#memory dump

[night-market-if]

“I know what you mean- but you are not falling apart. You are overwhelmed. You may be scared. You want some sort of peace. But that’s just not your life right this moment. It will be. One day. But you’ll have to work for it. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps." Thank you for writing such an amazing work, I needed these words today <3

I adore when you guys quote back my own story to me. I have a brain that memory dumps so very badly. I often don't remember what I've written. When I see it quoted back at me I sometimes go "who wrote that?" To know it is me actually does my writing soul good. :)

I hope you find what you need in life, anon.

[demonhours]

Memory Dump #2

I recently had a really vivid "dream" of what I am sure was Heaven. It wasn't very specific with any details, it was more just the "vibes", I guess. I remembered the contentment I felt when I was with my friends, and how the elders would look after the younglings. I felt the safety of being cared for, and how relaxing it was to just sit back and watch the others, and unfortunately I also remembered how it felt when I left, knowing that I would never have these experiences again.

[crescentaureola]

The attributes/characteristics I found out about my angel-self-past-thing so far:

I wielded some sort of staff/spear thing.

I didn't had wings but I had roughly thousand arms (or just a lot).

I wore those finger claw rings decorated with some purple stones.

I may had some connections to the blowing horns/trumpets. (?)

I'm not a Christian angel or stuff like that.

The phrase "The search for the Perfect Wisdom" is stuck in my head (don't know if it's related to my angelity or just my brain's wierd).

I had like, a hermit lifestyle(?), travelling from land to land (different Heavens or other planes). This lifestyle could be connected to the previous point, perhaps?

It's not that much information I could gather, but still, it's something!

[artemis-ascends]

Photogram from my high school photography class. I very much enjoyed the lab work in the darkroom. It felt so relaxing to have the quiet, dark, cool room to escape to during my stressful senior year. Despite my tumultuous home life and adolescent depression, I look back on that semester in film photography fondly. One of my few good memories from that time in my life.

[punkcrowley]

It had been a long day. Aziraphael had gotten into yet another scrape and I swooped in to save the day. It's a system that's worked well for thousands of years, but this time it's different.

Zira shakes in the leather seat of my Bentley. His hands are balled up in his clothes, gripping at the fabric like his life depended on it. He's acting like a stray puppy being taken to an animal shelter; so panicked and out of sorts.

I turn up the radio, and 'I Want To Break Free' blasts through my car in my mildly desperate attempt to relax him.

I pull up outside A.Z. Fell's and for once I come to a gentle stop; no need to stop spook him more with a jolt.

He unbuckles his seatbelt with those still shaking hands and carefully makes sure the belt is back in its place.

"I- umm... I'm sorry, Crowley, dear; I'll uh- I- I will see you tomorrow hm? We can have... breakfast? If you like?"

'He didn't invite me in,' I think, 'that's odd.'

I nod, trying not to let the slight hurt show. 'He's just having an off day, nothing to worry about.'

"Yeah, breakfast sounds good; we'll go somewhere nice eh, Angel?"

A nervous smile washes over his face and he fumbles for the door handle.

"See you for breakfast then, Crowley."

I wave as I hear the door pop open.

"See you for breakfast, Angel."

And with that he exits my Bentley and awkwardly waddles into the shop and out of sight.

An empty feeling fills my being as he disappears round the door and I'm left feeling hopeless in the drivers seat.

Why didn't he invite me in? He always invites me in; whether I've just taken him to lunch or he's nearly gotten himself discorporated, he without fail invites me in for tea, or a nightcap or something.

Was it something I did? Did I upset him somehow? Was it Queen?

No that's rediculous it could never be Queen.

So it must be something I did, great, I fucked up yet again. Wonderful.

I pop back the seat all the way and lie down in the beautiful leather chair, settling myself down for a little self loathing time.

The Bentley was always a jokester and liked to mess with me and this instance is no different as she plays 'Somebody To Love' from the radio.

"Nice joke, old girl." I say, gently patting her seat. It's things like this that I love about her; her vague sentience I'd somehow given her made the damn near 80 years I'd had her absolutely wonderful.

