Nothing really Special.

(29yr) no longer 22 male||he/him|| Probably the most peaceful depressed person. if you found me and recognize me I guess I'm surprised.

[crimsoncarcass]

It’s starting to get dark again in here. In my soul. Shadows are starting to darken with autumn approaching but no one around anymore when I look around I’m alone. How did this happen when I filled myself with so much stuff and people?

[crimsoncarcass]

Currently looking for breakfast... what should I eat today, hmmm

[thewindowofthesummerhouse]

jameliorate ( joshua_project_2501)

[thewindowofthesummerhouse]

Takato Yamamoto

[thewindowofthesummerhouse]

Dmitry Khramtsov

[thewindowofthesummerhouse]

signum.noir

[trans-ralsei]

[trans-ralsei]

[caughtthedarkness93]

I love my job, but reblogging employment jelly for someone else I love.

[crimsoncarcass]

Reality of Asians

These days we forget where we come from Hardship and wire coat hangers, bamboo sticks for music education, the beat still stings like bloodline, can't be beaten out, our history, our people a fob tries to speak the truth, but our grammar is fixed punctuation and perfection was the only savior to our value so bananas try to fit the box for capitalists to pick us out by LinkedIn standards, we falter to white supremacy but believe in none but the American Dream work harder and shall succeed, overworking is a cultural scheme, the last of what we kept when we whitewashed our families, Daisy, Chelsea and Sarah is my name now in 3rd grade my classmates bellow at parents, change to Lunchables from Kimchi, garlic and onions, we stink we hear from other classes, but she's not in ESL, Gifted child, her dad's a doctor but this one's poor, this one can't count, who is she? two straws for chopsticks instead of a fork the white teachers make fun of you, so you change your name to Michael, Jake, and John, family name? don't ask my shame Mathway is my hobby, MIT, Stanford, Duke and anywhere white We have to make money to support our families, we succeed But half of us don't feel cool so we speak AAVE and put blonde in our hair, to Americanize, to friendly our uptight stereotype But we stand with no one, not Black, Brown or Asian, we think we're white now with our computer science degrees, we act accordingly and forget they don't like us, forget our elders wearing sandals in winter, spring and autumn, called Bat eaters, spilled with oil and crimson crimes for Nigahiga and Rich Chigga couldn't save us from being racist or been racist against, Covid-19 showed only what's been there, since before your name change, your posts to appropriate Mac'n'cheese ramen, the invention of White modification to less spice our food, to oil our food more, to rid of more rice, to forget our ancestory, and pride for where we came from and who we were, but I know and I fight for those who have forgotten, that math skills and red-pen grammar can't save us from them, that we're still among the hated, and need to stand among the hated, to fight for freedom, for those who see like us, for those with history to come here for life, life we didn't want to leave behind but had no choice in many ways for another

[thewindowofthesummerhouse]

Yoshitaka Amano 

[crimsoncarcass]

It's not your fault (May 29 2019)

Please if this ever happens you had no fault or responsibility

for my ending or beginnings

"had you known, had you some credibility"

no. Your kindness has been more

but sadly my life, my work, has been art

that I couldn't tame or adore

like a daughter that was falling apart

in front of a father who wanted not a son or a whore

my life only disappointed me

I have no more space in my heart for you

or think of how much more I have to see

tomorrow, I don't even want it to come

so please its not that you didn't notice

but that I merely couldn't''t appreciate you

enough

[wontonsupremacy]

Repression: Introvert

Open your eyes

Open your mouth

Open your nose

Open everything and inhale your voice

Every sound you make back into your lungs

Hold it. Like a cigarette could.

The complaints that you’ve made

The mourning you hold inside

The justice you demand behind hold back

on your face that its handprints force you to smile

Customer service, to a friend you shouldn’t need

But truth is, we’re all customers in line

That want blossoms and cherries,

but not the whole tree

Pink as the trees that springtime brings us

My face fluster pink, not red yet

But it’s not bliss or glee behind the blood

It’s disappointment that my secrets will never reach, such a person like you

@crimsoncarcass ← Follow my poetry blog!!

[ranterdreamsicle]

@crimsoncarcass

“You shouldn’t pressure yourself like that.”

—but how would I be able to keep going without pressuring myself, what would move me forward, push me better, push me to actually work

“Gin that kind of thinking is going to ruin you.”

—I already am. Haven’t you noticed?

“You’re going to kill yourself like that.”

—I know. And I will.

“There’s no way to win against you, is there?”

— I’ve been having that same problem all my life.

“Why can’t you just ask for help?”

— I have to do it myself. What else am I going to be able to do if I can’t even do this myself.

“I’m going to live all by myself in life.” I told her.

I told her I’m going to have to do things all by myself one day, that everyone’s going to leave me, and when that happens I can’t ask anyone for help— that’s why I have to do it all alone.

