#just dribble

[classic-engineering]

Angst below

Roy lay on the ground clutching his bloody wound, he could feel his blood pouring out of him like a waterfall- the chip! The respawn chip, he could feel it! He pulls his shaky hand away from his side and looks at it- crimson red heavily coated his gloved hand, but what’s worse is he saw a little chip resting in the palm of his bloody hand. No! No! NO! That was his respawn chip! The very thing that needed to be inside him when he died so he could come back as if nothing ever happened! Now, it was broken! He was gonna die for real.... He opened his mouth to try and call for help, but let out a pained cough instead. The more he coughed- the more blood he could feel oozing out of his wound and the more it hurt.

He forced himself to stop coughing and rolled over onto his back- he tried to steady his shaky breath. Rod, Ethan, Sniper- someone had to come down and check on him, right? Someone had to come down and see if he was alright, right? To see if he needed help... but, will they be here soon? Before he bleed out? Roy clenched his fists- he couldn’t help but cry, he was dying and there was no one around to help him! Dell- his son, he was already without a mother or grandfather, now... Roy cried out in pain, more blood and tears pouring out of him... Now the poor boy was to grow up without a father! God, Roy felt so helpless and pathetic! It was bad enough he wasn’t there enough for his son as things were now, but now- now he could feel himself slowly slipping away!

Roy blinked at the ceiling- black was beginning to invade his vision. Oh God, please let that be his tears clouding his vision! He didn’t want to die! Not now! His breath becoming shakier and vision darkening around the edges, slowly consuming his vision completely.

He feels cold, God he was freezing, but how? He feels something warm underneath him, how was he growing colder? He feels like he’s been laying here for forever, how long has he been laying here? He feels sleepy, when was the last time he had gotten decent sleep? Dell... how was his boy doing? Oh what would his son think of him if he saw him laying down on the job? “Pretty pathetic pa”? He chuckled, ah man, that kid was something else- so mean to him some times, but he meant well.

He turned his head to the side after faintly hearing boots stomp down the hall that lead to the flag room. Was it some bastard RED? Dammit, he was too cold and far too sleepy to deal with them right now. Roy weakly shook his head, maybe if he just feel asleep, they would just walk around him and leave him alone. The foot steps kinda sounded like they were right next to him, but Roy couldn’t be too sure, he couldn’t hear much, was he getting sick again?

“oy! oy! Roy!” he faintly heard someone calling for him as well as give him a little shake. Oh, what do they want? Can’t they see he was trying to sleep? He opened his heavy eyelids and tried to look through the darkness that was clouding ninety percent of his vision. He saw a man with a painted face in a blue camo jacket, Arthur? Oh, what was he doing down here? Did he come down to tell Roy that they had won? Roy smiled weakly up at Arthur. But it quickly fell when he saw Arthur stand again and run back up the hall and shouting for what Roy couldn’t hear, nor did he care, his heavy eyelids fell back down and he fell into a deep sleep.

He saw the Red Medic at the end of the hall, Roy grabbed his gun and started shooting, but the little bastard was quick! And somehow managed to get a shot in Roy’s side before bashing him over the head with his gun. Roy put his hand on his side, he could feel the blood pouring out of him! Oh no! The chip! He had to call for help! He had to get up and call for Medic! Roy tried to kick himself up, but he felt his legs were tangled in something! It only triggered his fight or flight response and Roy began to kick like a mad man!

“oy! oy! Stop!” he faintly heard, Arthur?! Arthur! Help! Please Arthur! Oh God, please help! He felt hands holding his legs down. What was going on?! He was dying! Help him! Someone! Anyone! “Roy! Stop!” Arthur? Why was he telling him to stop? He heard footsteps rushing in. “The damned idiot is going to pull his stitches if he keeps it up! Shit!” Rod? Where was he!? And why weren’t his teammates helping him?! He was dying! Roy gasped loudly before snapping his eyes wide open. He coughed and breathed heavily as he looked around... wherever he was. He saw Arthur at his side trying to hold his legs down and Rod holding a needle full of... something staring at him, watching him.

“W-wha? Where? How?!” was all Roy could manage. “Roy, it’s alright, you’re safe.” Arthur hushed gently before Rod chimed in. “Yeah, and you’re pretty damn lucky too, had Arthur not found you when you did, you would have died.” He was alive? The chip?! “T-the chip! It broke!” Rod shook his head and pushed Roy back down onto the bed by his shoulders. “Yeah, it was broke. I already put a new one in a day or two ago. You’ve been out for a few days, was starting to worry when you’d wake up.”

Roy relaxed onto the bed, he was alive and that’s all that mattered to him. He gave a weak smile, he was so happy to still be alive.

[vibrantgrayscale]

Do you ever kinda forget how important physical contact is for human beings so you go like weeks at a time without actually touching anybody and then someone hugs you or gives you a back massage or places their arm around your shoulder it's like oh yeah people actually touch each other. That's a normal thing to do. Okay. 

[secretsplutterings-blog]

this is for all the attics full of madwomen--

cramped jam-packed to bursting, 

all wild hair-

wild eyes-

dark corners- 

all curves.

  these are dangerous spaces.

full of wicked women

witches

brujas

voodoo mamas

who didn’t play nice.

  this is for all the women left wanting--

awake and wondering

hysterical

itching

itching

itching

  these are waking nightmares

soaked bedsheets

wet with our excesses

we sweat

we sob

we so sorry

  this is for all the apologies lost

to raised voices

to shrinking into small spaces

smaller 

smallest

wicked magic of shrinking heads

violent men

disappearing women

a black magic dance

made as ordinary

as Tuesday mornings,

stovetop soup pots,

spilled milk.

