#strung together

[yakult-kettle]

you might be cringe but you did not shove j-rock into every multimedia school project you had in middle school

[artos-the-bear-ii]

On a happier note. I finished two extra strands of cranes today, folded the last few and got them both strung up. Will take a picture later.

[avirukh]

Nocturne

I hear the insects of the night Talking amongst them of the stars Standing on the delicate balcony I feel the night that I’ve longed for Sparkling in the deep blue cloudless sky, the stars The guards stand sentinel  A flash of light to stare into the night. Silhouettes and shadows in the corridor behind me I reach for the lights and then retreat. For once, I let it be as it were I let the darkness prevail around me.

Cold midnight air Walking in the streets Lights tinkering  Stray canines bark in the distance A certain hush prevails in the mist of the night. A car whirs by, A hushed and buzzing motion. Fast moving, and blurred parking lights, Imagining a million things in the dark Perched on the sofa, lights dimmed A million thoughts in my head Unpublished and complicated.

A nostalgic reminisce  Soft, blurred, glowing lights A sudden chill I am teleported to a time long gone A happier time A gloomy time Twisted it was Day dream and delay Procrastinate, than progress. I transcend to the here and now The crickets and insects still stirring under the cold blue sky I step back into the dark night.

[basiltonn]

History is all you left me is FUCKING ME UP

[ourforgetaboutit]

I miss the world that you moulded.

[asgardianarchitect]

Strung Together | Closed RP

Another slight adjustment to the miniature screws, and the cog was set in place. Ve appraised the work, squinting at the teeth in the sprockets to check their position with the chain and the broad disc at the top of the contraption before he nudged it once, experimentally. It spun slowly a short ways, letting out a few chimes from the resonating box beneath the disc, and several dangling stars fluttered round the bottom, trailing on their strings. He smiled.

“Freyja,” he turned in his seat to face the bed. His makeshift workstation within the bedroom was cramped and in even further disarray than his previous one had been, but he had managed to clear some of the space of the corner to present his new device. “It’s finished now.” he grinned at her.

[kelkat9]

Thanks again for all the help on the time loop question from earlier!  It really helped me think some things through and in particular regarding my title for the yet unnamed and 60% written Dark Ten novel. 

[sixteen-justheldbetterdays]

Mona

About a woman I met a little while back who told me her story about living on the streets and where most of her poetry comes from. I could never capture it. For those who have heard me perform this one, I've made some changes to it. I don't think I'll ever be fully satisfied with Mona. 

She was 16 when she lived on the streets. She ran away from home because cigarettes were cheaper than sparkling water. That a daughter would get no affection because she was different and wrote poetry. A bruised face was her goodnight kiss and when she slept, she dreamed for days. Her eyes glazed over and a weak smile took over her face.  She told me her story in darkness with halos around her head, but in the light they were rings from the cheap cigarettes she bought at the corner store. Subtly becoming Babylons whore, she sold her body to pay for night school. Got on her knees twice a day and only once to pray. Hoping she wouldn't become her mother. Submissive and damaged. They called her Mona. because her eyes could haunt you even from another room. Her heart was hidden behind tainted lace and shards of broken glass. Yet she longed for love behind a veil of sin She said she was a temptress. Holding out her hand for those who wished to enter hell. Her lovers were ships that kept sinking so she duct taped her heart back together for the thousandth time and set sail once more.  She was beaten ceremoniously every week as they watched the ink drip from her fingertips. She recycled their laughs and used them to rebirth. Simply rising from the ashes with her fist made of steel perpetually pounding away her problems till she held a diploma in her hand. It's over.  Her skin will no longer burn with the sin of memories. Her fathers bruised knuckles will never split her open again.  Mona was a child of the streets. Her life was a broken vessel. She wanted nothing more than to be lost in the world. The streets helped her reclaim the feeling of rose stem pin pricks in her chest every time she put pen to paper.  She swallows all insincerities and only spits the truth because she doesnt believe in lies.  She hungered to find life on the cold pavements, even picking up her pen when it was dripping in blood. She now crawls into day with a riddled routine.  Her mind, heart, and soul are tucked away somewhere safe in her daughter. Never did she return to the curb where she once called home,  but every once in while when she picks up a pen, it's only because she's homesick.