That’s why I can’t let her in. That’s why I can’t let anyone in. That’s why I fall in love and only date people I don’t care about, that’s why I see everyone disposable because I think I’m disposable. Because the most important people in my life has shown me and proved me disposable and because those people are the only ones who can matter to me enough to change my mind , and they won’t. They won’t ever come back, or be the people I loved because I’m left behind and I’m disposed and because I’m worthless to a worthy person to them. I’m half made, half determined, half confidence, and halfway not there, and halfway through everything. It doesn’t matter how you look at the glass anymore because the fact is that it’s not even near full, and it’s not even near empty. It’s neither, it’s always halfway, and it’s never ever enough for anything.

So I give up.

I give up on everything.

Because it’s all going to be halfway either way. Why care? Why love? Why have a passion when even your best can’t move you into anything but solitude and loneliness.

It’s going to destroy me.

And I’d rather destroy myself before I see something I used to love turn against me like that anymore.

No more. Not anymore.

[wontonsupremacy]

@crimsoncarcass we need to title this later —

When all lights are out

What planet would still

Align the universe straight

If not balanced and mindful

Filled with hopeful knowledge

Would we able to survive

Such a jungle better than

Structures of cement; privacy

and security concerns is

Little of a concern when there

Is still light in your eyes to

Look up and see not stars but

A universe, some of the dead

But a poet’s reflection in such

Rosewater scented steps

Meaning, the sky, the water,

Air of nature, what will be you

Be without all of this around

Your neck, a noose it almost

Looks like to those uncursed.

[crimsoncarcass]

Roach

There was something very intriguing about the living object: long thin lengths moved up and down, and sideways, it had a shiny and hard looking back and multiple angled thin fragile looking legs with soft hair lining the edges. To the boy in kindergarten, it was a something called a ‘bug’ and nothing more. He had seen ones similar to the one in front of his nose but he felt today’s find was extremely rare. He had quickly left and run back with a jar to this kitchen counter where it quietly sat moving its long thin lengths, Breathing in, he quickly slammed down the jar. It ran quickly out of range but with one more slam the boy miraculously caught it inside.

“Tommy?” His mother’s voice called from afar.

He didn’t reply. 

Concentrating with sweating tiny palms, he carefully slid a piece of paper under the jar and covered the jar, tipping the covered jar upright with a quick move (the insect fell from the sudden change if gravity here), he quickly replaced the paper with the lid of the jar. “Tommy!” His mother’s voice was very close to where he was, with panic he quickly hid the jar under a random cabinet within his reach. “Tommy, what are you dong?” His mother, a giant about ten times larger than Tommy’s size, walked into the kitchen.

“Nothing…” he lied.

