metamorphocles

Changes occur in many forms and for many reasons. They are inevitable, and necessary.

[metamorphocles]

I remember the taste of violet’s honey as well as I remember the feel of your sleeve two trunks who grow together in a forest just do so at the leisure of trees and in the way only two things holding the same space in time can define each other in all things even if only for a hundred years When you pull your arm away my mouth remembers the taste of some sweet memory

[kirknspock]

You know, when somebody has a magnificent head of hair – that, honestly, when I was nineteen I would have loved to have had - and they shave it all off… I feel that somehow they’re kind of infringing on my territory. [x]

[evelmiina]

Watched Legend of Korra a while ago. I remember I tried to make some Airbender fanart a long time ago but wasn’t happy with it, so at least I’ve now drawn this to show my love for Avatar universe <3

[rowlingon]

Because it’s such a well-worn part of my story now, it’s a big yawn to hear how I wrote it, as though it was all some sort of publicity stunt that I did for a year. But it was my life, and it was very hard. And I didn’t know that it was going to be this fairy-tale resolution.

[metamorphocles]

Lately

I’ve been writing lately I promise I don’t feel like sharing but I feel like telling.

[chandlerbings]

[mithrosyeahtamorapierce]

Reading any Tamora Pierce makes me want to drop out of college and become a vigilante knight who brings justice to the people of the Lower City and talks to animals and has a cat that’s a constellation not a useless lump.

[metamorphocles]

Darkness, Interrupted

You're a breath of fresh air

          I spend all my time trying to outrun my own mind,      and there you are - a spark to

               lonely  fuse

In a gasp, a burning light

[metamorphocles]

10 word story

"I found myself, in a darkened hallway with no doors."

This is the text I received from a friend today.  I asked him, "How did you get there?"

It turned out he had been tagged to create a 10 word story - a complete idea written in just ten words.  Presumably, this is a creative writing exercise.  It was one I thought had great merit.  A well written story could evoke a plethora of responses.  I asked him how he got there, and he replied "The window :)" A positive response to a dark scenario.

Later, he tagged me on IG to write my own.  Instinctively I wrote "Boy wizard dies (but not really) to defeat Dark Lord." *insert geeking out here* After laughing at my own hilariousness and a well-deserved pat on my nerdy back I sat back and took the challenge seriously.

I adapted a line from an old poem of mine to match the length criteria: "spark to lonely fuse in a gasp a burning light"

10 word story.

[metamorphocles]

Emma

A pearl cast out at once into the foam and brine tossing up and over From the coarse edge it is regained A breath should crack it Gray eyes - full again They aren't old enough to clear the ocean

[metamorphocles]

Unknown

What are you a knot You begin to feel new but new in the way that an old story will make one turn a little every time like the first time but never all the way over.

[metamorphocles]

One of those days

April 16, 2013

It was the kind of storm you could hear coming all afternoon. The kind that arrives with an      'umph' and says 'here I am, sorry I'm late'. It sprayed off the carport roof and the drops off the edge went single file into the current saying 'hurry along, we mustn't too be late'. The young blossomed trees seemed unsure to me, in the balcony doorway They reached for me, and with rooted lurches discovered they could not move their feet. I wish I could have grabbed their bright sequined arms and pulled them inside when I went. But it would be a shame if they didn't stay long enough to catch an admirer's eye.

[metamorphocles]

Trapped on a Plane

I flow through the pen.  Spiritual energy inks through the extension of my arm and my hand. What am I without this? I am plodding, frustrated, unexpressed.  Trapped by the physical, dammed at the wrist.  It becomes a chaos, bubbling to spill over, but only finds an ever higher wall.  The shores swell and cannot flood.  The greenery warps to save space, and soon the scene is abstract, unknowable. It is curiouser to me than ever, what energy has pooled there and hidden the higher ground.  I do not know when I drowned, or if I am drowned even yet.  All I can think is that there used to be trees here, growing where they ought.

[stayoutofmynamastespace]

I can’t find a picture of Captain Janeway that’s big enough to be my cover photo.

- white woman, in Boulder (via stayoutofmynamastespace)

[metamorphocles]

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Why do I still hate you? this thick cloud overhead is yours it is changed and rolled away to other horizons but now, eyes narrowed, I can see it I always know the curve of those lines and the familiar shadow disgusts me a little upset with myself for happening on it again and that it makes me hate and hurt I thought its last glow finished and I question why I keep thinking I saw faint shimmers in periphery but turning to nothing but my own thoughts again This stormy front I made of you seems pastdistant and slower than it should have been My twisting soul leads it away lingering breezes pull past me and I can hear them whispering you as I watch it all fade to stagnant thought and then to my cautious skyline

[metamorphocles]

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Here is a page for my thoughts      and they don't come out right. I haven't seen the monster in so long I'm finding that I'm afraid of writing      Am I crazy anymore? But I know I am, somehow twirling inside me, like a dancer from a story, that flies above the uninspiring with the man that gave her that I am something beautiful made regular I don't feel like I belong here... I, I, I again My mind unravelled and pulled back together, a quick fix and back to work Now somebody has started pulling at it just to straighten it, make it as it should be again How did he see it?  How did he start to smooth me out before I saw him there, with kind hands in the thick folds, one atop the other and another and another I'll come to rest eventually, but I think I'll want him with me      The one who saw me all bunched up and liked      me anyway, and with loving fingers working in my      stitching, absentmindedly or not. The costumer making room for himself, and picturing                               what to put me in next.

[metamorphocles]

  Is disenchantment the veiling or the unveiling of truth?   Is love so blind that it cannot see down paths that lead only to ends, even though it knows they must be there? Would I recognize their beginnings   if I stumbled down them?

  Is hope so strong that it turns its own eyes from reality, and dead-ended paths? Would solitude let me see clearly, through my own eyes and not through love's or hope's?           Or does solitude itself lead           nowhere but an empty bed and           ever-restless mind?