[weltenwellen]

Andrea Gibson, "DEPRESSION [VERB]", Lord of the Butterflies

[arielseaworth]

“Perhaps you have forgotten. That’s one of the great problems of our modern world, you know. Forgetting. The victim never forgets. Ask an Irishman what the English did to him in 1920 and he’ll tell you the day of the month and the time and the name of every man they killed. Ask an Iranian what the English did to him in 1953 and he’ll tell you. His child will tell you. His grandchild will tell you. And when he has one, his great-grandchild will tell you too. But ask an Englishman—” He flung up his hands in mock ignorance. “If he ever knew, he has forgotten. ‘Move on!’ you tell us. ‘Move on! Forget what we’ve done to you. Tomorrow’s another day!’ But it isn’t, Mr. Brue.” He still had Brue’s hand. “Tomorrow was created yesterday, you see. That is the point I was making to you. And by the day before yesterday, too. To ignore history is to ignore the wolf at the door.”

- A Most Wanted Man, John le Carré

[captainjoongki]

you must've come to this neighborhood to save me.

OR: writer park haeyoung's slice of life kdrama trilogy ft. my mister, my liberation notes, and we are all trying here

[orteil42]

my friend's puppy has baffling levels of attitude for someone who's only been around for a handful of months. he understands concepts like deceit and civil disobedience and other things i didn't fully grasp until well into my 20s. this guy doesn't even know the seasons loop yet. he's probably like okay spring. what's next. some other new bullshit i bet

[inkskinned]

driving home from hers feeling stupid and young, the traffic in the tunnel is a mess but i spend the whole time grinning so hard my cheeks hurt from it. call my brother and spend so much time talking about it that he begs for a moment of rest. someone told me once that every set of lovers thinks their love is the special version of it. but really, really: ours is.

how lucky this all is. the spring is putting up little flowers and on the 15th, my dog turns seven. i keep standing in high places and making myself do five-breaths-in, feeling the gratitude sluice up through my fingertips.

i'm supposed to be writing about hope for a local newspaper. i keep thinking about her, and her hair across my pillow, and how when she smiles she curls the right side of her mouth first, a sun-corona smirk.

i want to write about it because i think everyone should get a chance to experience it. i want to write about it because it has no name and is all resonance. it is the magic thing, right, the upsidedown flip. the underside of a seashell. the perfect fit.

but how. how am i supposed to write a poem about it. the poem is breathing in bed next to me. the poem has a wry and dirty sense of humor and a whip fast wit. her skin is so soft it is mesmerizing, i spend hours tracing her tattoos as we share childhood memories. i write it down and i can't quite collect it - every moment a song lyric. every moment protected. it just is what it is, but what it is feels too-large, too-precious.

we lay in bed and she feels so familiar to me it is a vice. we say to each other i think i knew you in another life. we say to each other: i have waited so long to find you. i missed you, where have you been all this time?

her music spools out into my living room. i am supposed to be writing a poem about hope. she laughs at my stupid pun. she brings me tea in a little blue cup.

you know, a year ago i told everyone: i don't believe in love.

[autistobrat]

this too shall pass but the fuck was that for

[inkskinned]

it's hard to explain but i often think about how divorced we are from our bodies and how that divide is encouraged by capitalism. if we view our bodies as a separate commodity, it's easier for us to accept that our labor is also separate from us. alienation from the body haunting everything.

and it's a perfect circle for capitalism, isn't it? they make trillions of dollars asking you to lose weight so that you may be a more valuable asset. you need a nose job and lip filler and a bubble butt. you need more time at the gym, more protein, less freedom. you need your hair removed unless you're a different kind of person and then you need to be so hairy. you need a ton of makeup unless you're a certain skin color and then fuck you, we're not matching our foundations to you, buy 2 and mix 'em. those clothes are cringe now, buy a whole new wardrobe. you need 18 kinds of skincare, you need 12 hair products, all must-haves.

