February 2012
34 posts
Stones in your eyes, stones in your mouth.
boringerik:
Sometimes I look through somebody’s facebook photo album, and they’re smiling in every picture. Not like, super lame “forced smiles because the camera is out,” but more so “genuine caught in the moment of loving life” type smiles, and I don’t know. It’s just pretty much the most attractive and beautiful thing in the world (well, at least on facebook). I wish my photo albums were...
oduhn:
I just want someone to hold me and deny my thoughts. Just simply hold me together, before I burst into million doubts.
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Perhaps the most beautiful things must come from pain. Tragedy has a terrible wonder all its own. Genius is tortured, romantics tantalized by that which they know is impossible yet for which they yearn. The capacity for hope is interwoven with the capacity to desire. It is the most purely human of the base instincts, every man’s greatest triumph and failure in one. I am intimately ...
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As the plans turn into compromise, the promises...
I’m not mad at you, no, that’s not it. It’s more so that I keep thinking, out of all the people who had ever given me reason to choose, why on earth did it have to be you? See, you tell me that you can bring me back my drive and re-twist my head back on top of my swallowed lungs and buried heart, you tell me that soon I will be clothed in memories and live, not normally, but...
obseo:
I really can’t tell if I’m changing for better or worse but I’m tired of trying to figure that out and I’m tired of trying to figure out where all this will lead me because I have no idea. I don’t know anything. So, I might as well just go along with it. I was never the kind of person who took matters into her own hands but I guess this is better than doing nothing for now.
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日光倾城
A sudden moment of peculiar insight is all you really ever need, during the times when you feel deprived or voided of intimacy. Lying there, head against the wood block and looking out through a piece of cold finger-smeared window, you think the sunset is a star winking insolently at you, but the light dies in a beguiling flash of crimson and the moment passes. Soon the emptiness will be an echo,...
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whitenedcatsblackwhiskers:
I don’t have anything to write about anymore.
There’s no more feeling inside of me. How are you supposed to write if you’re completely empty?
You can’t. It’s impossible. You can write about the emptiness, but the writing would be so shallow, so see-through. There wouldn’t be any effort put into it.
I need to wake up and start realizing that things are slowly moving....
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两个女孩的无声对话
The funny thing is, I’m not your sunshine girl, I’m not some manic pixie dream girl that you can pick up pick out from any indie movie, and perfect plastic package her in your personality categories that you always arrange oh-so-neatly in your judgmental brain. I, personally, won’t go out of my way to be the embodiment of spontaneity, not when pretending to be unique is hard...
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My eyes are blurring up for no good reason, my kitchen smells like boiled egg, I don’t understand the complexities of the German revolution because my textbook is too unnecessarily verbose, my hair is not very shiny even though it’s freshly washed, and I want to eat my facial mask because it smells nice.
This is such a cool story, I know, although I feel like it’s lacking...
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내 마음의 빈방
There’s this shell that’s lying next to my two calculators in this little shallow alcove beside my desk drawer, gathering dust in its pitted surface - it’s mostly ignored, but sometimes, when I am searching frantically for something else, a paper crane I’d forgotten about or a pen cap because where the hell else would I put miscellaneous things other than places where hidden things...
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cursivethoughtsasdw:
i swear asian girls here only say they’re blunt because they’re on a website and away from physical interaction.
and then when they return to their social life all they do is cower behind their pretentious words
I do this a lot. It’s nice, sometimes, to be shy.
I mitigate the situation slightly by hitting people.
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When you like somebody, you’re always embarrassed, because you always want to look good in front of them. But you don’t feel like that with me, ever.
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It’s pathetic, it’s such a joke, and in retaliation, I will destroy all of my own idols one by one until there is nothing left but dust and shadows and aimlessly drifting atoms. I am a walking iconoclasm, and this self-defeating walk will leave me with nothing before I am done, save perhaps an invasive hurt that I cannot name - a self-destruction the luxury of which I cannot afford in...
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This is what I wanted to say to you that day at the beach, all those years ago. I think, in before all those declarations about feeling like I’d been dying my whole life, to me graduation meant graduating from the feeling that I was already too late, and the feeling of liking you but knowing there was someone else. There’s always something else, whether it be a person or a disparate ...
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Postmodernist slang.
Being contrary for the sake of contrary doesn’t automatically equal cool. The hipster rule does not apply for all things. Because if everything is ironic, then nothing is sincere, and, you know, seriously, we’re already all too much of liars to be able afford having too little sincerity. Please move on from this anti-crowd crowd complex that you have going on right now. Thanks and...