  It’s nothing to cry over.

  what do you do when you’ve got the devil inside of you?

when night reaches up her arms to take you,

when you want to do everything but resist,

wishing for cool dirt,

wet leaves,

the stink of rotting plants

twining into hair that hasn’t been brushed for days,

over skin that is too pale 

too soft

too weak--

some days you dream of sinking

think of burning

always bleeding

  this is for the lady smokers

the drinkers

the bar fighters

the rotten eggs

toothy

bitten

bruised

  always bleeding

  we are all brujas.

sisters

wolf women

daughters of the moon

we howl

we hurt

we have to sit up straight

  we are always bleeding.

  we are always living

in madness

in attics

in these cramped

kinky

curvy

constructed 

corners--

  --our bodies

--our madness.

[secretsplutterings-blog]

New Year’s eve 

I ran out into the street

10

I looked up at the stars and spun in circles

trying to be all world

imitating orbit

propelled by my own centrifugal force 

9

I couldn’t stand to make eye contact with him

so scared he would take anything more than mere existence

as invitation

8

split-second decision to flee

7

running with time at my back

all consuming

all count-down

no finale

6

I didn’t want to touch him

because I was consumed with the need

to be wanted 3000 miles east

5

my friends

glowing and grinning wide with -so much-

arms out-stretched--into--smiles

meant for so many someones

this is growing up

4

this is growing up

3

all countdown

no finale

2

I stood alone in the middle of the street

looking up at silent trees

banging pots and pans of leaves

all whisper

so replete

1

this is growing up

alone

imploding

in the middle of old hometown streets.

Happy New Year.

[v3ttel]

regarding that Kimi picture, it's brought back some hideous memories. 

let's talk about how fucking awkward it is to put a mic on a male from experience.

okay firstly you have to yank up their shirt so you can run the cord up to where the mic will sit and you have to put your hands up there as well

It's also super awkward because you have to stand as close as you can to them so you can see what you're doing

and then you have to tape (or if you've actually got expensive lapel mics, they'll attach themselves) it to the inside of their collar.

so you're breathing down their fucking neck and it's just like, i know you don't want me in your personal space like this but, I'm so sorry.

AND THEN YOU HAVE TO FIDGET IN THEIR POCKET TO MAKE SURE IT'S WORKING AND NO ONE CAN SEE ANYTHING

and it's literally the most awkward thing you can do with strangers in a professional setting.

[secretsplutterings-blog]

sleep cycles stuck on repeat

She fell asleep in my arms last night.

“You can cuddle me if you want”

My form folded against hers,

                                  our two bodies,

                                                 four knees

                                                           bent in echoes of the other.

She shook off consciousness

with the aftershocks of her seismic activity during the day.

She is the epicenter of my shifting surface--

the origin of the scraping of my tectonic plates,

her twitches ricochet tidal waves of lust,

tsunamis of confusion in the comfort of her touch.

She dances into sleep,

muscles shaking on the strings of some greater marianettier than me.

I want to tug at her strings better than this two-bit, two-am puppeteer.

I imagine what my arms, my hands

--now wrapped around her sleeping form--

could do to make her twitch to a different tempo,

how I could make her breathing rise and fall much more rapidly--

How I could make her moan in quarter time.

I like to think that I would know all the moves,

but I know that I would most likely fall into following her lead,

her hands so much more sure than mine,

my inexperience catching on the ragged edges of my breath 

coming too fast,

(if only) in the present tense.

Back on earth, we are spooning in the middle of my spinning 

cinema-reel alternate realities,

surrounding our bed with my weak what-if fantasies.

I bore holes into the back of her perfect neck

wishing I could disappear into sleep cycles as easily as she.

But for now my mind is stuck spinning re-runs

unlikely ever to make it to the big screen,

or the red carpet of my mouth.

God knows I’ve written enough scripts to cover my bedroom 

two times five times ten times over

and over filling imaginary mouths

with black and white skeletons of the forever unsaid.

I bury their bones in silence because

I’m afraid that when I tear the tape from my lips

my words will slip out as mangled as unbound feet

wrapped from the age of three,

limping and wrinkled,

clumsy in their attempts to form sentences,

each word

-shaky-

and unused to following the others in line.

The truth is, she shook me to my bones.

Seismic sounds made my ear drums shift like plate tectonics 

leaving deafening questions ringing in the un-worded silence:

Whose fault-lines are more volatile?

Whose body will buckle first under this tectonic tension?

And if our fault lines do eventually grind dextrally against each other, 

--will the whole Earth move?

Or will we only be able to feel our foundations shaken at the epicenter 

of what we’ve imagined to be a dance of entire continents?

You can measure the magnitude of an earthquake, 

but I keep drawing blanks when trying to define 

exactly what this is.

I know the facts of our correspondence,

        I can count the number of days I have thought of her,

                I can measure the weight of her body between my arms.

She fell asleep in my bed last night.

My mouth

               said

                        so

                              much

                                         silence.