"here's the steps i'm never skipping in my morning routine - and how it made me rich. we all have the same 24 hours, right, you should just wake up earlier. click the link in my bio for the pills that made me like this. for the class that taught me how to prioritize myself. for how to be a better you; and by that i of course mean how to be beautiful."

and the way people talk about bodies. holy shit.

and it's tiring, and you are exhausted, and you are insecure because of course you are - how could you not be? nobody looks like you. nobody else has loose skin or bad skin or scars or back pimples or stretch marks or cellulite or a broken nose. the filter literally sorts all of that out, and leaves beauty behind. the things that are yours are erased.

so you buy the $14 mascara because honestly it really is a nice mascara and it lasts for a while and besides, it gives you a little boost of confidence. so you buy the expensive face mask because it is your skin, you deserve like, one nice product. self-care is now a product, isn't it? self-care isn't just meditation, now you need to download this meditation app, and then you'll be okay again.

and it's so fucking hard to find your way back to your body once you've gotten used to the price of it. because, what, you're going to pay 200 dollars a session for a "somatic" therapist? (you don't even really believe in a lot of "somatic therapy." what the fuck are they saying when they say "trauma is kept in your hips". the body keeps the score; but like, you believe the real help for trauma lies in neuroscience. you'll still do the stretch just in case, but come on). and the thing is that you are selling your body - no matter how gentle your work is; your time on this earth is limited, and you are selling hours of that time in order to make a miniscule profit (ha! as if breaking even equals "making profit").

so how do you take care of the thing that is essentially your tool? capitalism recommends you hone it. you certainly don't feel better when you rest; you feel almost self-indulgent. quick-fixes make you feel worse, annoyed with yourself for stopping at a fast food place; calculating how much cheaper it would have been to just buy the stupid ingredients and get over how tired cooking makes you.

you woke up this morning and thought - i need a vacation. but how are you going to take a vacation from your body? it costs money to exist.

[ryebreadgf]

[hollanderthoughts]

I want to be heard (doesn’t speak) I want to be understood (doesn’t explain) I want to be seen (acts like if a missing person was right in front of everybody)

[stuckinapril]

life is so hard when you’re a very lazy girl by nature but you also want to do a lot of things in your one wild and precious life

[shisasan]

March 16, 1927 Journals of Anais Nin 1923-1927 [volume 3]

[shisasan]

From February 16 to 17, 1913 Letters to Felice by Franz Kafka First published : 1973

[shisasan]

15 March, 1937 Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov

[nosebleedclub]

(Where) do you feel safe?

[peachandmilk]

Seems so banal and bland and boring

But next to you. Your body

Radiates the warmth I have been looking

Everywhere for.

In moments when I was afraid

To look up to the sky, your eyes

Were the ones replacing fear with

Comfort. Delicate touch of your

Fingers tracing circles on my back

Like a mantra, it's ok, it's ok.

In times when not a single

Room, a place, or just four walls

Ever feels like it can contain

Anxiety in me, your heart

Welcomed me inside. Your soul

Reached out to mine, connecting us, tethering

Me down so I won't fly away

Carried by my thoughts circling around.

I feel safe knowing that

I'm not alone. You're here and

It's going to be fine, no matter

What I think and what I do

You're here to make sure that

I'll never feel alone again.

[tearinmyside]

day 9...

check-in

dehydration in the mania, to chill pale arms in fake spring, head silhouette in an unlit room. edema settles in, caresses unchartered skin. a solitary visitor, demands more space in hushed hisses. your broken teeth in the dead garden, coughs make deep wall rattle. there are torn tire treads twisted into a fence post, a string of silver heart lockets wrapped around a tree's midsection. nothing to see here among the scattered mosaics embedded in the damp earth. a skeleton key taped on back of a gutter.

-kab

@nosebleedclub day 9 prompt

[nobrashfestivity]

Takashi Ito

Thunder 1982

[weepylucifer]

dry humping in its specificity as a term implies the existence of wet humping

[weepylucifer]

not my best work