CARLA @manunulats - Tumblr Blog

Key cultural influences of Avatar: The Last Airbender.

People instantly categorizing each nation to a single real-life counterpart has been sort of my pet peeve for a while. Each nation was influenced by multiple real-life cultures as stated by creators and artists and this is very evident in the show.

This is my attempt at making a simplified visual representation. Of course, reality is much more intricate and detailed, but this is the best I could do without having to write paragraphs after paragraphs or listing thousands of pictures.

Any corrections are welcomed!

sixpenceee

THE LITTLE MERMAID

This isn’t happy-go-lucky disney mermaid you are probably familiar with. This little mermaid isn’t too happy with her “prince.” This short horror film contains violent material and gore.

WATCH HERE

Letter to the Stranger

I've seen you somewhere. Time would not move like this if you were not an intruder. Neither slow nor swift - Neither does it move, nor does it go - stare until you recognize, stay until you memorize.

Strange it is, remembering a stranger's face but not their name. Somewhere in a lone home, stuck in the chimney, tucked under paper dog ears, in an estranged doll perhaps, there, it must be hidden there.

Unfastening what we have agreed to seal was the only thing I got from that old house. The clues mislead, the dust settled, and the trail stopped -

Resurfacing what we have agreed to bury was our only concordance, but it was not under our terms to be buried with it.

Your movements have changed but they are as graceful as I remember. It is neither my pace nor my rhythm you dance to, but you are as graceful as I remember.

#english #poetry #english poetry

Ode to the Heart

Strophe, antistrophe, epode.

I must reduce all your cogs and chambers to three parts.

May the pace and flow of the world follow your heartbeat. Dance, until the resonance is deafening. The only noise there is will be the noise you allow - and so you can bring the fight to them.

May you find space and time in the silence you have created. You are not to have control until you grant it yourself; the same way that smoke is not yours to inhale until you learn to light your own fire. What you will take will be less than what you gave - but we are not done.

The paces changes along with every strike, every rhythm, every sour note. Your footsteps and heartbeat almost change with them. Almost. The sooner you force your own sound, the sooner you will learn to hear - learn to listen, learn to dance.

#english #prose #english prose

(June 26): Untitled

(Love is a big word. Before this, I thought it could fit the palm of my hand, small enough to put in my pockets and bring wherever I go. Though my heart seemed to fit enough of the emotion for everyone, to spare a little for anyone who might come knocking - my tongue would not dare give it all to anyone.)

#english #english short

(July 31): Untitled

When your chest lunges forward and your lungs pull back— gently it comes, fervently it goes— the satisfaction, the satisfying.

When your chest lunges to me forward, and your lungs pull back— I feel you breathe. I know you live, I know you feel, And I know you love.

#english #short #english short

Adcumbus

The ghost takes most of the space in my room. They spread across the floorboards, up towards the ceiling, around the furniture, and even between the pages on the bookshelves. There is no room for myself, nothing to keep secret from the ghost from my nightmares and daydreams.

They raid my heart at times.

Some days are as warm as a kiss of the sun. Some are storms. Among most, they let me sleep calm and speak easy, but there are those of monotone and hunger. A knock from my closet, some scratching at the window, arbitrary footsteps against the floorboards—they come closer.

They raid my heart.

They coax my body open, and I am bare and unraveled. The ghost knows of my every fear, hope, and dream. As they trespass in my thoughts and raid my heart, they leave no corner of my mind unexplored at every conquest. My stories are a dime a dozen for them in exchange for bare nothing they give; and all I have are fragments. Like coins I keep in my pockets, I do my best to keep them quiet.

They raid my heart, and I lead the way.

They coax my body open, and I welcome them home. I lend my body to borrow. There are days where I seem to take their place, where I am the ghost and they are the space and body to invade. But they lie—I am not in control. Clandestine, smuggled in like broken goods that my conscience would not allow, still, I have come to be swallowed whole. I have come to know them as part of my home—one with the and part of myself.

They raid my heart, and I welcome them home.

They tell me they're here to stay. Though they do take most of my space, I feel most invasion at their absence. Still, despite all this, I have come to know them as part of the bodies we raid and share. They are here to stay.

#english #english prose

Dreamstate

I enter a dream and I am a child. There are places to run and corners to hide. I have all the time in the world. The mornings are mine to run, the afternoons are mine to keep, and the nights are mine to cruise. Everything is for trade, and so I give you dusk in exchange for dawn. I am a child; I am sure of it once I scrape my knees.

Then, I seem to be a ghost. The clouds of ice and vapor are like stepping stones to the cool blue pond above. Every leap from cloud to cotton seems to take me miles further than how I intend to move. Like the child I was, I play hopscotch on the skies.

How did I get here? I am an angel. My heart is as gold as my hands are warm. I am home to anyone who may seek refuge from clandestine subconscious. My walls are as mighty as I am resolute; no one would dare hurt I, who love. Still, I have swords, steel and determined, my heart is soft yet gold—and with it I fight.

