RainCloud

A dreamer 

[gonzos-humansona]

Yesterday my little brother told me something very sweet and touching, that when he was a kid and had nightmares about monsters chasing him or whatever he would be able to end the nightmare by finding me in the dream and I would protect him by fighting off the zombies, or carrying him away. This is adorable, and makes me feel like the greatest older sibling in the world, but the hilarious thing is that when I was a kid I had nightmares of needing to save him from zombies and such. so many dreams where he was in trouble and I needed to save him. Like my nightmares began where his ended. Low key I think he mastered the ability to psychically transfer his nightmare to me as a child and I'm kind of annoyed with him.

[fairycosmos]

the internet is an inherently haunted place if you think about it like. it's so weird to see long abandoned discussion boards stuck in a snapshot of the past, old conversations between kids from over a decade ago who have now grown into their own lives, obituaries taking the form of half finished profiles. and the silence that fills the gaps between. there's a constant ghostly record of each generation's thoughts, fads, their sense of humour. back when the future was at their fingertips. even stranger, people you used to know exist openly in that space, and they watch you watching them. if you want, deceased musicians can play through your headphones. there's always an underlying sense of reminiscing and time escaping our ever shortening attention spans. what a fuckin graveyard

[joytri]

[thoodleoo]

if the ai bubble doesnt burst on its own im going to stab it with the needle myself like fulvia with cicero's tongue

[anxietyproblem]

[professionalintrovert]

Gustave Flaubert, from a letter to Louise Colet

[coolblueraincloud]

"I am not writing in order that I shall say nothing, I am not writing in order to say that I have nothing to say. I write: I write because we lived together, because I was one amongst them, a shadow amongst their shadows, a body close to their bodies. I write because they left in me their indelible mark, whose trace is writing. Their memory is dead in writing; writing is the memory of their death and the assertion of my life"

Georges Perec, W or the Memory of Childhood

[coolblueraincloud]

Shaking lips lost in words flowing out. A river of letters. You have too much to say. Pages upon pages of words that have lost their meaning, yet you read them all, vision blurring at the edges. Your mind is a churning sea of words and you're helpless in its fathomless depths. You keep screaming. You keep screaming until your throat burns because there are words that need to be set free. Nobody listens, but you know what you are saying. You tuck every scrap of knowledge into the cobwebs of your mind and keep them for when the world is quiet and you need the words to fill the unforgiving silence.

Shaking hands leave colour on the page. A painting emerges, faint and trembling but it's there. You think a blank canvas looks terribly lonely. A hurricane of colours hurl together like old friends. You search relentlessly for ways to make it perfect but you find no answers. The world around pushes you this way and that. You see everything, and everything you see spills on paper. Every line and shape does not seem the same when poured onto a canvas. You think it doesn't matter much anyway. A picture always tells a story. You know what the colours mean and no one else does. Perhaps that is okay. 

Shaking feet dance to a silent symphony. Your breath comes in short bursts. There is not enough air in your lungs. You fight to keep the steel in your spine unbreakable. Tired arms stretch and tired feet jump. You still hear the melody in your head. You repeat the same movements again and again and again, every step engraved into your very bones. You perform to empty seats, dusty silence, frozen applause. You work your weary limbs until you stand on this phantom stage. The world looks straight through your invisible dance. You raise your head and pencil on a smile. The burn in your feet will not fade.

[coolblueraincloud]

In a dingy bar, someone asks, “don’t you miss what you could have been? In other universes, I mean.”

I lean back in my chair. The scent of alcohol is nearly overpowering. I pretend not to notice.

“Like, all the people you could have been. If you had taken a different path in life.”

I raise my shot of whisky. “Wouldn’t you miss who you are right now? If you were someone else.”

The boy snorted. "You could have been someone so bright, the you of right now would only be a shadow". 

I shake my head. "The whisky wouldn't taste the same." The boy rolls his eyes. 

Pedantic, useless snobbery, as my sister would say. I would be inclined to agree, were I not still the same pedantic, useless snob. Walking a fine line between class and snobbery is what got me here right now, sitting in an abandoned bar with a nowhere boy for company.

I ask him for another shot. He goes behind the counter to grab another bottle. I hope he comes back with vodka.

[joytri]

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Fyodor Dostoevsky; Letter to his brother 9th August 1838

[coolblueraincloud]

We're all a little crazy on the inside.

[coolblueraincloud]

And God said, 'Love your enemy' and I obeyed Him and loved myself

Kahlil Gibran, The Broken Wings

[coolblueraincloud]

Talk

I fill my pages with words

Scribbled in the margin 

Crammed into every white space

Black and blue and sometimes red 

There is never enough 

Poems and stories and songs 

If I keep speaking

Maybe someone will start listening 

[coolblueraincloud]

That girl

Anyone else used to be that one girl who would get down on her hands and knees to scour the bottom of the shelves in the library? Checking each and every book in case it was something I liked. It’s kinda nostalgic, remembering how I used to feel like every book could be my new favourite. Still do.

[coolblueraincloud]

Enough

I turn back

And watch

I see red

History remains merciless

Broken ruins merely shadows

Carved in stone

I will not wipe my tears 

I will not soothe my anger

I will not lower my head

I am coming

They have taken enough