who gave the bird a pen?

Collection of words, some shiny, some rusty

[noraguthrie-deactivated20211117]

[tonysopranobignaturals-deactiva]

I don't think helping blind people is what prevents the dismantling of nuclear weapons

[tchaikovskaya]

[magpiesdiary]

Something about crying over your unrequited first love even though the feeling is gone but also you feel like a part of you will always love them. Something something the past, present, and future are all happening simultaneously. Somewhere the version of you that loved them is still alive and still loving. And the version of you now may not feel the same love but is still processing the grief a little at a time. Hence the tears long after the thing itself has passed

[magpiesdiary]

You called me yesterday.

I read the ID twice

before answering.

"Hey,"

You said.

"Hey,"

I said back.

"It's been a long time."

"I missed you."

Me too.

"You stopped calling."

A question. A fact.

I thought it was best.

You stopped answering.

You had your own life.

It's okay.

I don't blame you.

"How've you been?"

"Future" - Conversation I haven't had with my sister

[magpiesdiary]

When was the last time we just sat and talked together? Or laughed? We used to laugh. Until our eyes stung and our lungs cried. Why do i feel more lonely when we're in the same room?

[magpiesdiary]

I've spent so many months, years even, trying not to feel anything. It was all too much, too powerful, overwhelming. But now, when I want to feel, when I want to fall completely into happiness and sorrow, love and fear, simple contentment, it feels impossible. With every feeling trying to make itself known my lungs fill to bursting, suffocating, while my heart shrivels, every drop of life squeezed from it. Overflowing and empty in the same breath.

Worse is that I know I can heal from this but to begin is so very, very hard.

[magpiesdiary]

I miss having a best friend. And I know it's my own fault I don't have one, but that doesn't mean I can't also miss it. I write about my best friends, my living regrets, constantly. But this, this isn't about the specific people that used to fill that role. This is about the role itself.

I miss having someone to text. To call at any time of day and they would pick up and I would pick up for them. I miss sending funny videos and pictures and receiving them. I miss sharing songs and stories and restaurants because "you'd love this" or "I thought of you." I miss talking about my day and hearing about theirs. About the driver who cut them off, about their grades, about their parents, their dreams, what they had for dinner, their heartbreaks. I miss it, I miss it. Knowing your favorite foods, favorite songs. Knowing you would hate that movie, you would laugh at that joke, you would love that dress. Making plans, cancelling, rescheduling, keeping. Showing up at each other's doors, barely a text before hand. The "are you awake"s and the "want to get food"s. The late night drives, for hours. Parking in a random lot because the conversation needs our full attention. The conversations. About anything and everything. Nothing too small, nothing too heavy, everything. You almost got married. I was going to be there. You almost ran away. You were going to stay with me. You fought with your mom. I came over to be your shield. We rearranged your bookshelves once a week. We were writing a script. We cooked together in our shared apartment. We told each other everything. Everything. We, we, we, we. I miss that the most. Being part of a pair. Being part of each other. I miss it. I miss it.

[magpiesdiary]

Reminder: take weird tuna casserole for lunch

[magpiesdiary]

Throughout the history of architecture there's been a back and forth between expressionist exploration and "pure," natural mathematics. Every movement since the renaissance has been tradition as a reaction to "uncontrolled" expression or expression as a reaction to "rigid" tradition. We just can't make up our minds, and each new generation of architects is groomed by the one before and ultimately has to decide whether to adhere to what they've been taught or purposefully reject it. Either way, most of the movements so far have been led by pretentious architects who get on their high horse and say "they're wrong, we're going to do it this way now, this is the only right way." As for my current generation, at least as far as me and a few friends have been talking, why can't we have both? Why can't we combine geometry and tradition with pure expression and just design what we want? Why's it have to be rigid and philosophical? It's ridiculous and pompous and severely limiting

[magpiesdiary]

There are those who worship in cathedrals of towering stone, calling aloud to their gods.

But what mighty stone rises further into the sky than the mountain.

They pray with their voices, in churches and homes.

I pray with my soul, peace found in the breeze slipping through pines.

[magpiesdiary]

My dad and my brother always said "only noobs blame the controller."

They spent a lot of time throwing controllers

[magpiesdiary]

Art is about being full of emotion and afraid of nothing

Or, at least, brave enough to make it anyway