Suddenly, I am a superhero. These are different people in my arms, and this time they are still in their bodies. These mortals are naive to feel fear; how naive of them to think that there is only heavenly nirvana or eternal damnation. To tell you the truth, there is no end.

I do not know how, but I am a graverobber. I come neither for the gold nor the diamonds—not even the treasures these fools have buried themselves with. I come for my own gratification. Every vibration from their forlorn attempts to break from the cages in which they are captive is pandemonium—and in it I bask. The world hears nothing for these rotting souls are mine now. These mortals are worth nothing in life or death.

I am death. Every name on every concrete, wood, bronze, sandstone, limestone, and iron—I know by heart. All these souls I have put to rest, yet the world takes no moment to rest. All these souls who have delayed my visit, cried for me to come, and those who have forced me with them—and still none could know that it is I who brought them there.

In a split second, I am human again. It is morning; the dusk is not mine and I have lost dawn. There is but one cloud in sight, and from here, I know that I do not have the flight to reach them. The skies are but skies. I am no superhero; my heart is not kind enough to heal those of others. The nine-to-five awaits, and from there I hear nothing but car horns and the poor child knocking at my window, asking for spare change. There is almost nothing I can do, for I could not even make sense of where I have been. There is nothing I can do for now.

#english #english prose

Playthings

I was a child with buttons for eyes and an Oppai ball for a heart.

A doctor's play set, there must always be something to mend. In this assembly, they put my heart in where the stones grow and my lungs in the smoke in my hands. When everything is at its place, I am only to be dismantled again, again, again.

Of building blocks and puzzle pieces, I am built for breaking.

A little boy's doll, no one must ever know of me, and so I stay under the bed and behind the shelves, maybe not until he is older. Though sometimes, the dust settles, and we find comfort in solitude.

Of cigarettes and diary entries, I am made for hiding.

An artist's paint-by-numbers set, he keeps my colors behind the lines. None of this is his, neither the edges nor the insides - but I am still on his wall, waiting to be watched. And watched I am—

Of pixel boys and cartoon girls, I know you watch me like a movie.

I know nothing of the world outside this toy box and nursery—for I am still a child with rags for skin and some rubber for a heart.

#english #poetry #english poetry

Kahit Aswang

Maraming halimaw sa Pilipinas: Multo, aswang, kapre, tao.

Lahat sila, tuwing gabi ay nagtatago, tumatakbo, o lumilipad— makatakas lang sa panganib na dinadala ng gabi— panganib na dinadala hindi ng nuno o engkanto.

Hindi namin tinatakasan ang kapit ng mangkukulam, kundi ang dahas ng pulis at armas.

Kahit aswang, natatakot.

Binibigay nalang sa manananggal ang bunga ng panggagahasa ng sundalo. Maganda na raw ang makunan kaysa madakip, manakawan, mawalan. Lagi raw binibiktima mga duwende kasi madali sila hulihin, pero kahit kabataan, walang takas sa dahas ng panahon.

Kahit aswang, natatakot.

Marami raw sila sa Baguio at may isa pa nga raw sa Balete, pero sa siyudad ng Ilocos napanganak ang halimaw na ngayong nagtatrabaho sa Malacañang.

Tulad natin, Katoliko pa raw siya.

Mukhang katulad natin, mukhang tao.

Ngunit walang awa— at walang ligtas.

Kahit aswang, matatakot.

Walang boses ang tao mapahating gabi o liwayway, walang awit na bubuhay sa dilim, kaya umindak na lamang sa tunog ng bala at sariling yapak ng paa.

Nagsasabayan— ang sunod-sunod na yabag ng paa ng kapre sa tunog ng riple.

Nakakabingi— ngunit sa pagtahan ng ingay, tahimik kundi ang iyak ng tiktik tawag ng madaling araw.

Maliban sa ilang putok ng baril— Maliban sa ilang hiyaw at iyak— sigaw ng nawalan ng anak, magulang, kapatid, asawa— tahimik— ngunit hindi mapayapa.

Pinagdadamutan ng oras kasama ang buwan ang mga bakunawa, kaya lalong dumidilim— ang lalabas ng gabi, hindi na makakauwi.

Parang magkadugtong na bangungot, tumalon ka man ng ilang dekada, hindi nawawala ang pula sa kalsada, pero pula, buhay ang kulay ng pula

Hindi kukupas ang pula— kulay ng galit, kulay ng laban. Tulad ng tao, kahit mga aswang, espirito, multo Magtatago, tatakbo, lilipad.

Pero tulad din ng tao, kikilos— at lalaban.

#filipino #poetry #filipino poetry

love-personal

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tothefairiestheydrawnear

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I have always loved the music from Peter Pan’s flutes. So I combined all the Pans’ flutes from different films.

1. Disney’s Peter Pan (1953) 2. Peter Pan (2003) 3. Neverland (2011) 4. Once Upon A Time (2013)

Sorry for the second flute being so soft, I wasn’t able to find a louder one. ): I hope you guys enjoy & like it because I had fun making it as well!! (: