Scattering poetry like ashes

striving to be understood while creating as much confusion as possible 20/queer/neurodivergent

[scattering-poetry-like-ashes]

Personhood

I am not a person, I am a phenomenon.

I am the in-between, the blind spots, the blue hour, the creature crawling betwixt dream and morning, deep down your déjà-vu, the delicious cracks in reality at the backrooms of your tea party

(we do not speak about them)

I am the words dying on the tip of your tongue about a pain that has no name and the anger not articulated; dandelion seeds that never reached the ground, the corpses of the troubled never buried

(they became someone who could be understood)

the prism that breaks the light of a runner´s smile and the legs of a widow never kissed; children´s paintings rotting in the attic

(not pretty enough for the refrigerator door)

When was I ever truly human?

I am the laboratory rat that pushes and keeps pushing the goddamn button

so go on

give me a number 

for my beauty, my pain, the intensity of my depression

(moderate to severe)

(I chew them and spit them and choke on them, I cough for breath)

I am the vermins that your exterminator couldn´t kill

traces of blood in my throat

every mayfly that endured

every delicatly desperate desire you

build your life around not to look in its eyes

//

I asked the wind who I am and it sung an anthem to ambivalence

I asked the sea if I was real and the sea gulls ridiculed me

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

the gaeltacht vampire premise was mostly a joke but i was having a conversation with someone last night about monster theory and so on and it got me started thinking about what cultural anxieties are being expressed (consciously or otherwise) through this particular vampire narrative

i think there are a lot of different things going on but one of them i think is about the anxiety of not being able to live where you grew up because it can't support you and you're forced to move somewhere you wouldn't have chosen bc the resources/opportunities aren't there at home (potentially leaving behind a major part of your identity to do so, whether that's language or something else)

this can be a general experience under capitalism and a very literal one for many in rural areas forced to move to urban areas for jobs etc, but it also ties in to disabled experiences, and the idea of trying to build a community because you need it to survive -- and possibly you need that community more than the community needs you, so you're in a position of trying to forge a place for yourself so that you can stay in the place where you grew up even though you need something from that place that it can't (currently) give you

so like. sure. it was a joke and a silly concept i came up with for fun. but monsters always come from somewhere and maybe these are some of the places this particular vampire is coming from

[headspace-hotel]

*grabs both your hands in gesture of sincerity*

Don't let this die. Taylor Swift is the Pollution Queen now. We need meme edits with her photoshopped onto backgrounds of wildfire-ravaged landscapes and oil refineries chugging out black smoke.

Photo of smudgy black eye shadow? That's THE Taylor Swift-inspired look now, it represents fossil fuels.

We need parodies of Taylor Swift songs about pollution and killing polar bears.

Give her representatives a full-time job for the rest of their lives defending her from the phrase "Pollution Queen." Make this meme a the figurehead of an entire fleet of other celebrity-terrorizing memes.

"But this doesn't dismantle the system that—" Shut. Don't care. Isn't it great that such a huge portion of environmental damage is being done by human individuals with egos, whose feelings can be hurt when people are mean?

Money can save you from physical harm, but can it save you from looking ridiculous?

[northern-punk-lad]

Like this

[antaresferen]

[antimony-ore]

If anyone has that post where the swifties were arguing and deliberately missing every point made all because I said she should plant some carbon offset under a pic of an anthropomorphized airplane and it got so out of hand I had to call @reading-comp-posting and the swifties still thought they won somehow… please add that lol. I mean I’m biased, but I think it was one of the funnier posts directly related to this.

Tumblr has made most, if not all my personal content unsearchable and hidden me from the reblogs on posts so only my followers can see what I say…

I’m assuming it’s related to this.

[reading-comp-posting]

You mean this post?

Anyways,

[ID: A list of headlines from various pop culture publications all about Taylor Swift's private jet usage and consequent carbon dioxide emissions.]

[ID: An image macro featuring an image of Taylor Swift edited over an image of a forest fire. There is white impact font text, which regularly has line breaks and reads as follows: "I'M SORRY/BUT THE OLD TAYLOR/CAN'T COME TO THE/PHONE RIGHT NOW/WHY?/BECAUSE SHE'S KILLING THE PLANET"]

[ID: An image of a plane which seems to have crashed into a small kitchen area in a sort of minimalist-looking building. It is captioned, "Taylor swift grabbing a glass of water in the middle of the night"]

[ID: An image of the inside of a fancy-looking plane with another image of a plane edited to be in the aisle. It is captioned, "Taylor Swift going from one side of her plane to the other side"]

[ID: A meme, featuring a simplistic drawing of a woman, a man, and then an image of Taylor Swift over an image of a space shuttle taking off. The text reads, "Never Ask A Woman Her Age/A Man, His Salary/TAYLOR SWIFT, TO RUN A QUICK ERRAND"]

Check for Understanding:

Why did OP make her initial post?

Why might have OP included the image in the original post that she did?

What does northern-punk-lad add in their reblog? Why might he have made this addition?

What images does antaresferen add in her reblog? Why?

Review the post linked at the top of this reblog. How is that post related to this one?

Why might have antimony-ore have referenced this other post?

[dognonsense]

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A post shared by @aracarrr

Cool concept this bottle cap jean chain! Love new diy concepts though this one definitely seems like a challenging one with all the drill holes and jump ring connections but still possible :3

[your-queer-dad]

DAD DAD DAD DAD DAD DAD DAD

I BOUGHT A CUSTOM NAME AND PRONOUN PIN TODAY!!!

We were really really scared to ask our mom but she said yes and everything went really smoothly!!! :D

When it gets here I'll send you a picture (blotting out our name for privacy reasons) ok?

