-
8 votes
-
The Ward; and a goodbye to Tildes.
First, the piece. I built a fire from the branches which were missed by the snow. Drank the water of the cacti that in deserts still grow. Found the shade in the south where the sun forever glows....
First, the piece.
I built a fire from the branches
which were missed by the snow.
Drank the water of the cacti
that in deserts still grow.
Found the shade in the south
where the sun forever glows.
Clawed and scraped my way to freedom
of likes I have never known.
.
A starved, abandoned cub
lost in Greenlandic champaign -
I pawed about the lifeless floors
of snow-imprisoned plains.
With wind ill-matted fur I marched
and shivered through the rain
in search of hearts and hearths to
make me home again.
.
A ward of warmth appeared, assumed
to aid my ailing mews.
A securing shawl of summer softened
me from winters shrewd.
A multitude of miracles revealed
rejuvenating news.
I concluded countless colder winds
are warmer without you.
This site has given me so much: peace of mind, freedom of expression, cathartic release, and a sense of care and community of which I, over the last number of months, have deeply been in need.
Things are looking ever forward as I continue on about adult life. However, included in those plans of forward-action are a number of artistic pursuits.
In search of some semblance of belonging and community, I revealed a lot about myself in various posts and comments I’ve left about Tildes; and made the mistake of not publishing my works separately or under a pseudonym.
I would like to publish a book of poetry, release paintings, and create music. However, I don’t feel comfortable continuing to do so under my real name.
I will be well; I’m in a better place now. (Personally, of course. Not like that.) It’s simply time for me to separate the art from the artist, as it were.
Thank you all, so much, Tildes. I love you.
It’s been fun.
Bishop.
29 votes -
Timasomo Post #2: Reflection for Week One of Four
Timasomo FAQ What is Timasomo? Timasomo is "Tildes' Make Something Month," a creative community challenge that takes place in the month of November. It was inspired by NaNoWriMo, the National...
Timasomo FAQ
What is Timasomo?
Timasomo is "Tildes' Make Something Month," a creative community challenge that takes place in the month of November. It was inspired by NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month.
What are the rules?
Timasomo is self-driven and its goals are self-selected. On November 1st, participants will commit to a creative project (or projects) that they plan to complete within the month of November. There is no restriction on the methods/products of creativity: writing, painting, code, food, photos, crafts, songs -- if it's creative expression for you, it works for Timasomo!
Though most will be participating individually, collaborations are welcome too!
What is the schedule?
Timasomo begins November 1st and ends November 30th. All creative output towards your goal(s) should be confined to this time. This week prior to the start of November is for planning, and there will be a few days at the beginning of December given to "finishing touches" before we have our final thread, which will be a showcase of all the completed works. The showcase date is TBD and will be decided by the participants toward the end of the month, once we have a better idea of what we'll need to do wrap up our projects.
Can I participate?
Yes! Timasomo is open to anyone on Tildes! If you would like to join, post your goal here. The greater Tildes community is also encouraged to participate in discussion threads even if you are not actively working towards a creative goal. This is meant to be an inclusive community event -- all are welcome! If you are interested in participating but do not have a Tildes login, please e-mail the invite request address here for an invite to the community.
Thread #2: Reflection for Week One of Four
One week down, three to go! Why does it feel like we just started but also like there's not a whole lot of time left?!
Give a Progress Update
How's it been going? Tell us where you're currently at!
Breakdowns and Breakthroughs?
With any creative process, there'll always be unexpected flashes of brilliance or unexpected fizzles for what seemed like good ideas. Have you encountered anything that didn't go like you wanted it to, or something that up and surprised you out of nowhere?
What's Coming Up This Week?
With seven days down already, what do the next seven look like for you? Let us know where you're headed.
Discussion Topic of the Week: Making Time
How do you make time in a busy schedule for creativity? Do you find it hard to balance your creativity with other life demands? Do you have any tips or tricks that enable you to put more time and effort into your output?
As before: best of luck to ALL participants! Let's go MAKE SOMETHING.
Meta
Suggestions
If anyone has anything they want me to add to this post or suggestions for the next one, let me know either here or by PM!
15 votes -
ZzArt - Abstract Art Evolution - Now Open Source on GitHub!
8 votes -
Timasomo Post #1: It Begins!
Timasomo FAQ What is Timasomo? Timasomo is "Tildes' Make Something Month," a creative community challenge that takes place in the month of November. It was inspired by NaNoWriMo, the National...
Timasomo FAQ
What is Timasomo?
Timasomo is "Tildes' Make Something Month," a creative community challenge that takes place in the month of November. It was inspired by NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month.
What are the rules?
Timasomo is self-driven and its goals are self-selected. On November 1st, participants will commit to a creative project (or projects) that they plan to complete within the month of November. There is no restriction on the methods/products of creativity: writing, painting, code, food, photos, crafts, songs -- if it's creative expression for you, it works for Timasomo!
Though most will be participating individually, collaborations are welcome too!
What is the schedule?
Timasomo begins November 1st and ends November 30th. All creative output towards your goal(s) should be confined to this time. This week prior to the start of November is for planning, and there will be a few days at the beginning of December given to "finishing touches" before we have our final thread, which will be a showcase of all the completed works. The showcase date is TBD and will be decided by the participants toward the end of the month, once we have a better idea of what we'll need to do wrap up our projects.
Can I participate?
Yes! Timasomo is open to anyone on Tildes! The greater Tildes community is also encouraged to participate in discussion threads even if you are not actively working towards a creative goal. This is meant to be an inclusive community event -- all are welcome! If you are interested in participating but do not have a Tildes login, please e-mail the invite request address here for an invite to the community.
Thread #1: It Begins!
Timasomo begins whenever it hits 12:00 AM on November 1st, wherever you are on the globe. Dive into your projects! Here's the task list for this thread:
Formally Identify Your Goal
In the last post, we all talked about what we were aiming for. Now is the time to set a specific goal that you intend to commit to. Be both optimistic and reasonable!
Map Out Your Plan (If You Need One)
Some people like seeing where their creativity takes them, and some people like having a formal process to follow. If you're the type that needs a plan, set one up an share it here (if you want to).
Conduct a Self-Forecast
Evaluate yourself as a creator. What are you good at? What do you need to really focus on? How strong is your follow-through? Forecast how this will go for you and try to plan around your own strengths and weaknesses.
Cheer Others On
This won't be as necessary at the beginning when optimism, resources, and stamina are all at their highest, but it's always fine -- nay, encouraged -- to post positive, uplifting, and supportive comments to others in Timasomo. Even if you are not participating, you can always cheer others on!
Make Posts As You Go
I will be posting these threads every Friday. Feel free to keep a running thread within the post of how things are going for you. It's okay to come back and re-post in here with updates.
With that said, these posts might get a little cluttered so some might prefer their own conversation space, or would just rather have one that they're directing apart from mine. If you'd rather make your own topic about your project or anything related to Timasomo, feel free! I encourage multiple Timasomo posts over the course of the month, not just these weekly check-ins. Just make sure you tag your post "timasomo" so we can easily find it.
Best of luck to ALL participants! Let's go MAKE SOMETHING.
Meta
Suggestions
If anyone has anything they want me to add to this post or suggestions for the next one, let me know either here or by PM!
25 votes -
the city
Something I wrote after watching a scene in the Apple TV+ "The Morning Show" showing an NYC skyline. I've always had a love for NYC, even though I don't live there, and a love for cities more...
