#snovak

[propheics]

♆      –      ❝     there used to be a bridge,  but there was a flood. a long time ago.  now there’s just the train-tracks.     ❞       (   @snovak​   )

it  looked  like  the  world’s  worst  roller  coaster     –      train - tracks  ending  in  a  twisted  bird’s  nest  of  metal,   the  drop  below  at   least  twenty  feet.           ❝          jesus   .   .   .          ❞           i’m  no  stranger  to  the  destruction  water  can  bring,   but  this  seemed  excessive.     an  entire  bridge  destroyed  in  what  could  only  be  a   real  godly - level  temper  tantrum     (     a   thought  that  might  have  been  funny  if  i  wasn’t  standing  on  the  edge  of  its  consequences    )    not  to  mention  the  fact that  it  wasn’t  just  any  old  god  that  had  caused  this,   but   my  dad.     i  take  a  few  steps  forward,    my  sneakers  sending  lose  stones  plummeting  down  to  rest  with  the  piles  of  old  beer  bottles  and  other  junk  that   line  the  river’s  edge,   a   real   gold  mine  of  pollution.          ❝          so  do  people  just  come  here  to  drink  ?          ❞

[jeansgenie]

‘ you can have this if you want. ’     this is a moment of kindness or charity except if it is charity, it’s sydney taking the diet coke jeanie rolls across, not the act of jeanie offering her one. the charity works as some kind of response that lets him keep talking.     ‘ i actually have like ten more in my bag. ’     fact: if jeanie had ten in his bag, that would mean he had bought a box of ten diet cokes and then another one to drink before opening the box up. that didn’t happen. he won’t get caught on such petty mistakes.     ‘ nine. ’

w. @snovak​​

[redheid]

*   @snovak   sent 💛     ★  .

[borispavsky-arc]

         ‶  i like him and i want to be like him.  ″              /    @snovak   

     it strikes you like a punch to the gut , unsettling storm brewing and growing - a fight or flight response.      is it sense of abandonment or jealousy?   it wasn’t as if you’d admit the latter to yourself.    a misunderstand sense of jealousy that outwore it’s welcome  -  misplaced.       ‶  who, neil? ″     brow rose, forehead creasing ; perplexed.         it wasn’t as if you’d had the best track record, friends came and went,  some by changed circumstances and some at your own hand.     never clear boundaries often made way to unforeseen heartbreak of not just you but the others you left in your wake .   

               ‶  you like him? why? ″        she liked you, didn’t she? maybe that was worth asking that too.   falsehood of confidence would tell you it made sense she did , would tell you that you were something greater than you were.   but you’d know otherwise.     you’d always lack consistency, always lack selflessness, lack vulnerability and on occasion, honesty.      you’d never quite learned how to plant roots in one place and flourish , you would always be bloodied knuckles, empty liquor bottles and airplane tickets.   always leaving before someone could leave you.    there was a sense of self preservation if it was on your own terms.       how long before you’d lose her too?    

             ‶  why do you want to be like him, anyway? you’re cool anyway, does he even like the things we like?  ″  

[dontdie]

‘ hey! hey! you! ’   ah, cue a familiar face. sort of. less of the pixely sort now it’s very clearly in real life, but hey-ho --- recognisable now there’s no outright block button in the way.  nathan storms, storms hard, and waves a finger at sydney now that the twitter police (block button) are out of his way after being sent to stifle him (being blocked).  no, he’s not quite sure where the fixation on sydney came from, nor even if he’s that tied into it like a bomb on his chest, except for the fact it sparks a bit of excitement in him to play the dramatics, therefore:   ‘ yeah! ’   he says (cries out may be a better word for it).   ‘ me, nathan. hard to carry out the half arsed twitter rejection into real life, isn’t it? much harder to bare? ’   pompous little fuck. he drops the finger. the dramatics fall with it for a second and he stands, bumbling, really, and ready to twiddle his thumbs. oh, he thinks, what else?   

                ‘ oh yeah! ’   he says (chirps may have actually been the word here).   ‘ that tweet was about my mum i’ll have you know! talk about an ego, sydney, jesus. ’

@snovak

[redheid]

w @snovak

[redheid]

what irvin.e welsh failed to consider when writing renton with his old man music taste that he’s way too stubborn on being Top Quality was that one day sydney novak was going to come along and rip it apart by just quoting lyrics of songs HE LIKES at him

[redheid]

[ look ] for your muse to catch mine staring       @snovak

my peripherals just aboot clock it so ah feel suddenly insecure. ah only say just aboot because ah wisnae sure whit ah was seeing, which may very well be tae the fact ah have been distracted, very distracted recently, and had for the time being hovered well oota ma body and intae the clouds tae sing wi the angels themselves, very well forgetting ah can look down from those great heights tae keep an eye oan whit’s going on around the physical body ah’ve left behind. mibbe acting like that leaves a dopey look on ma face, or so ah figure, leaves me gawking, funny looking.

                ah turn ma heid fully and look at sydney who’s been feeding off of my side profile and raise ma brows all whit’s thit like at her. try and remember the last time ah had said anything, heard her say anything; trying tae give maself any kind of timeframe for my self elected mental disappearance and for what reason her eyes are shooting lasers intae ma face.  ah squint.   ‘ whit? ’   then raise ma hand tae ma face and drag it down ma cheek, the fair game staring field, trying to rid of whitever it is: something plastered oan ma face indeed, just a stare, whitever. ah need it gone.

                ‘ something wrong wi ma face? ’