“Well--” and his mother blabbed many words that he didn’t pay too much attention to as she took his hand and led him away from the kitchen.

~~~

It was after dinner that Tommy remembered about the bug. When everyone had left the dining hall, the light had gone out, and he had been tucked into bed, he snuck out without a sound downstairs  into the dark room. Getting on all fours, he crawled on the floor to feel his way to the kitchen; he couldn't turn on the lights or else he would be found. Safely reaching into the cabinet of the sink, he felt many bottles and bags, then found a cold round glassjar with a flat tin lid. With a silenced squeal he smiled as he grabbed the jar out. Grabbing the jar into his arm she slowly closed the cabinet and waddled his way back to the stairs without bumping into anything on his knees and hand-- the other hand gripping the jar tightly to his chest.

Once he was safely in his room, exhausted from the tension he had crawled through he was ready for bed, but he had to make sure. Grabbing the jar up to his night light, plugged into the wall outlet next to his bed, he saw the silhouette of the miraculous life form once again its two long lengths touched the inner wall of the jar in an inspecting manner. 

“Cool.” 

He couldn’t restrain his comment in awe as he stared at it move. Then there was a sound of footsteps downstairs. Quickly he put the jar under his bed and jumped into his assigned position in bed; his parents were probably going to check on him to see if he was sleeping. Soon after the door opened but Tommy decided to take his new pet to school. Grabbing the jar into his backpack, he tapped his left over salted crackers into the jar. Watching its shiny flat back and its thin legs wander around the crackers, Tommy gasped as its lengths wiggled around curiously at the food.

“Don’t worry that’s breakfast.” Tommy’s face was almost touching the glass as he watched it search the crackers.

“Tommy! We need to go, we’re going to be late!” Large thuds of his mother’s footsteps started to walk toward his room. Quickly, Tommy grabbed the jar into his backpack with a whisper.

“You can eat in the car!” Tommy bossed his new friend as he waved his index finger the way his parents and teachers did when they were being bossy. In the car, Tommy kept sneaking a peek whenever his parents weren’t paying attention to check on his pet.

When they got to school he was excited to tell everyone what he had found. His hands seemed to shake and his feet seemed static under their heels as he was led into the building by his teacher. He kept glancing at his pet during class to make sure it was alright; it was still eating its crackers.

“I’ll let you eat in peace.” he whispered to his little best friend. 

“Tommy! Don’t talk while I’m talking!” His teacher waved his finger at him.

“I’m sorry!” Tommy quickly hid his jar and although he tried his best to behave his attention was always on his pet instead of class. When they walked the hallways, Tommy dropped his jar and his pet rolled away, running after he quickly put it in his backpack.

“Tommy! Stay in line!” his teacher yelled and sighed. 

Then when they passed out books, his book had a squashed spider inside. It was dried up and flat as paper. Scared, he went back to the teacher.

“Tommy, you already have a book!” the teacher groaned.

“But there’s a dead spider in this one.” he whined as he showed her. Then she grabbed tissue paper and wiped it away, throwing it away.

“Better?”

So, Tommy had to use the same book.

Finally, after what seemed like years, it was lunch time. Grabbing his lunch with his backpack on his back, he ran to the round table where he and his friends sat.

“No running, Tommy!” an adult voice cautioned him but Tommy didn't hear.

“I got a new pet!” He whispered it to his group of friends at lunch as he sat down.

“Whoa…” his friends gathered around him.

“It has two long hair from its head!” He told his friends.

“Whoa…” his friends chorused.

“Its skinny legs are thinner than grass!”

“Whoa…”

“And its back is shiny!”

“Whoa…”

The conversation was going just as Tommy had wanted it to, and with his friends impressed, he was in a very good mood. He grabbed a bit of his lunch and set it in the jar for his little friend. Then came the bully of the class. She was preppy; she was mean, she talked faster than everyone else, she dressed like the older kids, and hated anything that made her dirty. She was what Tommy called a perfect “Barbie” of a mean girl.

“You got a pet?” her voice suddenly sounded from behind Tommy. Surprised, cold sweat ran down the side of his head but gathering the courage he could scratch out, he bit his lip and for the first time, turned around to face her.

“Yeah,” he answered boldly and stood up. He told himself that the fight was his to win, today. Then as a good luck, he took a glance at his pet and smiled as he remembered it wiggle its two long hairs at him.

“Liar.” She whipped her hair behind her back as if she was showing off herself.

“I’m not lying!” Tommy bit his lower lip harder,replying boldly. 

“Then what’s its name?” She asked in challenge. He didn’t have an actual reply to this question. As his eyes swam he also thought why he hadnt named it after all this time. In a few seconds of silence, he heard some of the kids giggle. Finnally, he looked up.

“Tommy...Tommy Jr.” He gripped his tiny fist as he bit his lip once again.

“But that’s your name.” her face scrunched up into an expression of something like a sneer and a face of disgust.

“That’s right. We have the same name.” Tommy talked back louder. He was afraid but he knew his pet would surprise her; it was his pride. However, she kept pressing in her words.

“What animal is it? Alien? I bet its imaginary again.”

“No its not! I have him right here!” And Tommy ran to his backpack and opened the jar. Tommy Jr. immediately scuttled out with speed towards the bully girl.

Immediately, there was a high pitched scream from the girl, She jumped backward as Tommy Jr. waddled forward into their crowd, and other girls and boys who became scared raised their voice into screams and yells. Tommy’s face was lit up in a grin of victory toward the hateful crowd, he felt he had finnally accomplished something to empower his enemy. That was until, someone from the group walked up with a heavy large book.

“Wait, no!” Tommy screamed at the last moment but it was too late as the book landed with a heavy calm thud.

By this time, the teachers had come in gathering everyone away, asking what happened but none of that mattered; Tommy was screaming. He sat next to the book in shock. He couldn’t raise the book because he didn’t want to see what happened, but at the same time he wanted to. His teacher came up to him, took him away to a wall and whispered quietly to him asking him questions. He was in trouble, but that wasn’t why he was crying. Then he saw another teacher come over and lift the book up, then back away in fright. A little black being waddled away and toward Tommy. Tommy’s face restored hope. Loyalty seemed to respond back to him as Tommy Jr. put his efforts into heading for his owner; it was like a puppy running back home. So, Tommy cried more, but this time in happiness. 

Tommy wanted to run to Tommy Jr but his teacher grabbed him tight to keep him away from the being. The other teacher grabbed the book again, and like a bomb, she repeatedly dropped the book at Tommy Jr however Tommy Jr, was swift. Dodging and somehow surviving the book bombs, he still scuttled here and there confused. The teacher fighting Tommy Jr however didn’t give up so easily and grabbing her shoe she chased Tommy Jr. down \. The teachers didnt know but to Tommy the scene looked like a war zone of the school versus his hero. Tommy cried some more because he was worried. 

“Tommy Jr, you’re invincible.” he whispered in a chant trying to calm himself but tears down his reddened face. The teacher looked at him and said something but Tommy didn’t hear anything as he intensely watched Tommy Jr. try to survive his fate, but Tommy saw it. He saw the moment the teacher finally stepped on Tommy Jr.s back leg, and when he was immobilized for a few seconds, she grabbed the book once again and bombed its life to an end. “No! You’re invincible!” Tommy screamed in the last bits of agony, trying to break away from the two strong arms of his own teacher, he kicked and screamed and cried because he didnt want to believe it. But as if ignoring his screams and kicks, the other teacher, slammed her large feet over the book as if her leg was an authoritative seal to confirm the death sentence of a criminal. To Tommy, the teacher looked to be in a pose of justice with one leg up on a square plate, but it was wrong. 

Something was wrong and cruel as Tommy remembered the repetitive attacks on his friend, and Tommy cried more because he had believed in someone so wrong. When he finnally managed to get out of his teachers arms, he ran to the book, kneeling and he lifted the book up in hope to see a black figure scuttle out like before. He stared at the ground tears dripping and blocking his vision, he wiped the tears away more than twice to make sure to not muss Tommy Jr.s miraculous escape. He desperately looked around the cafeteria to see him scuttle somewhere else, but he couldn’t find him. 

“Tommy?” his teacher kneeled next to him. 

That was exactly what he was supposed to say. He suddenly remembered he hadnt even called his little friend by his name yet.

 “Tommy!” he screamed. “Tommy Jr.” “Tommy--” and then he found Tommy Jr. 

Tommy Jr. was on the book, it stuck to the book flatter than any Tommy had ever seen anything on a book. Its legs twitched here and there, some were squished under the body which had opened up to a cloud of gray puss that looked fresh and gooey. Tommy didn’t know why Tommy Jr. looked that way but Tommy thought he knew that Tommy Jr. wasn’t supposed to look that way. He started to cry some more, but then stopped as his eyes widened at the last comfort his friend gave him; there were two long pieces of thin length still moving up and down and sideways that tickled his little tear-soaked fingers that held the book, He smiled, but his tears didn’t stop. 