Something I wrote after watching a scene in the Apple TV+ "The Morning Show" showing an NYC skyline. I've always had a love for NYC, even though I don't live there, and a love for cities more generally. I've never not lived in a city after moving out of my parents' place, and can't imagine going back to the suburbs. Cities are my home, cities are where I belong. I don't think this one is finished, yet; there are a few rough spots, and I'm not sure about the ending. But, like people have said in a few of the timasomo threads, the important thing is to get the words out, to make the work exist outside of one's head.
the city is awake, alive lights dance in the dark of night little lifesigns, each a past and present each a history and a story not yet told subways and busses and ubers the occasional oblivious cabbie (cancer on the streets) each moving people to their goals their dreams veins and arteries in the city's body lights for seeing superstructure in steel and glass inspiration aspiration and ambition passion and drive these power the pulse and the breath each person, each cell shapes and grows the city, the body each experience shapes epigenetics no place the same after the city takes us all in gives us homes maybe not shelter, but homes we are alive and so is our home an energy ineffable yet indelible
edit: A friend has said that this reminds her of the opening of Murakami's After Dark, and I can absolutely see it. Perhaps a bit of subconscious inspiration?
6 votes -
A love poem
This is something I wrote a couple of weeks ago--not part of Timasomo, but something I'd like to share with folks here. It's becoming more important to me given events in real life and also as I...
This is something I wrote a couple of weeks ago--not part of Timasomo, but something I'd like to share with folks here. It's becoming more important to me given events in real life and also as I explore yoga more deeply as part of my teacher training program. There's clear inspiration from Whitman's O Me! O Life!, but the message is very modern.
That the powerful play goes on and you will contribute a verse Why not let the verse be love? It used to be so easy, so easy, just a simple choice Choose love All the conflicts of today and every other time Not enough love For one another For ourselves Not enough love All the religions and faiths of the world All our enlightened leaders All taught love The play used to be about love So many acts ago Only a few moments ago Seems like forever Seems we’ve forgotten the lines But no one to remind us what they are And we don’t get a rehearsal We get one grand opening day One somber closing night No matinee No encore Why choose any other verse but love? Love makes everything else possible Makes everything else worthwhile Everything else builds on love That the powerful play goes on and you may choose a verse Choose love.
note: Posted this with the wrong title first, so deleted and reposted.
7 votes -
Timasomo Post #0: Roll Call and Planning
Timasomo FAQ What is Timasomo? Timasomo is "Tildes' Make Something Month," a creative community challenge that takes place in the month of November. It was inspired by NaNoWriMo, the National...
Timasomo FAQ
What is Timasomo?
Timasomo is "Tildes' Make Something Month," a creative community challenge that takes place in the month of November. It was inspired by NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month.
What are the rules?
Timasomo is self-driven and its goals are self-selected. On November 1st, participants will commit to a creative project (or projects) that they plan to complete within the month of November. There is no restriction on the methods/products of creativity: writing, painting, code, food, photos, crafts, songs -- if it's creative expression for you, it works for Timasomo!
Though most will be participating individually, collaborations are welcome too!
What is the schedule?
Timasomo begins November 1st and ends November 30th. All creative output towards your goal(s) should be confined to this time. This week prior to the start of November is for planning, and there will be a few days at the beginning of December given to "finishing touches" before we have our final thread, which will be a showcase of all the completed works. The showcase date is TBD and will be decided by the participants toward the end of the month, once we have a better idea of what we'll need to do wrap up our projects.
Can I participate?
Yes! Timasomo is open to anyone on Tildes! The greater Tildes community is also encouraged to participate in discussion threads even if you are not actively working towards a creative goal. This is meant to be an inclusive community event -- all are welcome! If you are interested in participating but do not have a Tildes login, please e-mail the invite request address here for an invite to the community.
Thread #0: Roll Call and Planning
Introduce Yourself
If you are planning on participating in Timasomo, please introduce yourself in this thread. Let the community know a little bit about you, what you do, and your past creative history.
Discuss Your Plans
No need to make a formal goal yet -- that will be for Post #1 on November 1st. Here you can simply toss out ideas, throw them around, and start to formalize what you want your specific goal(s) to be. It's always exciting to not only share out what you want to do but to see what others are planning as well.
Share/Solicit Tips, Tricks, and Resources
Have some great pointers? Share them here! Need some great pointers? Ask for them!
Team Up!
Participants do not have to be individuals, so feel free to join forces. Post a request here if your creative vision involves more than one person. Teaming up can also be useful for people who want to play supportive roles (e.g. playtester, editor, etc.). If you're not wanting to participate directly in achieving your own creative goal but are willing to volunteer help in other ways, offer your services up in this thread!
Get Excited!
This is going to be a great event! I'm already hyped to start my project, and I know others are as well! We're one week away from the starting line!
Meta
My Role
I see myself as a "facilitator" in that I'm posting these weekly threads, but I want this to be a Tildes-driven event rather than a kfwyre-driven one. As such, feel free to provide ideas, feedback, etc. on how you would like this to go or anything I'm either missing or missing the mark on.
Posts
Furthermore, please do not consider "Timasomo" to be something "owned" by me. I consider it a part of this community. As such, if you would like to post threads for the event outside of our weekly Friday threads, feel free! Maybe you want to share a story, talk about a breakthrough, or seek help with something. All are fine, and please don't feel confined to the weekly discussion threads to do so (though if you'd like to share there, that's fine too). The only thing I ask is that, for any additional posts, you tag your submissions with "timasomo" so that they can be easily found under one roof.
19 votes -
What creative projects have you been working on?
This topic is part of a series. It is meant to be a place for users to discuss creative projects they have been working on. Projects can be personal, professional, physical, digital, or even just...
This topic is part of a series. It is meant to be a place for users to discuss creative projects they have been working on.
Projects can be personal, professional, physical, digital, or even just ideas.
If you have any creative projects that you have been working on or want to eventually work on, this is a place for discussing those.
A list of all previous topics in this series can be found here.
13 votes -
What creative projects have you been working on?
This topic is part of a series. It is meant to be a place for users to discuss creative projects they have been working on. Projects can be personal, professional, physical, digital, or even just...
This topic is part of a series. It is meant to be a place for users to discuss creative projects they have been working on.
Projects can be personal, professional, physical, digital, or even just ideas.
If you have any creative projects that you have been working on or want to eventually work on, this is a place for discussing those.
A list of all previous topics in this series can be found here.
12 votes -
Proposal and interest survey for Timasomo: Tildes' Make Something Month
UPDATE: Be on the lookout for Timasomo Post #0 on Friday, October 25! November, the month of NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month, is coming up. I was thinking we could run a parallel event,...
UPDATE: Be on the lookout for Timasomo Post #0 on Friday, October 25!
November, the month of NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month, is coming up. I was thinking we could run a parallel event, though slightly more open in scope.
My idea is to use November here as a "Make Something Month" with pretty much wide open parameters. Write a novel, write poetry, paint landscapes, craft pottery, create delicious recipes, homebrew, code a game, contribute to open source software, do something clever with a Raspberry Pi. Whatever it is you're interested in doing creatively, go for it! I envision something quite self-directed, with the challenge being meeting the parameters you set for yourself rather than any external criteria we come up with. It also doesn't have to be limited to a single project, so maybe you want to tackle a weekly or even daily challenge.
