pixel skylines
Game of Thrones Daily
Keni
Cosimo Galluzzi
dirt enthusiast
wallacepolsom
One Nice Bug Per Day
AnasAbdin
Kaledo Art
roma★
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
⁂
Xuebing Du
YOU ARE THE REASON
trying on a metaphor
🪼
Sade Olutola
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
$LAYYYTER
Janaina Medeiros
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Lithuania
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Belgium
seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
@juiceandgin922
I️ don’t have it, neither do you. No one does.
Maybe it’s because this
Isn’t something you can
Save or have. Just like in a
Lucid dream, This isn’t.
Even while this is slept
Away. It doesn’t leave you.
Did you give away ours?
It hurts when you don’t have it. But It’s someThIng you can MakE, but you can never own.
I took a trip to the park today to do nothing but pass the time.
But all I could do was look for you.
I checked past the old oak.
I checked around the mossy stone.
I checked really close to the edge of the river.
I checked all of the humming birds nests.
I checked near the bridge
I checked over by the overgrown fence
I checked in the feild where all the lemon grass grows
I checked down by the lake side too.
I check everywhere I knew wouldn’t find you.
Where did you go?
Life is a back and forth between cruel and beautiful irony.
While trying to build my own space I pushed you away.
Apon building my own space, I walked in and realized it was half empty.
Why do people fear jumping in pools? It’s not that most fear being in the water, although some do. What people fear is the sudden change from hot to cold. Or from cold to hot. People want to be in the water most of the time. But it’s the fear of change that keeps them back. Not the fear of water. Eventually we all get over that fear and jump ourselves. Or we get pushed in.
There was an old town in which people were able to keep time because every day at noon the naval division would fire a cannon. One day a little boy asked one of the sailers “how do you know when to fire the cannon everyday?” The sailer answered “I fire it when my commander tells me to.” The boy than went to the commander and asked him how he knew what time to tell the sailer to fire the cannon. And the commander answered that he sets his pocket watch to the same time as the big clock in town. The boy then the went to the watch maker that ran the clock in town and asked him “how do you know when to set your clock” and the each maker answered “ why I set it to when the navy fires the cannon!”
I realize my mind works different than most. What makes feel good at something is what make me feel the worst. I know I struggle to say what I feel. And when feelings come out I know that’s its real. Because most of them dont get out. I don’t censor or erase for that leads to dishonesty. I am constantly evolving how I think about certain issues. I don’t think in absolutes I think in reason. Reason can change so so can I. I’ll rather follow through with a lie than renig on a promise. I’d rather risk a being called mean than being called a liar. I’d rather keep trust now that gamble it later. When emotional expression is punished for being late. No cheating, no lying, no anger, no strife. I never shot anything down I just needed time to come up with somethin that worked. Time I didn’t get enough of. But time you deserve? I guess but when time is relative mine felt relatively short
You ever try to climb a mountain and hit the center of the earth?
There both just as impressive, but also impressively wrong.
The crux of humanity is being able to conceive of perfection but never replicate it. I am an inperfect being. But that is a beautiful things. I have room to grow and in some capacity I will. We all walk this earth alone but that means we are never alone in our isolation. Take solace in knowing that even in your darkest our. Your ability to derive hope from in your darkest hour from your dreams of perfection is what makes you speacial. It’s what make you human. You don’t need to be shown you are speacial. You existence mandates that you are. Appreciate that.
She told me she didn’t need love. She said she could go on without it. I’m sure she could. My expression suggests that I accept her answer with content, I refuse. Behind the false expressions of joy, there is rage. Nothing that rare should go unnoticed. Nothing that precious should be undervalued Nothing that complex should be left unappreciated. I respect her individuality. I respect her radical independence. I respect her silent strength. But she encompasses more than that. Her existence demands more than that. No, she does not need to be loved by anyone. She deserves to be loved by everyone. L.S.E.
A good vacation. (via justasgood922)
Scary Window
I’ve spent all my life wondering the world looking for a place to live. Lately I’ve been walking in a neighborhood, searching through houses. I’ve stayed here, I’ve stayed there, but every time I’m sent on to wonder. It’s not all the houses fault. I tend to pic houses that aren’t on the most solid of footing. I find houses that aren’t really for sale, or shouldn’t be. So I stopped looking, and just started walking.. Yeah, I saw your house a while back. More beautiful than any I’ve ever seen. So beautiful in fact that it has to be out of my price range. So I continued to walk and I’ve come full circle. I’m back at the house and it’s grown more beautiful the second time around. I see a window and I’m drawn towards it. As I get closer I grow more and more nervous.
It’s a window I don’t want to look into. I don’t know if it’s because I think what I’ll see will ruin the house for me? But as I walk back towards this house, as I get closer to this window, the less that appears to be the case. The house grows more beautiful, it feels more familiar, looks more comfortable. What it looks like is that when I look in to that window, I’ll see what I’ve missed in life. And now I’m afraid.
I’m afraid that I’ll look in and the art on the wall will burst with colors unseen anywhere else. I’m afraid I’ll see that the lights are not just on, but brighter than any others in the neighborhood. I’m afraid I’ll feel the warmth oozing though the glass.
I’m afraid I’ll see home.
Home, find him soon.
Where is home for him?
It’s a question we ask him all the time, sometimes without realizing how complicated the question is for some of us to answer. Better yet, is that the right question to be asking him at all?
You see he was here with her, there with them. When it was hot he went with Papa, when it was cold he was with Nana. He couldn’t tell if he was more peaches or sunshine, more Yankee or Dixie. He couldn’t tell if he was right here, or just on the way there. No, where home is never seemed to be the right question to ask him. All this time The them was more important than the place, the her was more important than the space.
