feelings sharpened into knives

been feeling peckish and the causes of my hunger are all acounted for | supposedly writing

[inkskinned]

i love when words fit right. seize was always supposed to be that word, and so was jester. tuesday isn't quite right but thursday should be thursday, that's a good word for it. daisy has the perfect shape to it, almost like you're laughing when you say it; and tulip is correct most of the time. while keynote is fun to say, it's super wrong - i think they have to change the label for that one. but fox is spot-on.

most words are just, like, good enough, even if what they are describing is lovely. the night sky is a fine term for it but it isn't perfect the way november is the correct term for that month.

it's not just in english because in spanish the phrase eso si que es is correct, it should be that. sometimes other languages are also better than the english words, like how blue is sloped too far downwards but azul is perfect and hangs in the air like glitter. while butterfly is sweet, i think probably papillion is more correct, although for some butterflies féileacán is much better. year is fine but bliain is better. sometimes multiple languages got it right though, like how jueves and Πέμπτη are also the right names for thursday. maybe we as a species are just really good at naming thursdays.

and if we were really bored and had a moment and a picnic to split we could all sit down for a moment and sort out all the words that exist and find all the perfect words in every language. i would show you that while i like the word tree (it makes you smile to say it), i think arbor is correct. you could teach me from your language what words fit the right way, and that would be very exciting (exciting is not correct, it's just fine).

i think probably this is what was happening at the tower of babel, before the languages all got shifted across the world and smudged by the hand of god. by the way, hand isn't quite right, but i do like that the word god is only 3 letters, and that it is shaped like it is reflecting into itself, and that it kind of makes your mouth move into an echoing chapel when you cluck it. but the word god could also fit really well with a coathanger, and i can't explain that. i think donut has (weirdly) the same shape as a toothbrush, but we really got bagel right and i am really grateful for that.

grateful is close, but not like thunder. hopefully one day i am going to figure out how to shape the way i love my friends into a little ceramic (ceramic is very good, almost perfect) pot and when they hold it they can feel the weight of my care for them. they can put a plant in there. maybe a daisy.

[aavillainess]

— how are you (still alive through me?) [aavillainess]

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[concord-and-cliches]

jingwei always carries with her twigs and pebbles, for she is determined to one day fill up the sea so that no others will have to suffer her fate. it is not that she cannot be stopped, it is that she can not stop.

a short comic inspired by chinese mythology!

[feytouched]

cannot stop thinking abt the paris review’s essay series on the history & significance of certain colours, hue’s hue:

Periwinkle, the Color of Poison, Modernism, and Dusk

Eau de Nil, the Light-Green Color of Egypt-Obsessed Europe

Marian Blue, the Color of Angels, Virgins, and Other Untouchable Things

Incarnadine, the Bloody Red of Fashionable Cosmetics and Shakespearean Poetics

Jonquil, the Light Yellow of Early Flowers, Mad Painters, and Dust Bowl–Era Pottery

Scheele’s Green, the Color of Fake Foliage and Death

Lilac, the Color of Half Mourning, Doomed Hotels, and Fashionable Feelings

Hooker’s Green: The Color of Apple Trees and Envy

Blaze Orange, the Color of Fear, Warnings, and the Artificial

Chartreuse, the Color of Elixirs, Flappers, and Alternate Realities

Living Coral, the Brutal Hue of Climate Change and Brand New iPhones

Mustard, the Color of Millennial Candidates, Problematic Lattes, and Aboriginal Paintings

Russet, the Color of Peasants, Fox Fur, and Penance

Verdigris: The Color of Oxidation, Statues, and Impermanence

(also, tag yourselves, i’m russet)

[crittizen]

this is a poem

[wa-u-moved]

i couldn’t not draw this

[tuyetanliu]

S P I L L E D  W A T E R  /  D E E P  O C E A N S

(a camp nano work in progress.)

a short story/novella duology focused on a triad princess, a triad heir, and their intertwined lives due to their respective roles in their families.

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[inkskinned]

the serpent was a woman, and the woman shall touch like god /// erasure poem of genesis // r.i.d

[aavillainess]

IF YOU EVER FORGET, DON’T WORRY, I’VE KEPT IT i remember us in the rose-glossed tones of youth, every remnant of you still encased in an untouchable warmth like a cherry sunset. do you remember the unyielding, aurelian sun melting us into the wooden deck? the rich teal of the saltwater spray rose up the sides of the ferry as we crossed the strait of georgia & there was the sticky sweetness of mango juice still heavy on our tongues when we drove to victoria. & later, long after the sun fell beneath the horizon, the heat weighed down the summer night while we wandered the dark streets of chinatown. then, in richmond, with the yolk-yellow & scarlet-red of the night-market stalls where laughter echoed long into the black velvet sky full of silver stars. here, in the backyard, where i crowned you with a halo & replaced the gold stud in your ear with a ruby. there, where we hid behind the old lemon tree, rich with verdant leaves & ripe yellow fruit, to read our fortunes when you called me your personal good luck charm, some form of unlooked for blessing. at home, on the counter, where we store our memories like change in a glass jar. here, where we spent sleepless nights & early mornings steeped in exhausted but content silence. there’s not a place in this corner of the world that we left untouched by the sepia-toned reminders for the future us. sometimes, i’m so afraid of living in a place brimming with memories so tangible i can feel them, gentle as a breeze. they rewind & play like a film all day. this place will be so full of ghosts if we ever leave it behind. every memory of us in this house is still alight with sonorous arias in the language of our mother-tongues & if it’s quiet enough, you’ll hear it playing in the background like a radio. we grew up together like braided money trees, our entire lives entwined from the beginning. we don’t say it but we’re both the light in the corner of each other’s eyes; whether it’s the flickering candle by the window or the roaring wildfire. i even hold the threadbare, inglorious fall of our youth in cupped hands, close to my heart. do you remember how far we fell? how we almost drowned in the black waters near those crumbling cliffs? how much we had to tread water & swim until we reached the cold, pale sands? maybe you don’t. maybe i’ll be the only one who clutches onto the secrets we shared on the beach beneath the moon. but i’ll always remember the you captured in those precious, fleeting moments beneath the neverending skies; bright like a happy childhood, untouched by weathered passions.