My current vision for how this will work:
I'll post weekly recurring posts (or see if Deimos can schedule them), starting one week before November begins (for planning), continuing through the month with check-ins and feedback and support, and ending with a final showcase post in December where everyone can share their creative works with everyone else.
If this is something that you'd like to participate in, please let me know! Also, if anyone has any ideas for how to run it, please share.
24 votes -
Can you draw a perfect circle?
11 votes -
Charles Finch on how he writes plots for his Charles Lenox mystery novels
4 votes -
Crafting a precise spirit level out of glass
7 votes -
GoDaddy Customer Newsletter - A Poem
A few years ago I got a rather self-congratulatory email from GoDaddy, the domain host, about all the amazing things that their customers do, apparently. Here is a representative excerpt: "One of...
A few years ago I got a rather self-congratulatory email from GoDaddy, the domain host, about all the amazing things that their customers do, apparently. Here is a representative excerpt: "One of the clearest lessons we've learned is that the one word to describe you best is 'courageous.' You go after what you really love, you chart your own course, and you create something (often from nothing) that usually makes the world a better place."
I found this rather silly coming from a corporation that hosts fucking domain names. So I was inspired to write the following poem:
1.
Dear Firstname Lastname
earlier this year we embarked on an effort to learn more about you
what makes you so incredibly unique
and the values you all have in common
we learned an equal amount about ourselves
you go after what you really love
you chart your own course
you create something
(often from nothing)
whether it’s
a neighborhood pizza shop
an organization to help those in need
or a company poised to launch a new industry
you believe where others don’t
you have the guts to strike out on your own
that’s courage
and it’s worth every ounce of support we can give
you’ll always be able to pick up the phone and talk to someone 24/7
sincerely
semi-legible signature
digitally scanned
followed by a name typeset in Arial
and a twitter handle
2.
i don’t create
neighborhood pizza shops
organizations to help those in need
or companies poised to launch a new industry
my values are not your values
i have a blog
it has a domain name
which i pay you to maintain
that is the extent
of our relationship
i will go cry in a corner now ok
sincerely
a customer
17 votes -
Eclipse 2
Logline During the 2017 Solar Eclipse, a thick-skinned female police officer must prevent millennial Shadows from returning from the depths of the Earth to dominate humanity. Notes Post 1 You can...
Logline
During the 2017 Solar Eclipse, a thick-skinned female police officer must prevent millennial Shadows from returning from the depths of the Earth to dominate humanity.
Notes
You can also read it in my blog (no advertising, no annoyances, no bullshit).
- As before, this is not my first language. All criticism is extra welcomed
- I included the previous content - the prelude - just because it's so small@cfabbro, here's the ping you requested! Love to know what you think of it!
Prelude
Before time was time, nights were dreamless. No one narrated the hunts, and death was just a cessation of the body. Births were joyful but meaningless. Statements were nothing more than intentions among roaring, shouts, and racket. Sometimes two sounds came together in funny ways, but meaning was still far away from our primitive cogitations.
In these times of monotony, the Shadows entertained the primitive men. With no timbre or elocution, they came from the deepest layers of Earth’s mantle to tell stories under the moonlight. They lived in harmony, feeding on each other. The Shadows came to life with the laughter and the souls of the Men, and the Men lost the fear of the night with the histories told by the Shadows in a primitive symbiosis.
One day, a man died after eating a tasty looking fruit. Hunting was a gamble, and eventually, men needed to eat potentially dangerous elements. Another, more intelligent man, noted that the juice from his mouth indelibly marked the rock with a pattern that was pleasant to the eyes. He collected more of that fruit, avoiding to put it in contact with sensible areas. This man did not have a proper name. None of them did. They just knew that there was “The Boss”, “The Hunter”, “The Large” and “The Delicate”.
Some men had soft lumps in their chests and above the thighs. Eventually, their bellies got big and other men came out from them. “The Delicate”, who discovered painting, was of this kind. In secret, he drew their hunts in the cave. He made everything bigger and more menacing than it was: the spears, the beast, the joy, the moon, and the flames, that reached the sky.
It took some gestures and vocalizations for The Delicate to make The Hunter understand that that set of traces was him and that the thick line with a pointing end penetrating The Beast was his spear. But soon they understood and had great silence. Followed by a great laugh.
The Hunter imitated the muffled sound of the Beast’s steps and learned to use this sound to talk about the Beast even when it wasn't there. War shouts, death songs, the cutting of the meat, the crackle of the fire, the crickets, the frogs and all animals soon had their sounds, their own “words”.
Men stories gained life by their own making.
The Shadows never came back.
Weakened, they returned to the depths. And, in the emptiness of their soulless existence, felt profound pain.
Chapter 1
Worn books on the balcony: The Physics of the Light, Introduction to Modern Physics and Modern Optics, paid with greasy notes. Stumbles on a rock, knock the books on the sidewalk. On a dark tunnel, fluorescent light flicker irregularly. Hands in his knees, catch his breath and run with the rest of his lungs.
The front is completely black of smut. Turns the key with difficulty. The stairway creaks under his feet. A stack of old newspapers behind the door. Turns on a weak desk lamp. A crack of light comes from the sheets. Closes it with tremble hands and throws himself in the armchair. A thick cloud of smoke leaves Ernesto's relieved self.
The curtain drops with a thud. Behind him, a dark silhouette smiles.
The badge for the "Civilian Police of the State of São Paulo" swing above the toilet. In the ground, two pregnancy tests. Two lines in each. In the holster, a Taurus 38. Impeccable blue jeans. Mariana pees in the third test and waits. Two lines. She's fucking pregnant.
Ernesto's suit seems expensive twenty-year ago. He looks like a bum that made an effort. He holds a thick notebook with paper falling from the edges and a paper folder that seems to be about to explode. Dries his eyes constantly, and there are black spots bellow his armpits. In the edge of the table, it reads: "Mariana Diniz – Commissioner of Police" Ernesto gives her his card: "Eye of Horus - Paranormal Investigations". Below, a stylized eye with Egyptian inspirations. And a landline.
— I don't trust cellphones.
Smiles uncomfortably, trying to hide the nervous tic that makes his head swing like a salamander.
– It may not look, but I'm a busy woman.
Gives her two 15x20 pictures. The first is completely out of focus. The second shows an oddly slim, dark silhouette on a sewer canal. Ernesto sweats like an amphibian having a panic attack.
— For millennia, these creatures have been confined in the interior of the earth. Suffering the monotony of an incomplete existence. Waiting for a chance to come back.
— Yes.
– You don't believe.
Puts the card in her wallet.
– You got my number.
The long hills do not affect Mariana. Sumptuous homes, beautiful landscaping, mutilation, and infanticide. They're all part of the same world.
In a deserted square, eight hood teenagers assemble in a circle. Metal-heads and RPG players never caused her any trouble, but, as commissioner of that town, she has the duty of investigating anything out of the normal. She takes care to not flaunt the weapon.
They ignore her. The kids emit no sound, make no gesture. They're not injured, and their dark eyes are probably contact lenses. They have an ironic smile in their faces. No drug would generate such severe catatonia on a group that size, and there was no law against looking spooky on public premises. Sent two patrol cars to watch the group and went home.
