Please go follow my actual blog!!!!

I'm literally not using this one, I am actually @I-am-snek-boop-boop

[sunsetico-deactivated20250705]

“four songs and a half later, you were in between my arms, swaying at the rhythm of the music and at that moment, in between all the chaotic nightmare that nightclubs present, i found some peace and quiet because in that little instant, the world did not care about us, at all.”

— the world did not care about us.

[smolsiamese]

I love this *-*

[smolsiamese]

No. 82

I am dying inside. Day after day and night after night, the leaves fall but it's Summer and they shouldn't be. There is colour, oh god, so much colour. Rich earthy tones and fiery reds but it is Summer! This is wrong, I scream, all wrong! Upside down and side to side, I am pulled in every which way but which way is up.

I struggle to breathe, the leaves fall and they cover me and they suffocate me. I am drowning in a river of fire and grasping and grasping but all that is left are dead trees, empty branches. Dead leaves and a bare ground but it is Summer!

I breathe but crackling memories fill my lungs and I'm choking on a childhood of story times and camping and firelight. I try to light a torch in the dark but there are no batteries and it is noon and I can't see and it is Summer!

I walk and fall and graze my knees and the blood drips down, falling onto green grass and daisies and I fall down and don't get up. Butterflies and hummingbirds fly past, but I am still and my roots grow through my body, shredding it apart and I become one with the Earth and I am gone.

Finally,

it is Summer

- smolsiamese

[smolsiamese]

No. 81 : peaceful

I walk

into the black oblivion

Mind at peace

and free

at last

-smolsiamese

[smolsiamese]

No. 80

I dream about the life

I'll never have

I write about the love

I wish was real

-smolsiamese

[smolsiamese]

No. 79

We are like gold

Valued

when we are given value

But what gives us value?

For me

it's you

I think I would rather die

than have you look at me

like I am worth less

than dirt

But I guess

it's too late

for that

— I'm sorry

(-smolsiamese)

[smolsiamese]

No. 78: A poet

I am the person who dances around their room at midnight,

the person who sees poetry in every shadow and falling leaf

Sometimes it can be hard to understand,

how my friends can look upon this complex life

and think it so austere

How can they not look and see the things I see?

The elegant beauty of the night,

the radiance of the day

How do they not feel the urge to weave these strings of life

into a great tapestry of stories

made only from the words

cresting and breaking upon one another

desperate to be heard

It is a strange thing indeed,

to know not everyone feels the pull of poetry in their veins,

the dancing of words waiting to be spilled from their blood

It is even stranger still,

to have friends think me crazy

when all that I am are doing

is experiencing a life

that they have never even dreamt off

-smolsiamese

[akaiiros]

there was once a castle by the sea, and she stood tall and proud, strong and impenetrable.

she was built by a man without much to call his own, as a project for a greater man, but she loved him well. he poured his love into every stone, and when he died he became the first to be buried in her crypts. they called her the Rose Palace, after the roses that grew by the sea at her side, and she stood proud as soon as she was born.

a century went by that she housed the royals in her walls, and though the king was rather unkind, his children played by the sea and climbed her walls, and she watched them grow to be important officials themselves, all except for the youngest. she stayed by her side and sat by the ocean every day, until she left in a grand procession. 

they named her Castle Alexandria, after the king who had first built her, in his honor. she was a permanent fixture, and she was always housed, and there was never quite enough room for everyone anymore. armies amassed outside her walls as another war began, and volleys of arrows shattered against her stone walls.

she was renamed Fort Rileigh, after the man who had won the battle, and she was worn down and battered from centuries and soldiers. she was tired, and yet she stood tall and near impenetrable, and a lord moved into the palace with his guard. they kept watch over the sea, and over the lands to the West, and there was never a moment without apprehension. strung tight like a bow, waiting for the hammer to fall.

