We all have those thoughts that keep us up at night, the ones that make us realise that we just like every other human being are a little fucked up, or a lot. We stare at stars, skies, walls, ceilings, computer screens; reliving regrets, mistakes, and opportunities missed. We write on laptops, journals, scraps of paper, windows hoping we can make sense of a life that ultimately no-one can make sense of. Some who are lucky have ones who notice, who pull them away from these doomed musings for another night, those who don’t - continue to stare and write, stuck in some memory or hope, haunted by the past, present or future until the sun rises again, or sleep grants them a welcome reprieve.
Fantasy Map: Mente Subterránea by Miguel Andrés, 2010
Thanks to reader alber for pointing me to this, a nicely different take on the “brain as subway map” theme. This one seems to be based more on medical fact than the HSBC ad I featured this morning, though that does mean that the route lines are a little wobblier and less adherent to a 45-degree grid than I’d normally like to see.
The routes seem to be named after parts of the brain, with intermediate stops representing what that part is responsible for: “Dreams”, “Aggressiveness”, “Object Names”, etc. Interchange stations represent major functional centres in the brain, giving us the rather charmingly-named “Medulla Main Station” and “Gustatory Cortex Gardens”, among others.
A nicely cheeky “MIND” logo that echoes the famous London Underground roundel finishes things off nicely. About the only thing I don’t care for is the somewhat ugly compass rose, although it does seem to cleverly indicate the “left” and “right” sides of the brain, rather than compass directions.
One last thing: why is the left eye pointing in a different direction to the right?
(Source: Miguel Andrés’ website)
"She was at once so resolute and so dreamy, so sensual and so intelligent. She also was intensely private. What she knew best was how it felt to be alone, unique, isolated. She was lacking in the sense of a solid communal life; What bound people together escaped her. What separated them was an object of wonder, delight and despair. She seemed as detached from herself as from everyone else."
I wish I had told her how incredible she was, but she wouldn’t believe me now. I don’t have the right to intrude on her privacy even though I can see how lost she is. I wish she believed me when I said I would always be there for her even if she didn’t know me very well. Because here I am useless in my want to make her feel ok, to feel happy, still waiting for her to realise I am still here if she wanted to talk, because I have no right to demand her to talk to me. I have no right to be responsible for her happiness and that is all my fault. I am sorry.
"I never realized what
a big deal that was.
How amazing it is to
find someone who
wants to hear about
all the things that go
on in your head."
Nina LaCour, Hold Still (via fawun)
"She deserves better, you say. I say: You’re a goddamn coward. What she deserves is an actual person she can connect with. She deserves you, or me or the entire world; she deserves someone achingly real and honest. She deserves a human being equally raw to pursue her and love her and, perhaps, destroy her emotionally, but she deserves all that as well. She doesn’t deserve anyone’s sugary fairytale. She deserves to float freely, with you, or me, or the world, into the very depths of her own psychosynthesis. She deserves to explore the meaning of the word "intimacy", with someone beside her that will care regardless. She fucking deserves all of it. So, pluck up the courage and be with her or leave her in peace but don’t you dare "sell" her your own "inadequacy" as a lie so that, again, you manage to comfort your conscience and eventually come to feel that you love her exactly because you’re letting her go. Because, darling, that’s bullshit. That’s only you own little self-created lie laying behind a much bigger lie; it’s not even properly concealed within itself, you fucking idiot."
my mind just exploded
"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know."
Ernest Hemingway, “The Garden of Eden”