so we beat on @mechanicaltangerine - Tumblr Blog

how do you feel, they ask

how do you feel, they ask does your head hurt do your eyes swell at night do you pms I can't I shan't I won't I hide does your heart thump thump thump thump? go meet us downtown we'll have some ice-cream some tea and some stupid little chat go make your family happy don't be a bitch go cry cry does your head hurt is your belly swelling shut up and head downtown be a nice daughter sister lover and a nice stranger to strange people go out and mingle and smile it's a sunny day for crying out loud does your head hurt your eyes hurt your heart hurts and you do you hurt?

#how do you feel #i feel like shit #feel #hurt #hurting #heart #smile #downtown #pms #pmsing

I don’t like stories without closure. They’re depressing; hovering over you like ghosts of the past: never letting you go. I need closures; endings. They’re as important as the beginnings.

#stories #story #closure #ending #never letting go #beginning #ghost #past #depressing #nikol #mechanicaltangerine

Some Rivers I Lost

Maybe I should try harder in the name of joy luck club stop growing my sadness vaster I could start my own garden and weigh down all the weight till gone Maybe I should try even harder Losing myself in a dark woods hollering hollow words and, finally – stop growing my sadness vaster Oliver’s wild geese are in harbor I open my eyes to no end Maybe I should try harder Getting inside my own armour Seaming the helmet with iron Maybe I should have tried harder not growing my sadness vaster

#unhappy #sad #dark woods #sadness #try hard #try harder #weigh down #try #personal #journal #poetry #poem #nikol

31-5-2015

I feel like a river, always on the run my hands quiver is he gone? inside the embedded poem Chappell writes what everyone thinks but never says aloud: her hands on my hips life gurgling through our open mouths

#unhappy #sad #tired #river #chappell #life #poem #poetry #personal #nikol

25 things you should do before turning 25

be you don't be you be somebody else be reckless be annoying be crazy be resilient be and don't "be" at the same fucking time close your eyes trace your own steps go back in time and ask yourself some stupid questions open your eyes and look at yourself in the mirror evaluate what you see on a scale counting from ten to one ten being the ugliest number all around run away and come back before it's too late throw a wild party and then leave, before it gets too wild smoke some pot and flirt with life grow hair longer than the skirt you've tried on, when you were sixteen and a half lose yourself among others dissolve fragment your body, gaze at it let others gaze touch things with your eyes closed pick a new name then stop for a moment breathe in and out let the night devour you reborn alive

micdotcom

Watch: Robert de Niro got real with NYU grads, but was still incredibly inspiring

#robert de niro #NYU #tisch new york #graduation speech

The Bird

The fact that everybody in the world dreams every night ties all mankind together.

- Jack Kerouac, Book of Dreams (1961)

I was in a house looking outside into the bright, sunny daylight. There were buildings all around and the sun was high; it was noon. Suddenly, I saw a flash of color. Then another. And then . . . right in front of my eyes appeared a huge, colorful bird. I knew immediately it’s a kingfisher, even though it looked different. I grabbed my camera and aimed for the bird. But every time I got a good angle, I couldn’t focus on the bird, or something else would go wrong. I desperately wanted to take a picture, I wanted to show the beautiful bird to my family, to my friends, to everyone I knew, because the bird was gorgeous. It had bright, colorful feathers – bright yellow at the breasts, spring green and sugar cotton pink at the back and on the wings, and sparkling, dark blue feathers on the head. It also had a blue feathery crown similar to that of a peacock. It was simply breathteaking. I clicked my camera like crazy every time the picture seemed (at least) somewhat decent. Then, out of nowhere, the bird flew up, leaving me and the sunny buildings behind. I was just approaching the doors – deciding to leave the building and track the bird outside – when I heard a dull, heavy “thump” right behind my back. I turned around. The bird was sitting on the window sill, filling the whole window with its magnificent, feathery body, its head lifted high, its eyes giving out a royal glint. It was only then that I realized, how huge the bird was. I didn’t wait long, I took my camera and snapped a picture, then another. After a second picture, the bird flew up and left. I rushed to the doors, leaving the shady room behind me, heading towards the sun and the beautiful, divine bird. Outside the world was still, sublime. I didn’t have my camera anymore, but I still felt ravished by the bird; I decided to follow it. The rest of the bright day I spent picking up the huge feathers that the bird left, now and there, scattered on the paving. Sugar cotton pink, spring green, dark blue, bright yellow. The colors still danced in front of my eyes when my alarm clock went off.

#dream #dreams #bird #kingfisher #pink #yellow #green #blue #sugar cotton #feathers #dreaming #dreamy #short fiction #short story #personal #fiction #nikol #creative writing #jack kerouac #book of dreams #quote

Fictional elevator

I’m stuck in fictional elevator; the story doesn’t go up or down. There is this strange stranger, sitting in the corner. I think he knows how to operate the fictional elevator. I’m a writer, he’s an editor. But we are stuck in here, not moving any further.

#paja #stuck #elevator #365 writing challenge #fiction #writer #editor #creative writing

Stress

suffering total rejection every single second

#stress #acrostic #poem #poetry #kris #suffering

Writing

As I sit contemplating a white sheet (ok so its a white message block… work with me here), I wonder what I should commit to the page. Do I write a stirring story that bares my soul? Should I write a daring adventure that ignites the fire in young peoples’ hearts? Should I write a sweet romance that soothes a lonely heart? How I wish that creative writing was my passion and my forte. But it is not. I can write a interesting essay of how gender in books has changed through the years. I can write a paper that compares and contrasts Anne of Green Gables to Scout. I can write academically and thoughtfully on many different subjects, but whose life does it impact? For so long, since before the time of Jane Austen, the romance novel has been regarded as a junk novel and not real writing, yet such writing has more of a chance at impact because people actually read those novels. We can discuss forever the ramification of gender roles in great (and i use the term loosely) novels, but since no one in the real world reads our paper, no change can actually happen. So where does this leave me? Staring at a white page wondering why I cannot seem to write a thing.

#writing #kris #academic writing #creative writing #romance #paper #prose

Interview

I was so close this time; the woman on the other side of the line yawned and asked another question in broken English, her "s" sounding like "ash": "So how do you cope with stressh?" I don't, I want to say, I become a yawning bastard – like you – a crooning lapidarium, a fearsome bear, an empire of grief looming up on the horizon. The noisiness of Finland crackles as the woman awaits, patiently, my answer. "I cope with stress very well," I lie. The voice of karjalanpiirakat heaves: "Give me an example." I wish I could, I think, and then it occurs to me: I am dealing with stress right now. The noisiness and fears and possibilities are all bubbling closer and closer to the brim. The karhu beer pours down my phone, making my fingers sticky. "I can't give you an example," I say. All the Joulupukki and Ystävänpäivä that I cherished for so many years suddenly become an unbearable void. I can't express how much this phone call means to me. The woman's voice of thousand lakes shivers. Maybe she had blond hair and blue eyes, I think later on, after the interview is over, done. Maybe she drinks milk without lactose and picks berries every summer. God, how I miss sauna, I sigh. Then I go to the kitchen, I prepare a tea, while all the adrenalin foams up and down. Ah, I think, my Finnish dream, finnished before it even occured to me: the vastness of the country, the language of Kalevala, the lonely evenings in Turku, outside the world I know so well.