today at school a boy named miguel jumped up on the lunch table
ripped his shirt off (his chest said “be mine”)
and started playing ‘careless whisper’ on the saxophone that he pulled basically out of thin air
like you can think i’m lying, i would, but
ARE THOSE BACKUP DANCERS
wait a minute
actually, no. don’t wait a minute. i will accept this. i would just clear the bullshit-factory from my mind, get sussed out, constantly have my shit together in every situation, and charged my entire being with creativity and awareness.
i am so down with this~
No more depression. No more anxiety. No more losing my temper at stupid shit. No more crippling fear for the future… None of it.
You guys don’t think big enough.
Feeling motivated and pumped 24/7. Conscious access to your pattern-matching faculties and muscle and generic memory. Splinter your hemispheres and delegate different tasks for improved multi-tasking. Whatever it is you’re doing, from rocket science to playing Starcraft for a living, you’d be dominating the field in a decade.
not big enough.
with 100% brain power you can learn anything much faster than anyone on earth and master it at a record pace, you could out program entire companies, out smart geniuses, never sleep as you can rest your brain in phases become the all powerful being.
every post on this site always ends with world domination has anyone noticed that
Knit sweaters from Romwe!
ppl who randomly message u on the tumble are the best kind of ppl even if they’re just bein all like ‘hello!’ because its like omg hi hello person wow someones talking to me this is the best day ever
i get like 10 hellos a day because of this post
my uncle used to be one of those people who drove dead people to cemeteries and such
then he became a taxi driver and the person he was driving tapped his shoulder to ask a question and my uncle screamed really loud
I’m sure that’s what he thought.
I’m 827% positive that the reason Anderson doesn’t think Sherlock is dead is because Sherlock purposefully let Anderson see tiny glimpses of him the past several years, just to screw with his head. Appearing through Anderson’s window in the woods, standing across the street of his favorite coffee shop, leaving small traces of his presence in his office.
Because Sherlock’s a little shit like that.