FALSE PROPHET

the future is a benevolent black hole

[boysaints]

(lee)la ! + minor + she + s. asian + tme + chronically ill

my writing / publications / lit mags 101 /

twt is @sickgirlisms

[boysaints]

a weird little poem i wrote for the new year :)

[transcript: Oh God. Hand me the champagne, / I think it’s finally happening. Ladies and gentlemen, / it’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for, where / I realize it’s all bullshit: everyone knows / when you say my new year’s resolution is to / work out more you really mean that your sadness / has become a beast too big to wrangle with / your own two hands; when you say there won’t be / any more clothes on my bedroom floor / there’s always the unspoken caveat that / you would be perfectly happy if those / clothes belonged to someone else. Oh God. / Hand me the champagne—no, scratch that, let’s celebrate—hold my hand, dance with me— / because I have found yet another reason to live. / I have found yet another copy of the same / poem to scream about living, living, living, / as if my body is my soapbox, my pulpit, as if to say come one, come all, we made it nowhere / again, cue the Springsteen, ‘cause baby, / we were born to run. Oh God. / Hand me the champagne, I think I’ve lost / my mind. When the clock strikes midnight / I promise I’ll become a new person entirely, / erased and redrawn in new colors. I’ll prove everyone wrong about me, even myself. I’ll lie down and / let the water decide. Oh God. Hand me the champagne, it’s all too much. And I know you can’t stay but / I need someone to kiss me now, right here / on the sidewalk before the sun comes up, / while you’re still beautiful and backlit / in silver. When was the last time you saw / a moon this bright, anyway? It’s almost / enough to make you believe someone’s / up there looking out for us. Almost enough / to make you trust the universe again. And now, / at long last, my bullet-train brain has meandered / along to the point, which is, of course: here’s to / another year of being ordinary, of having coffee / and napping and sitting around each other’s houses / doing nothing. So long and thanks for all the fish— / I trust that this year, if nothing else, / you will keep on walking / towards the light at the end of the hall.]

[benafflecks]

I’m so embarrassed. I’m not a real person yet.

[syringavulgaris]

Mahmoud Darwish, Life To The Last Drop

[moonlitswims-deactivated2024010]

some art posters I'd put up in my dream home

[sweatermuppet]

everyone avert your eyes [expresses a standard human emotion] [illogically experiences shame even with only myself as witness]

[twixnmix]

Jean-Michel Basquiat working on an untitled painting in 1986.

[pansy2025]

some of you guys have GOT to remember about fun

[pansy2025]

like it’s ok… just be a little silly… be annoying… be embarrassing… you are alive

[zegalba]

Be Born Again, Dr. Kim

[boysaints]

the fact that my most(?) famous post on here was a joke post about the situationship i had that went mildly viral because all gay people have the same three experiences on repeat HAUNTS me .

[boysaints]

diary entry with failing pen, published in streetcake magazine

[ID: black text growing progressively lighter until it blends in completely with the white background. text transcript:

& truthfully i spent most of my life wanting to write like those restless white men like bukowski’s unique brand of sadness so permeable i could smell it if i put my face to the paper & truthfully i spent most of my life wanting to be bleak by nature to write about trees shorn of leaves so intuitively understood in my desolation though i don’t know if it would save me to make my misery nameless & abstract & able to disappear into the ink & it’s mostly because i don’t think that sort of torment belongs to me the lethargic sort i mean i thought i was supposed to make something useful from my sorrow take the needle & thread & sew the gap together & truthfully i spent most of my life wanting to be visible but only in the ways i could control i wanted to be a beautiful girl wasting away on someone’s leather couch eating only the air & didn’t those white men have wives & children & families how did they afford to lock themselves in a room for hours on end drunk on bottom-shelf liquor & truthfully i wanted my torment to be tangible but nothing else i wanted to ask CAN YOU SEE ME at the top of my lungs & hear someone shout I’M RIGHT HERE back at me sweep their tender breath over my stammering nerves i wanted to write things falling from the sky i wanted to write love into existence i wanted to write my depression into just a bad dream a bad dream a bad dre]

[writethatdown]

forgive yourself. forgive yourself for all the versions you couldn't become. forgive yourself for the wrong things you said. forgive yourself for not knowing any better at certain point of your life. for fucking things up so much that the grief still haunts you. forgive yourself for the darker and shadowed parts of you. you have to learn to integrate all parts of you, even the ones you desperately want to disown. it'll be alright.

[boysaints]

Hii do you know of any lit mags that have staff applications open/where i could find them? tysm

renaissance review, chinchilla lit, the dawn review, and the borderline are a few but i’d suggest looking on twitter for more

[boysaints]

how long is the acceptable time to wait before posting another poem lol

[nikswonderland]

fever dream vibes

[boysaints]

a weird little poem i wrote for the new year :)

[transcript: Oh God. Hand me the champagne, / I think it’s finally happening. Ladies and gentlemen, / it’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for, where / I realize it’s all bullshit: everyone knows / when you say my new year’s resolution is to / work out more you really mean that your sadness / has become a beast too big to wrangle with / your own two hands; when you say there won’t be / any more clothes on my bedroom floor / there’s always the unspoken caveat that / you would be perfectly happy if those / clothes belonged to someone else. Oh God. / Hand me the champagne—no, scratch that, let’s celebrate—hold my hand, dance with me— / because I have found yet another reason to live. / I have found yet another copy of the same / poem to scream about living, living, living, / as if my body is my soapbox, my pulpit, as if to say come one, come all, we made it nowhere / again, cue the Springsteen, ‘cause baby, / we were born to run. Oh God. / Hand me the champagne, I think I’ve lost / my mind. When the clock strikes midnight / I promise I’ll become a new person entirely, / erased and redrawn in new colors. I’ll prove everyone wrong about me, even myself. I’ll lie down and / let the water decide. Oh God. Hand me the champagne, it’s all too much. And I know you can’t stay but / I need someone to kiss me now, right here / on the sidewalk before the sun comes up, / while you’re still beautiful and backlit / in silver. When was the last time you saw / a moon this bright, anyway? It’s almost / enough to make you believe someone’s / up there looking out for us. Almost enough / to make you trust the universe again. And now, / at long last, my bullet-train brain has meandered / along to the point, which is, of course: here’s to / another year of being ordinary, of having coffee / and napping and sitting around each other’s houses / doing nothing. So long and thanks for all the fish— / I trust that this year, if nothing else, / you will keep on walking / towards the light at the end of the hall.]

[ouiouhie]

the siren 🌊