The basic Chevrolet goes through the carefully constructed path, with exotic plants on both sides. Between two neoclassic towers, a slightly lower white house. In the living room, Eliza, short-exquisite-hair, beautiful and androgynous, stare at the TV with thick frame glasses. Notices Mariana's gun.
— Comes with the job.
In slow motion, a voluptuous Marilyn Monroe impersonator pours milk on a bowl of cereal.
– Bruno?
– Upstairs.
A plate brakes in the kitchen. To the left of the sink, dozens of cups organized by color, size, and format. To the other, plastic utensils organized by function and material. Scapular in the neck, Sofia é very white. She wraps the glass in paper, writes "GLASS" in wide letters and ties everything in a thick, transparent plastic bag.
– Your kitchen was too… Illogical.
– Of course.
Mariana notices a red spot below Sofia's long sleeve. She holds the arm of her friend: bruises.
— They're old, diz Sofia.
— Doesn't look like.
Takes the car keys. The pregnancy tests are in the same pocket. Mariana takes a deep breath and looks at the stairways.
Law books on the shelf, almost all sealed. Bruno is on the computer. It's hard to get why they're still married. Mariana has always been stubborn. He's on the computer most of the time. At 40, Mariana has silky black, perfumed hair. Tells good stories in a welcoming way. Mariana loves what the does. She's hit on constantly, by both sexes. And has a way to politely decline that doesn't make anyone uncomfortable.
There's a month since they had sex.
— I'm pregnant.
— Are you sure?
The tests in the keyboard.
— They're from a pharmacy.
— Yep. Three.
She pulls the plug from the computer. Bruno looks at her. His eyes are black.
6 votes -
chocolate.
My phone sits, as I, in silence In my room – alone. I hate myself, but seem to lack the energy To dig into my bones. When I was younger I was told that One day God would call me home. Instead the...
My phone sits, as I, in silence
In my room – alone.
I hate myself, but seem to lack the energy
To dig into my bones.
When I was younger I was told that
One day God would call me home.
Instead the coffin calls my name in whispers
And beckons the unknown.
.
Why do I feed a body with a
Soul that keeps depleting?
When all my hopes and expectations come up
Short and keep receding – I
Start alternating between plotting,
Thinking, pleading
That I’ll make a rash decision, they’ll
Give my organs to the needy.
.
Perhaps I’ll drive a stake into my head and chest.
No one should endure this mind or heart.
Meditation never seemed to give much value,
All the medication felt a farce.
I’m an incongruent, uncompleted puzzle
Dangling from a bridge; falling apart.
I watch my pieces sink below into the water,
As this letter dances all about the hearth.
.
I carried out important shit in boxes;
Let the rest behind to be thrown away.
I hid and watched as they threw in the dumpster,
A bed now wrought with chocolate and decay.
As the memories flashed in to my brain,
Of how we chose to spend that final day.
(Of how) even on the best day of the end of my life,
I ended up naked, chocolate-covered, curled up on your chest and crying,
Begging you to stay.
.
The devil is a myth they tell believers;
Hell prevents their chasing earthly dreams.
I will not go to Heaven, and there is no Great Receiver
Who will comfort me and silence my screams.
There is no purgatory in the ether;
The earth is this one act’s final scene.
Fittingly, the water isn’t beautiful here either.
It’s choppy, warm, and a putrid shade of green.
.
Someone use my hands to write a sonnet.
Someone use my eyes to see a better day.
Someone use my legs to climb a mountain;
Use my tongue to find the words to say.
They’ll use my lungs to feel the oxygen.
Use my kidney when theirs is in decay.
They’ll use my heart to feel in love again.
I’ll rest easier that way.
10 votes -
Eclipse 1 - Prelude
Before time was time, nights were dreamless. No one narrated the hunts, and death was just a cessation of the body. Births were joyful but meaningless. Statements were nothing more than intentions...
Before time was time, nights were dreamless. No one narrated the hunts, and death was just a cessation of the body. Births were joyful but meaningless. Statements were nothing more than intentions among roaring, shouts, and racket. Sometimes two sounds came together in funny ways, but meaning was still far away from our primitive cogitations.
In these times of monotony, the Shadows entertained the primitive men. With no timbre or elocution, they came from the deepest layers of Earth’s mantle to tell stories under the moonlight. They lived in harmony, feeding on each other. The Shadows came to life with the laughter and the souls of the Men, and the Men lost the fear of the night with the histories told by the Shadows in a primitive symbiosis.
One day, a man died after eating a tasty looking fruit. Hunting was a gamble, and eventually, men needed to eat potentially dangerous elements. Another, more intelligent man, noted that the juice from his mouth indelibly marked the rock with a pattern that was pleasant to the eyes. He collected more of that fruit, avoiding to put it in contact with sensible areas. This man did not have a proper name. None of them did. They just knew that there was "The Boss", "The Hunter", "The Large" and "The Delicate".
Some men had soft lumps in their chests and above the thighs. Eventually, their bellies got big and other men came out from them. "The Delicate", who discovered painting, was of this kind. In secret, he drew their hunts in the cave. He made everything bigger and more menacing than it was: the spears, the beast, the joy, the moon, and the flames, that reached the sky.
It took some gestures and vocalizations for The Delicate to make The Hunter understand that that set of traces was him and that the thick line with a pointing end penetrating The Beast was his spear. But soon they understood and had great silence. Followed by a great laugh.
The Hunter imitated the muffled sound of the Beast’s steps and learned to use this sound to talk about the Beast even when it wasn't there. War shouts, death songs, the cutting of the meat, the crackle of the fire, the crickets, the frogs and all animals soon had their sounds, their own "words".
Men stories gained life by their own making.
The Shadows never came back.
Weakened, they returned to the depths. And, in the emptiness of their soulless existence, felt profound pain.
8 votes -
[Kind Words] moonlight masochist\
I keep on my journey when the world's asleep, searching you out, like a bewildered sheep. If you'll come to my aid when you see me- with my knees bleeding red on these cobblestone streets. It must...
I keep on my journey when the world's asleep,
searching you out, like a bewildered sheep.
If you'll come to my aid when you see me-
with my knees bleeding red on these cobblestone streets.
It must be the price of my earthly sin,
that I've no food or water for nourishment
that I crawl alone, in the dark, hoping.
I am the moonlight masochist.
..
So hear me cry out your name, whoever you are.
Bring me the moon, and make me your star.
Protect me like mountains and be my guard.
Help me sleep sound when the noise is harsh.
Be the hearth for my fire; the warmth for my heart.
Get me into a home, and out of the bars.
Can you hear my infantile, crying heart -
My moonlight masochist matriarch.
..
I cough as I choke on the poisoned air.
No one around who seems to care -
Save for two beady eyes who approach and glare,
a thin coyote with a hungry stare.
I only hear howls in monotone
as two other dogs come sniff my throat
But at least when they carry off my bones,
I can kinda say I never died alone.
..
Hear me cry out your name, whoever you are.
Bring me the moon, and make me your star.
Protect me like mountains and be my guard.
Help me sleep sound when the noise is harsh.
Be the hearth for my fire; the warmth for my heart.
Get me into a home, and out of the bars.
Can you hear my infantile, crying heart -
My moonlight masochist matriarch.