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至少我还有你的照片。
I would like to not be a dormant cliche, and it is slightly helpful that whatever tears I had are now peeling away into silicon droplets. Half my thoughts are wax, all of my movements are hindered by glass. The last night you stayed at this city was a result of a self-flagellating delirium on many parts and split personalities. “Couldn’t you just not go?” “What for?” “…there’s no reason,...
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And when you see her, you will feel the inexplicable urge to cry, all of your normally negligible impulses and earthen desires suddenly begging for a course of path through her veins splintering into capillaries, for what she lacks in perfection she makes up for in intentionally blurred photographs and dripping hair. The entire situation is absurd when not viewed through contextual lenses, and it...
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Stop giving yourself away to catatonic/cataleptic...
I am always going to be a little mad, just for you, you who will take a rest to listen, or listen to take a rest, but the exposition has partly changed now. Now I am more quiet as I wait at crossroads and modified intersections, though waiting does not necessarily imply a substantial package of faith, it is just that the act of doing so allows me one more checklist item that I may use as an excuse...
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可惜: dracometeors: Thinking about the future makes... →
dracometeors:
Thinking about the future makes me nervous. Just thinking about the rest of my day makes me nervous. Because I honestly never know which way I’m going. I never really know which way I’m falling. I’m always tripping over and stumbling down with just my intuition to guide me. And this lack of direction terrifies me. I’m terrified that I’m not going anywhere. I worry that I might be...
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“I loved them, according to the hallowed expression, which amounts to saying that...”
– Albert Camus (via phredosophy)
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I lie to you because who I am in your head and who I am most of the time are very different people. I am trying to reconcile these two images for your benefit.
The dust is settling. Some days, I drown in metaphors. Some days, the well is dry but I jump in anyway and, when the flickering mirages accumulate before me, it almost feels like you meant nothing to me in my grand scheme of things, which...
January 2012
18 posts
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You have framed me, like a scapegoat covered with...
But no, it’s nothing as simple or so simple as victimizing yourself or your position or what you are doing here. Say that I am falling, I am the pieces of a porcelain shell scattered by a hurricane, except maybe I analyze the entire situation wrong, and the truth is that I am not delicate nor broken nor even remotely fragilistic breakable pieces of redundancies. I am the hurricane. I am the raging...
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“That awkward moment where you want to talk to someone who will make you feel...”
– cupid-painted-blind
Anonymous asked: Everyone undergoes change, some for the better, some for worse. Where do you stand?
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“We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too,...”
– Richard Siken
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There are three figures in this passage, all of whom must delay the situation for as long as possible, although it may be said that it is an uncertain thing of what situation, and it will never be known how this has to be told. One is unrealistic, one is cruel, and another is a thief. The moment a cohort is caught, the other two would leap off the rooftop in a heartbeat. But then the person...
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Anonymous asked: Do you believe in love at first sight? My soul recognized yours instantly. Would it be alright if I loved you?
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a fragment is defined by what it lacks: and,...
Summer sensations are non-transferable. I can smell the ocean from this room, the ocean smeared as memories onto this dangling bracelet someone long-forgotten threw at me in a mad fit of delirium. Because the latter does not necessarily correlate with the former. These are all emblems of a perfection of sorts, a happiness which appears in summertime, laid over everything, a seeming notion of haze...
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“Wet work as a euphemism for movies of a young short skirt, showing all her pink,...”
– Barbara Jane Reyes, Pink
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my generation is inaugurated by an atmosphere of schizophrenia leaking a tiredness and despoiled childhoods strung hand to sticky hand with petal-lust, neon-thrums my generation is earthly-relegated, louvred feelings thresholded stacked and breadcrust-cut, humming with an undercurrent of breathlessness and a quiet regal fury humanoids bleat-eyed shut-eyed...
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Everything I do is derivative of nothing.
If only I could run so far that no one could catch me, go somewhere with an identity as blank and seemingly guileless as a sheet of snow, sleep as if I were dead for a few days, and then stop breathing. Just like that. And yet every day I come back. I speak when I have to speak. Laugh when I have to laugh. Some moments I feel like an empty system, coldly cyclic and rid of complexities, just...
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Do facets of the actor bleed into the character or...
The further back I go, carefully peeling apart your pages so as to make concrete the notion that I have missed nothing, absolutely nothing, the more I am struck by how human you appear. Is it the past which makes us so soft, for your tomorrows are sheened over with silicon, you have mastered the art, or however far you are willing to accept it as an art, of hard glossing that still retains an edge...
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