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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Today's Document
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
seen from Türkiye
seen from France
seen from T1
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seen from United States
seen from India
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@cabaretcore
hiya meine damen und herren und nichtbinären freunde und mehr!
willkommen in meinem süßen kleinen blog
mein name ist jaxx, ich bin ein schräg emo der sich für poesie interessiert (ich könnte meine ao3-sachen auch hier posten kA)
ich werde meistens auf englisch schreiben
dni: rassisten, terfs, sexisten, maga, afd, rechtsextrem, proshippers…
:3c
TBOM advertising will never not be funny😭😭
happy 27th birthday technoblade, you will be remembered always and forever: as a hero, as a warrior, and as a legend <3
rly big near 700 word poem/song incoming or smth
The beginning.
A resurrection? A revolution? A revelation?
Did Johan’s apocalypse arrive, or was the word born?
We explore throughout the middle point; the twelfth, the first, the twenty fourth.
Tis hard to believe the heart starts to seize an artist bereaved as the dart is released.
We repeat a few words over wine, the blood of our sins for the devil starts to win.
To fall in love or fall out in a nuclear winter without a hint of a burning sensation.
Masturbation of senses, abuse of the love now latened.
Drink away my darlings, my angels of dust turn laden, yet barren and maddened by the corruption around us.
The beginning.
A resurrection? A revolution? A revelation?
Johan arrives and yet we’re forsaken to
Lust.
When we are blushing and rushing; careening and hushing in a pitiful world where we live.
We try teaching them nothing as each of the cousins married adulters in sin.
To preach to the choir, release and inspire to mire and not think a thing.
Pride is our passion, an amulet’s bashed and the culture is burning to win.
The hearts of a nation who follow so blind.
Burn the creation that’s fed on the swine.
Earned is the death which we meet in the end.
Prepare with the sister, though I seemed to have missed her touch in a rush when the light turned dim.
Begin.
Left to fight with all our might; the flight does not take off.
Sights to see from west to east the burning of writings are scoffed.
Cough the days away; hate the faded rays taking the children away, lay them away in laden dismay.
Off with their heads, a trillion for bread and more for the mark I frankly perceive with a heart.
And weigh within pounds or an inch of my crown.
As the head of the church said.
It was good.
The bottom of the barrels were fraught, yet everything was good.
He sung into place a lovely day, carry on.
Just sing.
The storing of resources, production in key corsets, and lust in the mean of this unforeseeable dream caught us.
Callers for martyrs: the gangs or the mobsters, the monsters of the deep or the ones with the seed who scored up.
Scores of years and tours with leers sheer will couldn’t bring back life, but the promise felt real.
It’s many a day I waste in my bed; cigarette in hand.
The blandness of life gets shook up when plans don’t work and the high remains in demand.
Clocks count the hours, my mind is the shower where time dissipates in dismay.
Time to believe or cry at the seams, maybe hope seems lost, yet something will always be.
Dreams.
Washing the feet.
At the table we take communion; the bitterness of herbs burns the interior of me.
The cynical words in the world are of zero meaning.
Depths of the ‘I’ brings death in a fling, and inferior I am become when the worst begins to sing.
Wings start to melt.
I know that they will betray.
Praying to God, though who knows what to say.
Forgiveness on my right and ignorance is what is left, the bliss of which I get is a mischievous yet lovely breath.
Orgasmic, or plastic? Iconoclastic, or classic?
Bashing the answer to stash in a basket of knowledge the fruit is the vice which we drown in.
A sacrificial lamb brings a slice which is surmounted.
Race.
Left in last place hanging from trees with iron clanging, the slave they have sought out is a priceless treasure for bashing.
Rationalize the moment or soak in the crows picking, sickly, braindead, ridden
I call out in my prayers, but my clothes are of the earth.
Scorching dying grains cover me for what it’s worth.
The shrieks seem to simmer from a whim which I so grasp.
A lover in another life, seemingly it’s past.
We look into the days and find only the worst.
Prepared for a hearse unwilling to call the nurse.
It was good.
Now.
A(r)rest.
A(r)rest.
I didn’t miss that social cue I just thought it was stupid
Left in last place hanging from trees with iron clanging, the slave they have sought out is a priceless treasure for bashing.
Rationalize the moment or soak in the crows picking, sickly, braindead, ridden
I call out in my prayers, but my clothes are of the earth.
Scorching dying grains cover me for what it’s worth.
The shrieks seem to simmer from a whim which I so grasp.
A lover in another life, seemingly it’s past.
We look into the days and find only the worst.
Prepared for a hearse unwilling to call the nurse.
It was good.
Now.
Washing the feet.
At the table we take communion; the bitterness of herbs burns the interior of me.
The cynical words in the world are of zero meaning.
Depths of the ‘I’ brings death in a fling, and inferior I am become when the worst begins to sing.
Wings start to melt.
I know that they will betray.
Praying to God, though who knows what to say.
Forgiveness on my right and ignorance is what is left, the bliss of which I get is a mischievous yet lovely breath.
Orgasmic, or plastic? Iconoclastic, or classic?
Bashing the answer to stash in a basket of knowledge the fruit is the vice which we drown in.
A sacrificial lamb brings a slice which is surmounted.
Race.
The storing of resources, production in key corsets, and lust in the mean of this unforeseeable dream caught us.
Callers for martyrs: the gangs or the mobsters, the monsters of the deep or the ones with the seed who scored up.
Scores of years and tours with leers, sheer will couldn’t bring back life, but the promise felt real.
It’s many a day I waste in my bed; cigarette in hand.
The blandness of life gets shook up when plans don’t work and the high remains in demand.
Clocks count the hours, my mind is the shower where time dissipates in dismay.
Time to believe or cry at the seams, maybe hope seems lost, yet something will always be.
Dreams.
They’re so cute bro fuck
steven universe has this thing going on where textually he was 100% assigned male at birth but is also narratively/allegorically transmasculine. he's mtm transgender, somehow.
I open Tumblr. I post something that should be a diary entry. I close Tumblr. I open Tumblr after having it closed for 1.2 minutes. I reblog 176 posts in a row. I add tags of absolute gibberish to 7 of those. I close Tumblr. I open Tumblr I post yet another should-be diary entry. I close Tumblr. I open tu
I loved this era of Steven universe discourse
Guys, have we considered that this show ended years ago. And isn't real. Guys. Why are we still yapping about this. Guys.
THEY MAKE ME WEAK.
Left to fight with all our might; the flight does not take off.
Sights to see from west to east the burning of writings are scoffed.
Cough the days away; hate the faded rays taking the children away, lay them away in laden dismay.
Off with their heads, a trillion for bread and more for the mark I frankly perceive with a heart.
And weigh within pounds or an inch of my crown.
As the head of the church said.
It was good.
The bottom of the barrels were fraught, yet everything was good.
He sung into place a lovely day, carry on.
Just sing.
a night at the cabaret
When we are blushing and rushing; careening and hushing in a pitiful world where we live.
We try teaching them nothing as each of the cousins married adulters in sin.
To preach to the choir, release and inspire to mire and not think a thing.
Pride is our passion, an amulet’s bashed and the culture is burning to win.
The hearts of a nation who follow so blind.
Burn the creation that’s fed on the swine.
Earned is the death which we meet in the end.
Prepare with the sister, though I seemed to have missed her touch in a rush when the light turned dim.
Begin.