I lay there, thoughts swirling in my head of all the things I could've possibly done to upset Zira. Did he wear a new bowtie and I didn't notice? Was it that I didn't invite him out for dinner?

All these scenarios ran through my mind until I took a look at the clock to see that suddenly it's two in the morning. I lay my head back on the headrest and sigh loudly.

Damn.

Knock knock

I'm jerked back into the waking world but loud knocking on the window, and Aziraphael was standing there, dressed fantastically as always.

I try to be nonchalant about the matter and roll the window down.

"Morning, Angel, ready for breakfast?"

"Crowley," Zira starts, "have you been sitting out here all night?" He sounds concerned, aww.

Think of something quick, Crowley.

"Eh? Nah, I just figured I'd be early for once; I went for an early morning drive and wound up here early enough to take a nap outside, that's all, Angel."

We both know I'm not a morning person, so he probably knows I'm bullshitting. That look of concern doesn't go away but he doesn't push me on it as he walks round the Bentley and hops in the passenger side, clicking his seatbelt in place as he speaks.

"Ah, alright; where are you taking me for breakfast then, dear boy?"

I smile, pop my seat in place and grip the wheel.

"Anywhere you want, Angel; anywhere at all."

[alex-goes-outside]

I’ve been thinking about Burkina a lot lately, little snatches of scenes or senses that bombard me throughout the day. 

Like the couscous and red sauce I subsisted on. Or our old church van, with its sticky leather benches and sharp edges (I still have a scar on my calf). Beowulf, the mangy calico that hung around our outdoor dinner table. Practicing French with Benjamin and Alice. Starting every morning with Lipton gold tea (three cubes of sugar, always). Laying belly-down on a hot, red mud wall, watching the neighborhood boys play soccer. The sunsets, which weren’t sunsets at all but rather sudden blackenings, always at six pm. The buzz of mosquitos and the screaming laughter of my roommates as geckos came up through the shower grate. The thunder storms on the tin roof at night, drowning all other sound in the world. The melody of the azan waking us just before sunrise, usually followed by the call of the rooster in the yard. The time I got sick, really sick, and my 105 degree fever made me hallucinate. Emily had to walk to a hotel to buy ice, and she cried because she thought I was going to die. The time we were gifted a chicken, and I accidentally saw the cook slit its throat. (I threw up.) Buying mint chocolate gelato after teaching theory classes at the university.  Going to the forest preserve to see crocodiles and hippos, then getting caught in a sudden downpour. Cutting my foot on glass while walking to see the king’s weekly ceremony. Discovering bissap (I still crave it all the time). The neighborhood cats, and dogs, and chickens, and goats. The men who would, very politely, ask us to marry them every time we left our compound. Playing gin at night under the flood lights, and being left in the sudden quiet and dark during the brownouts. The ten hour bus rides that would turn into sixteen hour bus rides. The mothers at bus stops, who would hold up their children to sell chalky bags of peanuts and vanilla biscuits. Haggling in the market over hand-died fabric. Taking the fabric to the tailor, who would bashfully measure us for our clothing. Eating dinner in the garden of a convent, overwhelmed by Vivaldi swelling out of speakers hidden in the trees. Sitting in a plastic chair in the steamy morning, with a book and some crusty bread smeared with marmalade, and the smell on the breeze, which is the strongest of my memories: oranges and fresh black pepper. 

[yogurtbowl]

I love spontaneous adventures.

[hesitantryderr]

Alert Alienkin!

So I’m trying to see if any fellow aliens happens to remember me. I’m not sure what my name was, or what planet I was from, but I do know that the grass was pink.

✦ My skin was a bright-ish orange

✦ I had five eyes, three on my face (two where normal human’s eyes would be, one underneath the right eye) and one on either shoulder

✦ Two arms on the left side

✦ Fluffy long hair, not sure what color it was, believing it to be either pink or blue

✦ I did in fact walk on two legs, I had basic human anatomy except for more eyes and three arms in total

✦ I was very quiet and often spent my time alone, I never personally engaged with other aliens, but I sometimes would go out in public for basic needs

Please reblog this or dm me or something if you remember me! My memories are quite fuzzy and I’m still trying to recall everything about myself.