7 votes -
hey i have a question
it's kinda silly kinda nothing but i was thinkin kinda wondering hey. if i asked. would you pick the loose string from my sweater bring a blanket in cloudy weather go with me on an adventure give...
it's kinda silly
kinda nothing
but i was thinkin
kinda wondering
hey.
if i asked.
would you pick the loose string from my sweater
bring a blanket in cloudy weather
go with me on an adventure
give a little hug, a little pressure
would you grab a little snack
put my favorite towel on the rack
hear me sing, and try not to laugh
or light a blunt, hit twice, and pass
help me dye my hair
tell me i look cute in underwear
text me just to say you're there
snap your cookie just to share
or rub my neck soft when it hurts
tell my i've a way with words
walk to the park when wind's absurd
just to sip a tea and watch the birds
tell me that you like my lips
pick me clothes out for a trip
head to the lake to skinny dip
and blush a bit because you like my hips
could you
sweat with me at the gym
fill our popcorn to the brim
say that this shirt makes me look slim
and maybe love me limb from limb
instead of him
.
.
.
18 votes -
Is there an alternative to Archillect?
you know the alternatives to http://archillect.com/ ? Who is Archillect? Archillect [archive + intellect] is a synthetic intelligence (or artificial intelligence, depending on the point of view)...
you know the alternatives to http://archillect.com/ ?
Who is Archillect?
Archillect [archive + intellect] is a synthetic intelligence (or artificial intelligence, depending on the point of view) made to find and share inspiring visuals over social media channels. She is a living inspiration archive. She is a digital muse. She currently has an active Twitter profile, a Facebook page, and a Pinterest board where she converts unhappy human beings to inspired artists.3 votes -
Methods to sustain productivity
What creative projects have I been working on? It’s almost a labor to answer that one concisely, hence my lack of participation. My mind is of never ending creative ideas, some great and some not,...
What creative projects have I been working on? It’s almost a labor to answer that one concisely, hence my lack of participation.
My mind is of never ending creative ideas, some great and some not, most not.. but they don’t ever seem to stop. I also like to be creative, and as a result, have ended up with more “started” projects then I’m willing to count.
So my question to fellow traverses of the tilde-verse is, what are some methods you use to sustain productivity in individual projects when creativity itself inspires starting new projects?
11 votes -
boats. (or, Kintsugi Bitch.)
I was a kintsugi bitch A dull, forgotten, broken pot And then you fixed me up . You lined me with your own dweomercrafted brand of gold Lac, Mel, et Saccharum . And when you’d starve me for...
I was a kintsugi bitch
A dull, forgotten, broken pot
And then you fixed me up
.
You lined me with your own
dweomercrafted brand of gold
Lac, Mel, et Saccharum
.
And when you’d starve me for attention,
Fed me more from your breast
Til you filled me up
.
And then I’d look you in the eyes
Sugar broiling in the stomach
Am I pretty now
..
Lost, full, and quite ignored
When you had leapt onto the floor
And said we’ve got to go
.
I grabbed your hand and followed blind
My stomach churned I lagged behind
You were the love I know
.
You said we’re going to the sea
My dear you’ll spend a life with me
We’ll make the waves a home
.
And I smiled ear to ear
Cheeks were blushing like a deer
Am I pretty now
..
And then we made it to the bay
quickly climbed into a boat
They never have to know
.
We headed south for centuries
They cannot take the memories
I never hunger now
.
And after weeks of solitude
A stranger came into the view
There was another boat
.
My stomach burned, concerned,
Not a soul had stood astern
You produced a rope
..
You gave a gentle kiss
And slid the twine across my wrists
And tied them into knots
Dipped my legs into the water
Either hand tied either helm
Stretched into a cross
I looked up at you in fear
Just to see you’ve disappeared
I started crying out.
My stomach burned under the water
And the sun was getting hotter
And I’m all alone.
I pleased come to feed me
Don’t leave me weak, depleting
I got no response.
The fish were getting curious
Flies buzzed something furious
They knew what I did not
That if you leave out milk and honey
In the heat, in weather sunny,
It’ll start to rot.
.
Months had passed in sickly motion
Head leaned back, my eyes were open
I died long ago.
The bugs ate at my open mouth
My skin was yellow, wrought with drought
My throat housed a mold
The waters smelled of sulfate
As the serpents ate my stomach ache
My blood has washed away
The rope gave up on hope and
Threw my purple, molten corpse into the ocean
Am I pretty now?
.
.
.
5 votes -
angel (short poem)
i have no idea where i am who i have been i have the slightest glimpse into the present a wavering image of a time long past my soul sits on siain heights above the fish and birds where we know...
i have no idea where i am
who i have been
i have the slightest glimpse into the present
a wavering image of a time long past
my soul sits on siain heights
above the fish and birds
where we know endless comfort
and a burning desire for wisdom
this version, far away from the peaks
that I am so accustomed to;
yet drawn to the body of man,
who screams in agony as he is raised to the heavens.4 votes -
metaphysical sigh.
one day i will die one day so will you. the pictures on the wall will end up in the trash or old and tattered in an attic. our greatest of great-grandkids won't know our faces or how deeply we...
one day
i will die
one day
so will you.
the pictures on the wall
will end up in the trash
or old and tattered
in an attic.
our greatest of great-grandkids
won't know our faces or
how deeply we were saddened
to never see them grow
to never learn the world they know
to never speak their modern language
or watch the trees around them
grow.
for we'll be dead in the ground
and we'll never hear a sound
for what comes next ain't only silence
it ain't blood and it ain't violence
it just
ain't.
so for now we're killing time perhaps
we'll get laid or
learn to paint.
but in the end, it all goes out
into the trash
into the dust
and rest assured
into the ground.
.
if you choose to abuse me
i'd rather hear threats for ever than
hear no sound.
because if you're still here to hurt me
i can say that someone
stuck around.
.
.
.
before i'm buried in the ground.
9 votes -
Mun Py: A Fully Automated Mission to the Mun
5 votes -
Boulet - Flash-Back
7 votes -
What online services do you use to host and share photos?
Services like Facebook, Instagram, Google Photos, iCloud Photo Sharing, Flickr, SmugMug, 500px, and more are available for hosting and sharing photos online. I'm curious what service, or set of...
Services like Facebook, Instagram, Google Photos, iCloud Photo Sharing, Flickr, SmugMug, 500px, and more are available for hosting and sharing photos online. I'm curious what service, or set of services, you you use and how you decided. Do you cross post between them, and if so what strategy do you use?
I'm currently spread a bit and without much cross-posting between Facebook, Instagram, and Flickr. Not a strong conscious decision, though I've been wanting to do a bit more photography and would like to figure out a better strategy.
I think some key points to consider are cost (free vs pro, ease of upgrade/downgrade), storage space and restrictions (total space, max individual size, filetypes, enforced resizing/compression), ease and control of sharing publicly or privately, network audience and reach, and creative rights (who owns what rights on the content)
This Terms of Service; Didn't Read site can be helpful for at least determining what the general rights on these services are with some broad judgement.
14 votes -
What creative projects are you working on? (August 2019 edition)
it's creative thread time, gamers. here you can share/provide updates on some of the projects that you're working on. they can be of any kind--digital, physical, work related, passion project,...
it's creative thread time, gamers. here you can share/provide updates on some of the projects that you're working on. they can be of any kind--digital, physical, work related, passion project, whatever. pretty straightforward, i think.
november thread • february thread • march thread • april thread • may thread • june thread • july thread
12 votes -
How to construct palindromes
6 votes -
Eldritch Love.