[humaintain]

“Many echoes compose Contact Light: the deafening, mind-crunching dimensions of the universe, the frail fires shot through the valleys & mountains of the brain, & questions — ours, past, present & future. The resulting voice speaks to that part of us which is always thirsty for understanding, always craning its neck to watch in wonder. In synergy with science, Madina Malahayati Chumaera’s writing activates both the majesty & the monstrosity of being a part of the universe.” – Florence Lenaers, Poet & Physicist

my book, CONTACT LIGHT: the void inside and out will be (re)published by gramedia pustaka utama this october, and i’m still in equal parts disbelief and awe about it. it was my personal project back in year 10, combining my interest in both cognitive science & outer space, and now it’s going to be out in bookstores around indonesia (and internationally hopefully soon). 

the book is my attempt to answer the question of why our curiosity about outer space has been intrinsic to us humankind. it includes questioning the elements of what makes us us, such as our beliefs and values; our relationships to both the environment that we live in and with each other – in the end, what makes us humans so human.

(goodreads / original post)

[humaintain]

hi there! i wrote a book! i’m still really awed about it… the blog for contact light containing fun behind the scene stuff & related information is @cntctlght​! 

you can buy the book on amazon (physical) / gramedia / google play (as an ebook) ✨💖

(i’m desperately aware that it’s better to not support amazon but for now it’s the only way you can get the physical book internationally, i’m really sorry!)

[tuyetanliu]

if you’re interested, i’m now hosting a podcast called oceanic hubris where i’m a disaster on main while telling you about my antics & how my writing journey is going. i’ll also be talking about how i improved as a writer & poet. so, the link is right there. i want to warn you though that i recorded this when i was suffering from post-nasal drip so i sound like gamecube frogger to overly nasal nancy and fluctuate between the two.

[foldedcranes]

I am running against the train on tracks I refuse to step off. Speaking in Parentheses is my second chapbook! Nine poems about a fox driven delirious by hunger, by the hunt.  Download it for free here. 

[foldedcranes]

the shadows gather raven feathers scattered through the halls, lurking at the prospect of swallowing moonlight that pours pale through the windowpanes, chardonnay unbottled and left to aerate.

the night sinks its teeth into summer— fruits—birds—rivers all drown in the torrent of broken contracts and lost dreams that course through the land of the forgotten.

symphony of darkness, ballet of blades, a wolf's tongue rasping against the clean-licked bone of your hyoid.

all this and everything more, the shine of the champagne glass against your rose lips, the spilled viognier, the blue-skinned veins held against pearled canines.

merle— have you ever stopped to consider perhaps you are spending your nights in the arms of the wrong person?

written for @avolitorial‘s october prompts prompt #16 - midnight games

[foldedcranes]

written for @avolitorial‘s october prompts! prompt #8 - resurrecting shadows

[foldedcranes]

tonight, I find myself undeniably drawn back into the lily-carmine hands of a countess dressed in the darkest wines. every word falls off her lips with the promise of salvation and a home inside the fire.

the jewel of the stars, distorted by nights spent too long bottled up, weeps, pours red from eye sockets empty of everything but teeth and a red spiked tongue that licks its lids like a cat that got into the cream.

there is someone dancing with notes in the chapel, rising chords that spire higher and higher, like someone has stabbed the piano and left it to bleed out in the street.

everything perfectly timed within this daydream waltz and when the clock strikes three, I will awaken and find red to be the anger that coats me up to the sleeves.

written for @avolitorial‘s october prompts prompt #6 - stake through the heart

[foldedcranes]

rose eye peers through the glass, blink, and it is gone like the flutter of crow feathers against the night.

water, water, red blossom and carnation, mint and clover, storax and myrrh, but most important: water.

but there are sweeter treats that beckon with honeyed mouth and fresh flowers abloom on their lips.

snake that kept you from waters molts its skin a seventh time and takes to the stars as serpent.

death, delirious from landanum, opens its eyes, darkfruit heavy on its breath, and crushes the sun between its teeth.

written for @avolitorial‘s october prompts prompt #5 - pitch-black wings

[risingphoenixpress-deactivated2]

see my face crowned in stars, please, see my body wreathed in light. Let me be more than my shaking hands.

Aislinn Rose, An Interview With An Anxious Poet, published in Rising Phoenix Review  (via risingphoenixpress)

[foldedcranes]

shoulders blades jut upwards like a mountain range, trembling, the cruel splitting of flesh by silver blade drawn through the valleys and the meadows spilling the mother's blood.

tears served upon golden plates sprinkled over the spine torn from the boy who cried and cried and found respite from the cherry-slicked smoke of the heavens in nothing but his own wings.

now that the sun's heat daze has passed us by, you are ever bolder with your words. ever bolder with your insistence for all things precious.

now that the sun's heat haze has passed us by, I am ever bolder with my desires; tracing the soft curve of warmth against moonlight.

summer's wrath consults the angels who threaten to rip divinity from our form and finds it all too easy still to forgive our murders.

written for @avolitorial‘s october prompts prompt #3 - bare spine