti and want to make your own, head on over to Alana Jones-Mann’s blog and find the step-by-step tutorial.
take all my fucking money
So my manager was talking about how he was offering to buy his girlfriend some leggings, and then he told me about a friend of his that owns this rad pair of leggings with the map of Middle Earth printed on them
And he was was looking for Mordor but it wasn’t anywhere visible so he asked her “So where is Mordor on those?”
And she was like “Huh? What do you mean?”
And he said “Well, because.. one does not simply walk into Mordor…”
Back then, I knew who I was then
The bottles on the counter and the green were never tempting
I seemed to have much more fun then
Enjoying the quality of company without dependence on any substance
But I was also pretty naive, when
I timidly said yes to the latter for the first time
Then I felt that first high, felt that buzz
That racked my body and mind
Finally felt what I thought I was missing
Nights meshed together in beautiful blurs, chased by headaches and aching bones in the morning
I felt curious and I got used to it all
Before I realized my own dependence
Using any excuse to reward myself
Before I found myself surrounded
By people just as curious, encouraging me to take one more shot, one more hit,
Before one turned into four, and then into nine before I lost count and met the floor
How could this sensation feel so good, but feel so bad?
And when did keeping clean and sober start feeling so sad?
Nothing ever compared to that first time
But we all kept trying to grasp that euphoria before we finally realized
it was all we had left
Sooner than later the buzz turned into a drunken stupor that began with laughter and ended with tears
Before I found myself seeking it to chase them away
Yet all of that was just foreplay into the dark nights turned darker by my churning thoughts brought on by bottles bottomless
They say cherish the moments that take your breath away
But those moments weren’t the only thing..
How many times was my breath caught, choking on thick smoke, or gasping between the expulsion
Of the liquor in my system, my body screaming at me “no more” once it finally realized that all of this was unnatural?
But at first it all felt so natural, wanting to relax, have a good time,
Before good times became impossible without these things
Now the natural high becomes something to chase instead of something to simply feel
That can’t be obtained by simple memories but with good money in exchange for dangerous vices
And now coming home after a long day of work includes a single paradise,
A drinkable, smokable escape
Where innocent curiosity turned into hazy nights
The solemn fact that we know we destroy our bodies
But do it again the next day
Because the things we settle for in our life can’t take the desperation away
It’s so depressing how the quality of life is based on wealth.
I’m not saying that there aren’t people like this that exist, but how many people truly reach for goals to actually be happy opposed to the paper-chase? Of course, hard work perseveres, but how many people can actually say that they work hard for future happiness opposed people that work hard for the comfort of their future families? Nothing is wrong with either, but people seem to chase different ideas.
The honest question is whether or not the quality of life is measured by genuine happiness, the comfort generated by wealth and stability, or the medium of both.
Before, I used to despise myself when people told me “You have no direction.”
I used to sit by myself in the dark and cry about it.
Where is my life going?
Where am I going?
And of course, the winner:
I would dread every single day until I realized that I wasn’t exactly lost. I realized that I was exactly where I was meant to be. And though that contradicted the opinions of everyone else around me, I realized how much happier I was.
And now, when people tell me “You have no direction,” I kind of sit there and laugh, but modestly nod, because though I know how easy it must be to set fire to every train that isn’t yours, how easy it is to show the middle finger to any happiness that isn’t your own, it’s WAY more worth it to smile in the face of snarky ass people that will insult you just because they regret the supposed “direction” that they chose.
So yeah, I have “no direction.” Fuck me, right?
But it’s better to have no direction rather than have a set time and place where my train will crash and burn with no more hopes to travel the world, experience nature, and feel. I would rather experience a runaway train than live comfortably knowing how much I have sacrificed for the sake of guarantee.
Safe and sound is always pleasant, but silenced and well-behaved was never half as much fun.