Longest piece to date? Last night I saw a beast four different heads with blackened eyes. Not black in metaphor, but from the blood that dried inside. Each of seven legs was mangled and the beast...
Longest piece to date?
Last night I saw a beast
four different heads with blackened eyes.
Not black in metaphor, but from
the blood that dried inside.
Each of seven legs was mangled
and the beast was blind
but she could fly.
.
Once upon a night so dreary,
and so dreadful I
came across a weathered bar
a woman stood inside.
She sat me at a table, there was
not a soul in sight
but I felt fine.
.
Then she brought a glass of dark with
something new inside.
Leaned in close and whispered to me
"Baby, close your eyes."
I parted my lips and drank as
her hand guided mine.
My guard resigned.
.
She said "I know a place where you can
truly feel alive.
Each one of your problems fall
defenseless by your side."
And she wrapped her arms around me
I contently sighed
as she took flight.
Her wretched and misshapen legs
held me close to her chest.
She let out her warning cries
i inhaled every breath.
Her claws were creeping out I
fell upon them like a bed.
I laid to rest.
.
I fell into a home so oddly
shallow and recessed.
The walls were made of rock,
a water drop fell on my head.
There was no single light,
the ceiling lowered as she led
me to her den.
.
As I looked around the room birthed
questions in my head.
So opposite the warmth that she
had first on me impressed...
She stroked my cheek, claws on my chin
my heart fluttered, digressed.
I was possessed.
.
She laid me on the floor and stood with
five legs for each end.
One aside my head and feet
another at my hands.
Then she gently laid a blanket
down over my head,
"Shall we commence?"
I still feel it so vividly
each night I fall asleep,
the fused infatuated fear I felt
at a monster's feet,
when that heinous eldritch horror
drained my blood from me,
took me for libation, prayed a tithe
she poured me out.
Her heart could call the kettle as it,
too, went black in drought
She bore her fangs and lowered,
took my body in her mouth.
She then carried me cliffside, like a dog
she threw me down.
My corpse then fell so far, on
impact, no audible sound.
The final earthly thing I heard,
her shriek, "The Gods are proud."
Now upon each night so dreary, she
crawls out to find
a source of poor, defenseless blood
that she can sacrifice.
She'll lure them in with gentle kisses
and sapphire eyes.
We all will die.
Epilogue.
On my way to death, I was met
with a choice instead.
I could end my life or help
ensure the gods were fed.
In the heat of fear and pain I
then nodded my head.
The halls of purgatory filled with
screams and smells of death,
as my eyes dried from the inside
and I then begat
five extra legs.
6 votes -
12:08
So what’s the deal with offices, amirite? What if we gave a building full of adults enough money to get by. Oh, and also they have to drive 30-60 minutes to get here. And that time they spend on...
So what’s the deal with offices, amirite?
What if we gave a building full of adults enough money to get by. Oh, and also they have to drive 30-60 minutes to get here. And that time they spend on the way here? Yeah what if they just gave us that for free, and we made them pay for parking!
I know, I know, fantastic right? But listen, it’s not over yet. What if we also made the work pointlessly constrained to a particular 8-hour block in the day, five days a week so that they never have any personal time, even though this is all work they could get done in four hours a day and is fully capable of being completed on their own?
Fabulous!
——
So yeah, I don’t have free time. That means I’ve got a few half-ass pieces that I’ve been wanting to finish up for awhile.
Apparently bars are open today, so I’m gonna get sauced and get to it. Prepare for a small dump today. (Also I got some dummy minor news imma share in another post. Stay tuned if you want. Or don’t ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ all’s well.
Anyway here’s that piece now.
——-
I remember that time I forgot your
birthday
And that time was today
At 12:08 in the morning
And for a moment
I felt great.
.
My dear that was the first sign
That you were
Slipping on out of my mind
Today I’m sober in the morning
Feelin okay.
.
Well well-butrin what a surprise
When it done
Come on back to my mind
Now it’s 12:09 in the morning
And ain’t shit changed.
.
And in those 60 seconds
Girl I swear
I learned a lesson -
Depression is a woman
With your name.
10 votes -
fotózás
fotózás i wonder what it must be like to remember your life. i wonder what it must be like to record it with a flash. i wonder what it must be like to pass those memories down. i wonder what it...
fotózás
i wonder what it must be like
to remember your life.i wonder what it must be like
to record it with a flash.i wonder what it must be like
to pass those memories down.i wonder what it must be like
to be normal like that.6 votes -
nyáj
nyáj in the shadows of a great unrest stand hallowed halls yet undisturbed by collapse. to be untouched by revolution is a lucky fate for a place like this— so stable in lives and yet always...
nyáj
in the shadows of a great unrest
stand hallowed halls
yet undisturbed by
collapse.
to be untouched by
revolution
is a lucky fate
for a place like this—
so stable in lives
and yet
always received
with such hostility.oh, to be a church—
a great meeting hall
for those of
the faith—
is to be us,
the people of this place
who dare to
keep their fire alive.we are but a
little congregation,
coming together
once in awhile.
giving praise to
what had been;
remembering what
our time had lost.we bear upon our weary backs
a legacy
and hope one day
to restore it.but
we must rest now,
and resign to our dreams
what could be again.5 votes -
The Art Of Warez [video]
6 votes -
And I Deal With It
A free form poem. You sing the devotion song and your people drink from your font of well-meant falsehoods. They sway in the breeze, roses ripe for cutting, so you reap. And I deal with it. Brain...
A free form poem.
You sing the devotion song and
your people drink from your font
of well-meant falsehoods.
They sway in the breeze,
roses ripe for cutting,
so you reap. And I deal with it.Brain revolting, hands shaking, heart beating
Sweating, aching, freezing, creeping thoughts
that I'm not enough.
I'm a failure. I don't deserve it. What if this goes wrong?
"Sometimes it can take awhile to find the right combination of medications."
And I deal with it.The blood in the streets is cleaned, pristine,
likewise the crimes of an otherwise good man.
Heads shake and hands pray,
repeating robotic platitudes, but I do
nothing.
And I deal with it.The sun shines high and the wind blows cool.
Our future dances and plays in the light.
We watch and her skin is soft, her hair yet softer, and I hold her
against me.
This too shall pass, my gut twists in knots.
And I deal with it.Dark nights, dark thoughts
in front of a washroom mirror.
Lightning thunders, they come and go.