and it fell, indeed, when ships sailed in from the West, with cannons and weapons of an impossible nature, and her name was the Western Stronghold as she tried to keep the foreigners at bay. centuries after she was built, she was nearly destroyed by weapons she wasn’t meant to withstand, and she was broken.

vacated by every man for the next hundred years, she became simply ‘the castle by the sea’, and without upkeep she crumbled into further decay, until she became ‘the ruins by the sea’. children would visit her sometimes, to explore, and a peasant boy would often climb to her highest standing tower, staring out at the sea.

it became too long to tell how long it had been, but eventually a group of men rebuilt her to become of use again, and installed greater barricades and cannons and stronger walls for her to be able to stand in this century. they dug a moat, and she again became the Watcher’s Keep, watching for another war to come.

in this war, the ancient castle was finally destroyed for good, and her barricades and cannons fell away into the ruins, and the moat flooded until she became almost an island. she was alone, now, by the sea; watching the sea, standing broken and ruined.

children no longer came to explore, and they called her ‘the ruins on the island by the sea’. the roses still climbed over her walls, though, and eventually they grew thick and tangled, in bloom every season. some commoner found an ancient history book, and the locals renamed her the Rose Palace. 

the ghost of the man who first built her kept her company, now, haunting the ruins along with the roses. and so she stood, still proud and tall, with a single tower that never crumbled. the sea raged around her, weathering her and breaking her down piece by piece, now.

and some day, a man walked by with a sketchbook in one hand and a guide in the other, and he finished a drawing and said ‘this is what it used to look like’. they were proud of their work, and talked about restoration, and maybe one day they did. 

but here the story ends, for if they did restore her, they removed her foundations and the rest of her ancient stones, and simply built another castle who looked exactly like her.

and in the shade of this new castle, who stood on the island by the sea and kept watch over the ocean in the west, there stood a girl. roses grew from her hair, thorny and tangled, and she stared out at the sea during the storms. she stood there, a ghost, ancient in soul and mind, and smiled when the ghost of the man who first built her joined her.

and so the two ghosts stood side by side, staring out at the sea in a new world and new times, beside a new castle by the old sea. 

[smolsiamese]

I absolutely love this. This is amazing, oh my god. 😶😶

[smolsiamese]

No. 77

Late at night

when the stars are out

is when I am loneliest

So many thoughts

become unflitered

So many I love you's

So many truths

Yet I find myself

with no one to listen

and with no one

who cares

- smolsiamese

[robotmango]

plenty of people wiser & kinder & with more perspective than I have already weighed in on the new zealand terror attack, but I want to say something about the narratives I’m already seeing emerge online. I have seen multiple twitter threads, and even fairly major blogs, actually give airtime to “wondering” if the killer was a “troll” whose goal was “chaos.” I have seen the killer described in multiple places as “intelligent” but “deranged.” I have seen multiple people wondering if this was a “false flag” operation to generate “division” or if there is something hidden at work “behind” the attack.

these are white nationalist talking points. this is talk designed to create doubt about the fundamental connectedness of this attack to the attacks in pittsburgh, in quebec city. this isn’t a fucking movie, this isn’t “the dark knight,” there is no hidden puzzle here. the “reasoning” behind these attacks is not a fucking mystery, it is not a secret, it is clear and obvious: it is white nationalist hatred of immigrants, white nationalist hatred of jews and muslims, white nationalist hatred of any Other. it is a white nationalist terrorist’s desires to sow fear into the hearts of the groups they hate, and to encourage copycat violence. those are the goals, those are the reasons. anyone who says otherwise is HELPING THE KILLERS. anyone who says otherwise is undermining our ability to see this hateful violence clearly, and to organize against it.

we should understand too that the “audience” for these kinds of attacks is other white nationalists. THEY won’t mistake the killer’s motives. THEY won’t misunderstand this as some kind of “troll” operation. THEY know exactly why it was done, because they are linked by the same evil ideology. it is not new or unfamiliar or difficult to define. it is the same old, hideous ideology that the internet has given horrifying new recruitment tools.

if you encounter people repeating these ideas, “wondering” about them, be VERY suspicious. if you encounter people you care about repeating these ideas, try to set them straight. the internet is a place where people can go down many rabbit holes and become convinced of many illogical narratives (p*zzagate anyone??), but this one is deeply dangerous and needs to be clipped at the roots.

