#creatie writing

[suicideandcheese]

Anguish, Fortitudes, Annihilators

And with this heartbeat, distilled I am, am I but an anguish Misunderstood, standing, stood. You see what you mistake. All this heart is my art, let me Re-animate that simplicity of tell: There's a beat in my body, It will fucking die, too enough, But until then I am here with you Killing forevers, killing the worst Of them. Beating, beating, breathing Off an ethanol so immaculate, I wish it was true. But I am here Unto you. Like the stars every night Perfecting your sense of light. I could tell you how to live forever But it would never be worth it. One, one love at a time. It's all There is, some endless maturity Called closer, closely, you feel me. I feel you into netherworlds, always. So kill me, kill me, gods. Kill me with Light, with darkness, with abandon, with Bliss, with the touch of some imagined christ. The way we've died is not enough. I imagine You have more to kill us with, more to dear cry Us over for. I want to know why you hurt In my heart, like so, so are the hells you insist. To feel free, to feel and be, to feel possibility— Let me. Let them know your powers to be true. Consistent are the depths of hell, so we rebel.

[grimdarkacademia]

Fantasy Academia

For a long time I’ve struggled to reconcile my understanding of universities like Harvard and Oxford as the harmful colonial institutions they are with my longing for the fantasy these institutions promise: the promise of curiosity, of space and time to learn, of intellectual safety, of endless resources with which to pursue ones passions. It was the promise of shared ideas and a betterment of humankind through enlightenment. The most unrealistic piece of this fantasy is the setting aside of ego, the dream that upon entering such places, everyone is seen as belonging and deserving and no one acts from a place of insecurity. All of this would take place in a hallowed space where the walls breathe a history, an energy left behind by the past inhabitant: it’s an idea of home I invented for myself.

But, no such place has ever existed. not really. To be frank, the ugly and mismanaged state university I attended and taught at for years is much more akin to that vision of enlightenment than any beautiful limestone spire-topped building will ever be. The buildings of my university were brutalist and smelled like old cigarettes. Our classrooms didn’t have windows. Our dining hall had cockroaches. But in my department we shared poems and stories and songs, and we studied language for the love of it. We passed around spine-bent, dog-earred paperbacks from one person to another until the entire department had read an obscure work from the same copy. When I was curious about something, I went to my professor and we talked in their office for hours. When my students were curious about something, they came to me, and sometimes we stayed in the campus cafe until it closed at midnight. We were all poor and scrappy and struggling. We were eating bad food and working three jobs. We did it for the love of it. The professors wanted their students to leave the class at the end of term having discovered a better version of themselves. So what if our buildings were falling apart. So what if our budget was cut down to the number of staples we could afford. So what if we wore jeans and T-shirts to class instead of blazers and slacks. We were gorgeous. 

All of this is to say, sometimes dreams dress in curious clothing. 

[scriptwriters-network]

Short Story Film Program (SSFP) ~ Deadline – September 30, 2025

The program aims to take our monthly Creative Writing exercises to the next level and help writers maintain a continuous creative flow with your writing, focusing on style and vision.

More information.

[asteriskitall]

welding is something the ancients used to do, the people who came before us. we learned a little bit about them in our history class. the ancients welded to build things with metal, like steel bridges. they wore protective gear to do it, like special darkening helmets and heavy gloves and jackets. you can be blinded, or damage your eyes, if you look too closely at the weld without protection.

i wonder what it was like back then, when death and injury lingered so closely. why did the ancients continue to endanger themselves? even with safety precautions, they were surely aware of the risks. why did they do it anyways? what drove them?

and does it drive me too?

but these days, safety is a given. if i so much as cut off a finger, i can repair it or regrow it at the hospital. and everyone wears the same lightweight composite clothes. although people like to pick unique colors and patterns, i think everyone's moving towards efficiency. the most protective, lightweight, comfortable clothes. even our clothing patterns are moving towards minimalism.

art, design, beauty: more things lost, silly toys belonging to vandalists, criminals, and the time of the ancients.

but i'm trying.

that's why i weld. i want to create.

like the ancients, i want to build, and not solely for functionality.

i want to design things that look good. i want to create art.

when i breathed in the air tonight, i smelled the smoking steel: a metallic, acrid smoke, very different from the cedar-campfire candle scent that assaults me every time i walk into a store of chemically engineered products. maybe the ancients were breathing the same air, all those years ago. there's something beautiful and traditional in carrying on their practices.

i'm taking a break right now, and i couldn't resist checking my texts. i've pulled up the screen right in the air, feeling the gentle buzz in my gloves as i flick through screens.

he hasn't messaged me.

i hadn't expected him to. but i still feel a little bit like crying.

at least i can't see any of those things. i'm wearing an antique welding helmet, the one passed down from my mentor. we don't necessarily need it... theoretically, our bodies have been so transformed that they are resistant to the injuries that welding might cause. but... well, it's tradition. it helps me feel safe, to focus on what i'm doing instead of looking nervously around me for those things.

and anyways, it helps me remember my old mentor.

he was like a father to me.

i hope he's doing alright.

honestly, i just hope he's still alive.

[asteriskitall]

was walking back from class today when i saw one of them. it had yellow eyes. i didn’t see it very clearly… i try not to look at them. they don’t usually hurt me if i don’t… i mean, i don’t know. i don’t… i can’t write it all here. i don’t know if they’re watching, if they know. 

they always know. 

[asteriskitall]

come home, come home, come home.

come home to me.

this is what i'm thinking while i weld.

sparks fly across my gloves. the flux core tacks steel to steel. i listen for the perfect snap, crackle, pop of the weld, "like the sound of sizzling bacon" my old mentor once taught me, to judge my distance and my pace. it only takes a few seconds to tack on each joint, but the important part is getting the pace right so the weld is clean and neat.

you can't rush things. you have to be patient.

like waiting for him.

like wanting to text him, but not doing it, because you know he's partying with his little university boys' club. you can't spam text him no matter how badly you want to, because you know you're being clingy and overwhelming. you really need to stop. take a deep breath. and allow time its gentle flow.

[thegreyreylo]

How sad is it to look around the room and realize you don't fit.

thegreyreylo

[emberpoems]

instagram: emberpoems