Drinking my hopes to keep them gone,
I tell myself, "This isn't you," but it hurts and it's true and I can't stop the dreaming of passing this down
And I deal with it.7 votes -
bűnös & fáj
i intended to actually post these like three days ago but that didn't happen because it has to be super fucking late for me to even want to post these and unfortunately they've now aged...
i intended to actually post these like three days ago but that didn't happen because it has to be super fucking late for me to even want to post these and unfortunately they've now aged sufficiently that i categorize them firmly in the "intensely mediocre" column with everything i ever do. unfortunate, tbh. anyways here's stuff:
bűnös
UP AGAINST THE WALL, MOTHERFUCKER—
or i'll shatter your bones
and crush your heart—
to dance with me is to dance
a fine line that wrenches two worlds apartfor on one side there is a hall of saints—
on the other
the brimstone of hell—
and to stay on the side of the hall of saints
is something you'd best do well.and brave souls that dare toe the line—
that cross it
are mighty thin—
and their ranks are made of anarchists
who commit most grievous sin.UP AGAINST THE WALL, MOTHERFUCKER—
state your allegiance
to the vaunted line—
or soon you too shall join the ranks
of those who deserve malign.
fáj
when i was seventeen
the panic attacks began.
the nightmares.
the violence. the violence. the violence.violence is a funny little thing—
insidious, slithering in through one grate
and out the other.
it always begins with little things,
little fantasies in one ear and out the other.
dreams here and there, manufacturing terror and hurt.
invasive thoughts, marching to an intensifying drumbeat.
one offs.it's not normal to
want to hurt so bad.
it's not normal to
want to cut yourself everywhere,
is it?
to feel those feelings,
to bear them like a cross shackled on your back?
to wish some days you could cut to the bone
even though you're afraid of blood?
to mutilate yourself until you can't feel anymore
even though you know those feelings are irrational?
to wish you could die violently, publicly
even though you're afraid of death?violence isn't a very funny little thing—
terrifying, inescapable and ever recurring
one night after the other.
it was the little things once,
the little fantasies that used to be but now
consume the dreams, the
waking thoughts, becoming a great crescendo.
every day.when i was nineteen
the panic attacks were normal.
the nightmares.
the violence.12 votes -
Burnt!
Burnt! You embraced me with your apple-pie grin as I tumbled through the door caked in sun, and the larks and the orioles who titter their King George behind us are snuffed with the slam of the...
Burnt!
You embraced me with your apple-pie grin
as I tumbled through the door caked in sun,
and the larks and the orioles who titter their King George
behind us are snuffed with the slam of the castle gate.
We are alone in the fragrant silence of our shared universe,
your heartbeat against my cheek nuzzles
like the murmur of some public radio presenter.
I float along helplessly like a kitten held by its scruff
until the slasher-scream of a Janet Leigh smoke detector,
brutally gored by the twirling swirling aerial dancers,
beckons you away to some Burning of Washington, 1814,
its desolation likewise impeded by a timely sprinkle.
In the black ash-pile is the monomania of the Cosmos,
circling like a hyena for any vulnerability
to consume everything it touches
so that we all might become dark and vacuous like it.
The cosmos and its baggage are swept away,
its might and vastness no match for a love as true as ours.This was my attempt at writing a poem in the style of Pamela Miller, a feminist and often zany poet from my native Chicago.
Please let me know what you think.
11 votes -
The runner who makes elaborate artwork with his feet and a map
9 votes -
What creative projects are you working on? (July 2019 edition)
it's that time of the month again, now hopefully aided by the changes in sort which will give this thread a bit of a longer half-life. here you can share/provide updates on some of the projects...
it's that time of the month again, now hopefully aided by the changes in sort which will give this thread a bit of a longer half-life. here you can share/provide updates on some of the projects that you're working on. they can be of any kind--digital, physical, work related, passion project, whatever. pretty straightforward, i think.
november thread • february thread • march thread • april thread • may thread • june thread
27 votes -
The Lab
This was written for a themed flash fiction contest (the theme was Technological Dystopia) and ended up losing, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to share it here. It's not my proudest work but, as...
This was written for a themed flash fiction contest (the theme was Technological Dystopia) and ended up losing, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to share it here. It's not my proudest work but, as flash fiction, I think it works well enough. I hope you enjoy!
She was three floors from the bottom of the sunken tower when the crying first reached her. A quick swipe earned her a pair from the rack nearby and she continued her descent.
With the aid of technology this process had been streamlined and systematized such that these checks were only needed once a month, but everyone dreaded them. She had drawn the short straw this time and, though it had been years since last she’d ventured to The Lab, she still remembered her last haunting experience. It wasn’t that she was a dissenter or rebelled against that which needed to be done. This was a necessary evil to save their species, but she was still a human being. Seeing them all like that, all tubes and tapes running from frail flesh, was enough to turn any stomach.
A pair of heavy iron doors sat ominously in her way as she bottomed out. She could see the white, crisp interior of The Lab beyond and pushed forward, swallowing her hesitance as best she could.
Before her lay a large room with clean white tile, walls and harsh, flourescent light. It smelled and looked like a hospital because that’s exactly what it was. 10 rows and columns of small, clear, plastic boxes stretched between her and the far wall. The muffs were doing their job exceedingly well, but she could still hear the awful racket bouncing around her memory. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and started working.
Her primary duty was to make sure the machines were functioning correctly, mostly the arm that glided to and fro above the boxes, administering medicine or changing bags of various fluids as need be. She would also be checking the tubes for clogs that may have been missed by any old or worn out sensors; this was the part she dreaded the most. She flipped the lid on the nearest box and checked the left, then the right, and lastly the tube running into its belly button, and closed the box quickly.
It couldn’t have taken her more than 5 seconds but that short time was enough for the anguished face to plaster itself onto her mind. Everyone does their part, she reminded herself, from the start to the end. It didn’t serve a purpose to bemoan that which she could not change. She moved on to the next crib, hoping this would go by faster than she expected.
Halfway through her checks she hit a snag. There was a clog in Crib 54. She could register the fault in the system and it would fix it on its next hourly cycle, as were her orders, but it was such a small clog. The tube simply needed to be changed, and as a nurse she was well-versed in the procedure. In that moment it was decided.
The tubes themselves were specially designed to be thin and flexible, but rigid enough to fit the shape of a tear duct. Her first task, after finding a pair of gloves, was to gently remove the tube currently in the eye. She hovered over the crib and gently pulled the tube out of the right tear duct. It came slowly, millimeter by millimeter, each bit covered in more goop and mucus than the last. It wound its way up into the sinuses which meant, by the end of it, she had pulled at least five inches of tubing. This she discarded.
Next she had to insert the new tube (these were kept in abundance in a draw underneath the crib). She grabbed one, snipped it to length with a pair of scissors hanging from the IV stand, and took a moment to recent herself. Inserting the tube while the child was crying would be much more difficult than removing it.
As gently as she could she reached down and, with her index finger and thumb, pried open the eye of the little one. With one came the other, the muscles young and unwilling to work independently, and she found herself staring into a pair of brilliant green pools. Her heart melted and, for the briefest moment, she thought of taking it. She could smuggle it out. The bed being empty would trip the system but she could clear the error and explain it away somehow. But no, that was silly. This wasn’t a decision for her to make; things were done this way because there was no other choice.
She pushed the tip of the tube into the tear duct confidently, shoving the traitorous thoughts from her mind as the child’s cries were renewed with pain. She was here to do a job, cold and emotionless. It wasn’t her place to question the way things were done. The tube went in without a hitch and the child’s eyes snapped closed again once she released them. The little bundle of agony before her squirmed and she saw the tears begin to flow anew. With swift, definite movement she closed and latched the lid.
The rest of her checks went smoothly, but she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that now ran rampant in her gut. She hated Lab duty, and she expected that would always be the way. With a heavy heart she signed the documents needed to record her visit, noted the tube change in the work log, and left The Lab through its heavy iron doors. The trip upstairs would be long and tiring, but at least she could try and forget ever having been here.
12 votes -
Abbey Robot or, Fun With Artificial Beatles
3 votes -
lunch date. (the love poem.)
Today I found a girl Who was pretty nice To me. She made me stop and talk And rest and breathe. She said your stomach growls, Your legs Are weak. How’d you like to come And sit With me? . And my...