[smolsiamese]

No. 76

I guess I don't know what I want

I'm stuck

forever going round in this

convoluted circle

A cycle

that changes me constantly

I love life

I'm happy

Look at this

it's so bright

and beautiful

and gorgeous

and -

kill me

I want to die

I hate it

I hate it

I hate it

Blue skies that aren't blue because suddenly I'm colourblind

and deaf

and every sense is foreign to me because they give me the feeling of being alive and I don't want to be

and I'm trapped

Over and over and over and over and over and -

breathe

The floor comes up to meet me and my tears and suddenly I'm drowning

and it's flooding and I am both destroying everything and giving new life to the things around me

It's 1am again with the stars

and I want to feel happy once more but it's never happy because it is just a memory and now I'm so wistful because I wish I could go back to when I wrote my happy poetry because it was so long ago

so long

so long

so long

so lo--

It was last night

The cycle continues

-smolsiamese

[smolsiamese]

No. 75

Used tea bags and

dirty dishes

A home broken down,

disheveled

Constant fighting and locked doors

Frustration,

pain

the daily grievance

Narcissistic values and

pessimistic outcomes

Decisions unavailable,

voices no longer valued

A loved home

torn in two

Now a battleground

Broken dreams and glasses

lay fallen

in no-mans land

where no one dares to tread

Always fear

scent it in the air

Underappreciated respiratory systems

helping pump

the bad stuff out

Adaption,

survival

A broken home

triggered by

an unconscious lack of

love

-smolsiamese

To be honest, I don't really like this one.

[smolsiamese]

No. 74

I am the girl

who writes poetry

late at night,

the girl who dances at 3am

for no

apparent reason

I am the girl who sings

in the shower

and cries

in the silence

I am the girl who

cares too much,

compares too much

And I am the girl who is learning

to live with it

I am not yet the person

who I wish to be

But slowly and surely

I am becoming the person

who I need to be

I am the girl who is becoming herself,

Growing into myself

as one would

oversized clothes

I am the girl who is finally

- finally-

learning self-love

I am the girl who writes my story,

and I promise myself

that I will make it

worthy of a legend

-smolsiamese

[smolsiamese]

No. 73

As the stars come out,

I have never been

more grateful

to be

alive

-smolsiamese

[smolsiamese]

No. 72: Pathetic

It's 4am

and I'm posting shit

letting him know

that I'm up

that I wanna talk

Telling him

but only in the way

where I don't say it

instead, I expect him to understand

the cryptic

late night messages

And it's so fucking pathetic

how much I still think about him

How much I still want him

I exposed myself to him

Not all the way but

far enough

And I'm cursing myself out

because I saw the end coming

when we had just began

and I ignored it

But now I'm paying the price

Up at 4am

and still waiting

- pathetically fucking waiting -

for him to see

that I'm still up

and somehow know

that I can't sleep

without him

-smolsiamese

[smolsiamese]

No. 71: Valentine Wishes

I wish

that I believed

in love at first sight

and I wish

that you did

too

-smolsiamese

[smolsiamese]

No. 70

I am aware of the flames

that engulf my body

Aware of how to stop them

But I don't

Self-destruction

is a talent of mine

-smolsiamese

[smolsiamese]

No. 69

Whispers in the dark,

hot breath on my ear

A longing that can never be satisfied

Finding comfort in bodies,

but not in faces

because the one person I crave

will never be mine

So I hide in the darkness

and imagine that

the hands

touching me

are his

-smolsiamese