~~~

The teachers had taken the book and Tommy Jr. away from Tommy. Tommy was told that he was in trouble. His parents were told that Tommy brought a cockroach and threw it at Margaret Jane-- Tommy didn’t even know who that was or what a cockroach was and he didn’t care. Tommy’s parents were upset but he didn’t care; he knew he was alot more upset that they were. He knew nobody really cared, especially about Tommy Jr.

“Thomas Ralph Junior, go to your room!” His parents didn’t need to hear his aliby\i; he was the criminal.

Tommy ran up to his room. He crawled under his bed where Tommy Jr. had slept the night before. Tommy cried for a while and fell asleep thinking about Tommy Jr. He was the first friend that Tommy had shared food, his room, his name, his school.

He woke up crying. He dreamed that he had two long pieces of hair that moved up and down and sideways, and that he was chased down with loud thudding footsteps. He dreamed he tried his best but the sky fell down on him. Then he remembered something that his teachers had told him: 

“That was a cockroach, they’re meant to be killed.” Tommy Jr. was a bad bug to his teachers, he was meant to be killed. Tommy crawled out and huddle his knees. He was a bad kid was he meant to be?

~~~

The next morning Tommy went to school again. It was normal and nothing went wrong but Tommy walked the floor Tommy Jr. had been killed on, he used the textbook that Tommy Jr. had been killed with, he listened to the teachers who had killed Tommy Jr. He lined up single file down the hallways and didn't talk a single word, and he didn't ever run in the building again.

He learned Tommy Jr. was a bug called a ‘cockroach’ and that Tommy Jr. didn’t have hair, but it was called ‘antennas’. He learned that people were supposed to kill ‘cockroaches’. He learned that they were disgusting creatures that appear in kitchens and bathrooms. He learned what the teacher did wasn’t wrong, because roaches were meant to be killed. And when he came home, his parents asked him.

“What did you learn today?”

He didn’t lie. “Nothing.” and quietly walked to his room. He had an empty jar under his bed, He grabbed a marker from his desk and scribbled: ‘R.I.P. Tommy Jr. ;  he felt as if a part of him had died, Then he sat down and cried because he didn’t know right from wrong, because he didn’t know friend from foe, he didn’t know happiness from pain, and he cried one last time for Tommy Jr.

“Tommy Jr. isn’t a roach. He’s my friend.” And he never cried again.

[thewindowofthesummerhouse]

Joseba Alexander

[thewindowofthesummerhouse]

Justin O'Neal

[thewindowofthesummerhouse]

Anwita Citriya