guy fieriโs flagship show is all about him going to underappreciated family-owned restaurants, praising their work and bringing them nationwide positive attention and business. he openly supports lgbt people like his sister and frequently has gay chefs on his grocery games competition, including ones revolving around relationships and family. he donates all of the non-perishable food from grocery games to food banks and advocates for fighting hunger. he goes to parts of the country where natural disasters have hit and hosts big events where he cooks for and feeds the victims. he has a legitimately funny sense of humor on his shows and is generally said to be a really nice person. he loves his son and has done whole television specials about taking him along on trips having once-in-a-lifetime experiences together. he might look goofy but that man does things that nourish the SOUL and u cant put frosted spikes on THAT
You become addicted to lucid dreaming, and start having trouble telling reality from dreams.
It should be easy. Flying, floating: a dream. Sitting, bored, in a classroom: reality. Clear lines.
It isnโt easy.
I forget Iโm dreaming. I am in a classroom, I am in a coffee shop, I am in normal surroundings, but one by one they fall away. I am not the sort to dream of flying over wild lands. My dreams are my life, or a version of it.
But in my dreams, the rooms are quiet. And the people are not real. In my dreams when I speak, no one speaks over me. In my dreams, people listen. And when I do not want to speak, the conversation ends.
In my dreams, when I am tired, everything falls away, and I move on to the next scene.
I am in the library. You are speaking to me. I donโt want to hear the next words. This is the page where I slam the cover shut, put the story down, wait until I am calmed and prepared to continue. ย
You are speaking. The scenery falls away. We are in a restaurant. That was a dream, just then? I thought that was really you, telling me things I donโt want to hear. Was that not you?
We are in a restaurant. You are repeating yourself. These words donโt make me apprehensive, but I do not comprehend them. What are the words? Are you mumbling? Or is that my ears? Wait, youโre tugging at my sleeve. I know what happens next. This is a dream, so I know what happens, because I choose it.
Why did I choose this? You are crying. You donโt do that often. You are looking into my eyes, and you are sad, and afraid. Did I make you afraid?
Itโs after the restaurant. I couldnโt understand your words before, but now they are in my ears, going back and forth like the tongue of a bell. Come back. Come back.ย
Back where? I am here, where are you?
Why did I start dreaming to begin with? You were in love with life, and with me. Was I in love with you? Did that scare me?
I was always waiting to sink to the bottom. I was waiting for a cue.
Itโs after the restaurant. I am dreaming. Iโm walking on a bridge. There is a small lake. But no, it is a river, because I have decided. And it is not small, not at all, and it is in fact very far down, I have decided this too. Or was it always a river? Was I dreaming to begin with?ย
But the sun is on me as I leap off the bridge. Halfway to the bottom I decide to sprout wings, and I wait, patiently, to see what happens next.
Gaud are you okay?
iโm a melodrama bitch
How is your writing always so beautiful and vibrant but unsettling at a level so deep my lizard brain wants to hide
Shineheart26 