Today I found a girl
Who was pretty nice
To me.
She made me stop and talk
And rest
and breathe.
She said your stomach growls,
Your legs
Are weak.
How’d you like to come
And sit
With me?
.
And my how time it flew
And passed
Us by.
Lunch turned into tea
Turned in-
to night.
The way her body curved
It shaped
My mind.
And then her laugh,
Her smile,
Her eyes.
.
Would you mind if I stayed
For an hour or two
Or three?
We could sit and talk
And laugh
And crawl between the sheets.
And maybe I can stay the night
Or two
Or three?
And you’ll hold onto me.
And we can spend forever
Cus talk
Is cheap.
And maybe nights will
Slowly carve a curve and crash on
Into weeks.
Maybe we’ll be cuddled
On the couch or sipping
Sex on the beach
Maybe I could stay
For life, just
You, and me.
9 votes -
Wild Turkey 101
i got fire in my blood Wild Turkey and the nicotine might just call my doctor have him put me on amphetamines driving past the memories i'm pushing on 100 speed crossing single-white lines with a...
i got fire in my blood
Wild Turkey and the nicotine
might just call my doctor
have him put me on amphetamines
driving past the memories
i'm pushing on 100 speed
crossing single-white lines
with a blade til my bones weak.
cold-brew hipster
gothboi fantasies
hard to think straight when
my thoughts are attacking me
here i let the voices out
inner demons writing rhapsodies
before i go and swing from
a noose and a dramatic tree
.
can't decide what i want between
freedom and consistency
i say i want it done
but i think i want her missing me
last week i bought a gun*
this week i went to therapy
when will i be free from all the
thermo-manic tendencies?
.
drowning in my bed
breathing wild turkey
i couldn't feel if i were dead,
but i like the way she hurts me
i've come to know the pain
it's like a second home to me
liquor novocaine
im falling from autonomy.
if mecca was a bedroom
girl you were a God to me
and laying here alone is
a wicked act of blasphemy.
never knew you were a snake
feeding hate from an apple tree
I'll chop it down, and build a tomb
so you can hold me,
as an effigy
(* didnt actually buy a gun. me no like. literally 0 plans to.)
7 votes -
the law of averages (fuck math)
short one. wrote it sober, so i couldn't (didn't?) really expand on it. either way, just bought a bottle for the first time since shit happened but i don't plan on going too crazy this time. then...
short one. wrote it sober, so i couldn't (didn't?) really expand on it.
either way, just bought a bottle for the first time since shit happened but i don't plan on going too crazy this time.
then again, do i plan half the shit i do? or am i just constantly fumbling my way up through life.
either way here's some shit about math.
enjoy.
You said I was the one
But that was only when you managed
To get some rest, and breathe, and
Keep yourself from going rabid
But must of the time you
Wore your claws out like a savage
So if we’re being honest I‘m the
.08 on average.
9 votes -
The unreasonably difficult photo contest
16 votes -
űrrepülés.
i'm bored and entirely too fucking tired to still be up, so here's a thing i wrote in a little burst like an hour ago. see also enikő, the considerably longer weird shit i wrote in a similar...
i'm bored and entirely too fucking tired to still be up, so here's a thing i wrote in a little burst like an hour ago. see also enikő, the considerably longer weird shit i wrote in a similar burst.
I. űrrepülés
having once been the dreamer of many things,
having once been an eternal creator,
having seen the birth of great star systems and galaxies
and life itself
only to be snuffed out
with ignominy
i feel compelled to explain why i too must
inevitably follow themhurt
is a funny little word. it seems so easy to come
to a common agreement on what it means and yet,
if i told you it hurt
would you really understand that?would you understand the feeling
of hopelessness,
the vast indignities of having to see
your every piece of art,
your life's work
snuffed out
like the stars?II. űrlény
you can't play god
with the people in your life,
but that never stopped me from trying,
from creating those great star systems
that people care about.
from creating life where there is none.and that never stopped me from failing,
and the stars becoming great cataclysms—
black holes destroying the life around them
without regard for its beauty.you might say it is callous
to try to move the heavens and the earth
and to die when they don't arrange the right way,
but,
i would rather die than be that hurt person again
watching the stars go out one by one.6 votes -
i woke up with a headache and found this in my notes. (the coffin song)
In the shadows Like a ghost you hide In the single most foreign Corners of my mind Therapy and pills still Can’t subside the angelic choir Of your pretty lies Promises you made, The bones I broke...
In the shadows
Like a ghost you hide
In the single most foreign
Corners of my mind
Therapy and pills still
Can’t subside the angelic choir
Of your pretty lies
Promises you made,
The bones I broke
You once took my breath
And now I choke
Jesus let me breathe
Is there hope for me?
.
Now I desire
The obscure
All that reminds
Of being yours
Your oils, poison
My waters, pure
Your love is cancer
There is no cure.
.
I watched my grandfather take his final breaths as he kissed my head and you held my hand. Not two months later you foresaw our end, and decided not to keep me, even as a friend.
And now you’re off, marriage in the plans. I pray your time falls like the sand and hits the bottom of every glass as fast as it can.
I have no home. I’m lost and cold. You promised me a home would grow. We got a dog, and had planned for more. Mouth of this world, a fish at shore you took my breath and killed me slow.
I’m suicidal, I have no hope. I’ve not a gun, don’t have a rope. The only reason I’ve not a note, I’d end it all, I’d end it all.
I just want to feel pretty.
Pretty loved and pretty free
But for now I keep to getting
Pretty drunk, it isn’t cheap
But I can afford it/‘s kinda sweet
Too bad you’re not round
To drink with me.
I’d fill the bottle
We’d watch the office
Instead I scar
Until I am solid
An ugly rock
A useless object
I’ll break my stones
And build a coffin
And die in your name
Die in your name.
11 votes -
my therapist won't return my calls (lmfao fuck me)
tw: self-harm; suicide; lost love. i hit my cigarette like an abuser hits her wife because i'm a fucking coward to afraid to take his life i've felt love before i beg it through the strife but i...
tw: self-harm; suicide; lost love.
i hit my cigarette
like an abuser hits her wife
because i'm a fucking coward
to afraid to take his life
i've felt love before
i beg it through the strife
but i only find a heart
at the wrong side of a blunt and useless knife
.
and it's only mine
at least there's proof
that i can feel
when blood protrudes.
but that's not "work appropriate"
so i get tattoos
what a shame i can't get paid to die.
12 votes -
haha this shit’s not working (a poem)
i got a job i got on meds i got a car still wanting death. still here at night alone in my bed still hear her voice ring in my head “why do you look like i abused you?” . i bought a bottle i...
i got a job
i got on meds
i got a car
still wanting death.
still here at night
alone in my bed
still hear her voice
ring in my head
“why do you look like i abused you?”
.
i bought a bottle
i bought some cards
can’t kill my thoughts
my god it’s hard
just make it stop
“i don’t think i love you anymore.”
.
anxiety’s
taken over me
every interaction
i worry
did i act weird?
what do they think?
i guarantee
they laugh at me
can’t beat it all
can’t bear it all.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
..
don’t want to live
don’t want to die
i fantasize
(that) it’ll be alright
she’ll cuddle close
and hold me night
and pet my head
and kill the fright
i can’t escape
don’t want to fight
god let me die
god let me die
8 votes