Who is home for him?
Now were getting somewhere, but not quite. Revolving faces in all these places made “who” but a matter of time. Not a matter of consistency, not a matter of comradery, not a matter of comfort, not a matter of home.
So what the hell is home for him then?
Now we’ve gotten somewhere. Because no face, no place, no space makes home for him. You see while the intent may have been for him to feel at home everywhere, I’m sorry to say the effect was the opposite.
He’s a traveler that sees places he recognizes as safe, as warm, as inviting, but he’s still on the move so he must not recognize them as home. He keeps on looking for home. He keeps on looking, in time, in space, in the faces of those he trusts.
Home for him isn’t a time, a place, a space, a face, it’s a feeling. An upwelling he gets every so often that reminds him of a time he felt at ease. A feeling brought up in what, to him, now seems like a dream. A feeling of color, of light, of warmth, of vivid imagination, too often leaving him before he’s ready. Leaving without telling him if he’ll ever be ready again. He doesn’t know what ready looks like.
But he still searches.
He searches for the feeling that comforts his restless mind. That makes him feel less alone in the world. A presence that soothes his quietly aching soul, that focuses his quietly distracted mind. It’s a feeling that connects generations. To him, home has always been elusive, just past his fingertips, the most painful form of an infinite distance.
He’s found glimpses, visions that proved to be illusions that further his confusions on finding that feeling once more. But He’s determined. He accepts the risks. When he thinks he has a chance a finding home he holds on to it. Better yet it holds on to him. Pulls on him hard, weighs on him heavy, heavier than he’ll ever show.
He knows he must take the chance to find home. Even where most would advise against, where many would call him mistaken, where some would call it obvious. He won’t live with himself if he doesn’t at least try to find home because he can’t bear to think of a live without it.
A Loving home, a Serene home, an Eternal home. A home he knows only in a dream and every so often stares him directly in the face while he’s afraid to look directly back at it. The pain of actually seeing home, of knowing it’s there and knowing he’s doomed to have to look elsewhere would kill him. Just the thought of it now hurts him too much to stay in one place for too long, even though he wants to.
So he travels.
He wonders, alone, hoping that maybe home will hear his silent cries, decode his encrypted messages, reach out and give him a reason to have hope. He hopes home is searching for him too. He thinks home means Love and Serenity for an Eternity.
He wants to know home separate from imagination.
He wants to know it as truth.
Scary Window Pt. 2
I’ve spent all this time wondering. Searching for a place to call my home, after always living in someone else’s. And if I walk up to this window now and see what I think I’ll see: Visions of family, past, present and future. Dreams of a life I would die for….I won’t know what to do. I’m afraid I’ve Stopped at too many houses in the same neighborhood. I’m afraid the owner won’t take me seriously if I make an offer. I’m afraid that by the time I feel worthy enough to make my offer, the house will be home for someone else. I’m afraid I won’t be able to look elsewhere because I won’t be able to find this house again. I’ve never seen anything like this house and i cant hide the fact that i want this house any longer. The only explanation for it being here in the first place is divine intervention. Most people don’t find a place so perfect for them this early in life.
I bet the owner only sell to people better than me. I bet it take more than I have to care for the house the way it deserves be taken care of. I bet I won’t have the gumption to promise all thin thing I would do but haven’t shown for the other houses in the neighborhood. But those houses weren’t this one.
Maybe I better not keep walking towards this house. Maybe I should turn around and look for some place less complicated. Down a less stressful road. In a less complicated world.
But it’s too late, I’m at the window.
I see Love & Serenity for an Eternity behind the glass…and I don’t know what to do.
- So I write.
$&ۦ���
This is all my calender needs to say now.
A series of small prisions, and the transitions between them. A prisoner locked away by his own hand. Keys tossed away by his own intentions. You could say his now self made jail house a jail home. It would be useless to describe these prisons, as it does not matter. To me, to you, to him even. They are only temporary. It will only be a short time, in any case no time at all when compared to infinity before he is off to his next. His own series of personal hells. Each vibrantly multifaceted in their uniqueness. Individualized torments. Their own reasons for existing. His own reasons his presence there. Why, you ask, does he choose this incarcerated eternity? Because the fool doesn’t notice the prison. He only notices traveling from one hell to another. Reaking havok in his current prison to get him transfered to another. Not becasue he enjoys the havok, but because he wants to feel the wind. And not the manufactured air currents that cascade down prison walls but a sunwarned wind. A vast and open wind carrying sents from just over the horizon. the feeling of it rushing against his skin, watering his eyes, pounding his heart, filling his soul. The kind of wind he gets on the way to his next prison. Its the short time he believes he is free. As you probabably see now, he doesn’t really know what free means. Or maybe your definition of freedom isn’t possible for him. Maybe if he knew he wouldnt want it. You could say the system had failed him, but you are the system, he is the system. At least he understands that for himself. Do you?
J.A.G (via justasgood922)
What do, you want? I mean, what do, I want? So I’m being, fought on what, I want? Or I’m needing, all of what, you want? I mean, all of what, I want? What do, you want?
J.A.G (via justasgood922)
The Wind
The wind. What is she? If you just answered, how do you know? You’ve never seen her. You may have heard someone talk about her. Read something wrote about her. But how do you really know the wind blows? You feel her. You are witness to her mysterious beauty. Subject to her hidden power. Bliss created by her most gental caress. Destruction left in the wake of her most virulent rage. You are living at the mercy of a penultimate force of nature. What a wonderful place to be. What a wonderful thing the wind is.
-J.A.G