I'm so happy rn

Hey kiddo!! That's amazing, I'm so happy for you!!! And yeah I'd love to see it (with the name hidden) when it comes!!

- dad x

[guardianspirits13]

I've gotta say that there is no better achievement as a neurodivergent person than hyperfixating on a character for so long that you are known as "the 'insert character name here' person"

[scattering-poetry-like-ashes]

Once upon a time

it was so quiet you could hear the ducks drink water

there was she and I and

the corporeal monstrosities that stuck out like a brutalist building

in a deserted landscape once we

emptied the air of things to say and 

carved out a space where

there was only she and I and

the tinkling of beaves in the water

once upon a time

two corporeal monstrosities

pounded together

and entangled and caressed and smoothed out

the edges of monstrosity 

and became one breathing entity, warm and with heartbeats so loud

you couldn´t hear the ducks drink water anymore

[scattering-poetry-like-ashes]

In moments of pain I clung to beauty

tried to find purity in between

routines of grey, never-resting

I ran my fingers trough black lace

the golden party hat has stayed with me

my room cluttered with artefacts of moments I felt alive

and now when I´m ugly

they remind me

of being found by the night

Sometimes you´re lost in fogs and will-o´wisp´s neon and lyrics too loud to overthink

Sometimes you´re lost in verses all by yourself

as they vibrate

in their own heartbeat

as they breathe

beauty

(I count stories to survive)

At times I mourn for all my selves not being touched by her

[scattering-poetry-like-ashes]

How we end

I wrote your name on a paper heart

and tucked it into a novel I read when seventeen years old

to let the taste of my desire become moldering cellulose

along with the never-sent letters of kind regard

//

So maybe this is us concluding

locked away tightly in library shelves

(and isn´t this a reasonable way to end?)

until some kid – maybe seventeen themselves –

finds your name written in the architecture of my longing 

 and I think they will understand.

[scattering-poetry-like-ashes]

Nighttime Therapy [II]

Welcome to the ones

whose safe places are toilet cabins

and those who write haikus on them,

the ones that are never seen and barely being looked at

by the right people,

who always wake up in the room

with too many broken mirrors, 

and the ones that want to be invited

although they never go

[scattering-poetry-like-ashes]

Nighttime Therapy [I]

Welcome dearest Symparanekromenoi,

to the almost-dead people club, the at-every-breath-deceasing,

the ones to tired to be themselves

that cling to coffee cup handles to stand up

and to cigarette ends to not fall back down,

the ones that have to remind themselves to breathe

and those for whom oxygen is too much sometimes, 

those that only feel themselves in motion

and the ones constantly moving to not feel themselves:

It is required to bring your sorrow and bring your hatred, your hatred and your pain

to this nighttime therapy.

[scattering-poetry-like-ashes]

To the couple that fed the ducks at the pond near the hospital

The ducks are still there

splashing and spattering

quacking and babbling and chattering

and yes, they still compete with the sea gulls

And when they are done resting their beaks in their plumage

sometimes they stare at your spot

before they go on their little strolls, these aimless errands

and grand adventures, their gangling rambling

in between they still demand being fed

like they did when you dared to kiss

in the middle of throwing the bread

then they blab, burble and prattle on

oblivious to the fact that they make everything slightly better.

[scattering-poetry-like-ashes]

Adaptation

One day my body will give up adaptation

and grow itself monstrous excrescences 

bones and flesh will upheave themselves, upheavel

in altitudes yet unknown, elevation

as high as it takes to forget anatomy

and to un-teach proportions

All hail to the virtuosi of desintegration

–  those monstrous excrescences  –

Some people call them wings.

[scattering-poetry-like-ashes]

Nostalgia

Do you still visit our place in your mind?

The yew tree that paints shadows on the ground

where we buried the poems of us

that lingered between eros and agape

I feel you chuckle, why not just call it

love

that howls on and on and haunts me

it has the form of your face, I bet

it still sings the cadavers of lyrics vivaciously

I only  wanted you to know simply that

When I think of love I visit our place in the shadows of the yew tree

[scattering-poetry-like-ashes]

Nomadic Love

Our love was always impatiently creating

a place where it could breathe

and morph into

tenderness, roughness, assemblages

of what could be

If we were safe

and sound and fitting

into the paths leading to happiness

you could kiss me like wild marguerites grow

and love me like the way they arrange in fields

one indistinguishable from the other

I would pick you in an instant.

Until then we are the eery essence of liminal spaces

and the sounds of roads without traffic

nomads that can fit the meaning of life into a suitcase

and bury it under the hanging tree of their hometownes.

What we have is what we create

building a home for each other

we have faith in duration

while always leaving barracks behind

I am the ivy on your ruins.

[trustonlystars]

I am drawing the curtains now, seated at the throne and my crown is well-settled. I unveil emotions that are raw, and sometimes uncomfortable. I swim through oceans of pain and watch people at the shore extend their arms that would never reach me.

Amidst the roaring noise, how do I whisper that the waves have accepted me? The shore in my sight seems to be drifting away but I am no longer afraid of drowning. In my dreams I have learned that no depths of drowning will really kill me. There's a warm home inside these deep waters now. I have learned how to be okay with others not being okay with me.

There is no end I can see, there is always a direction to turn to, but for a heartbeat it seems frivolous. And I hope you understand this too, that you can't be living your life without loving yourself.

- trustonlystars | Jannie F

[scattering-poetry-like-ashes]

Fragility

We are oh so fragile

and oh so frightened

We heal for a lifetime

humbly following the tracks

that promise us warmth.

From excess we make marmalade

From scarcity we make poetry