Are there other things to look
I’m so
W the
I don’t know
W
I’m
will byers stan first human second

blake kathryn
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
styofa doing anything
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
One Nice Bug Per Day
Jules of Nature

ellievsbear

JBB: An Artblog!

No title available
Game of Thrones Daily
AnasAbdin

Kaledo Art

Kiana Khansmith
Claire Keane
occasionally subtle
todays bird
taylor price

Andulka
dirt enthusiast
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from Morocco
seen from Morocco
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from India
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@w4s4b1p3a
Are there other things to look
I’m so
W the
I don’t know
W
I’m
Roadrunner, The Modern Lovers
I... am having a cold one in the departure lounge to wash off the overpriced bakso I ordered on impulse. I managed to kill some 30 minutes, sooo, only 40 minutes to go. Only? Well, I’m 1000 years early to something for once; perhaps I just have been gagging to leave.
This Bintang isn’t sitting well in my stomach. (Omg I have just touched my eye). Also, only just realised, my tummy and probably entire body have not been my hugest fans these past few days. I lasted 24 hours without food yesterday (another world record). I should co-write “how to be a massive idiot during the COVID-19 outbreak” with the dickheads in Canggu. You would read it. And if it became a hit, your dad, too. I’ve never been sure about anything.
Guess this is it! A 24-year old baby’s first ever solo trip (as a working adult not a reckless uni student). Kind of wish I was boarding a Garuda flight to Jakarta, not going to lie. Typing that achieved nothing, but alas it made me tear up. Imagine us, in bed, back home. My cat could join the party. (We know she would, voluntarily. Without an invitation). Anyway. Duvet days. You and me.
I read more pages of that book I told you about. It’s telling us to sack the idea of ‘hope’ to eliminate fear, essentially to achieve mindfulness. If we keep ‘hoping’ for a better tomorrow, for a taller, wittier, more Alex Turner looking fella (joking) then we get robbed of what is in front of us (a patient, sensible, yet grump of an editor). We will never be happy this way. We think there is always something (or someone) to hold on to, which probably isn’t the case. Instead, we should hold on to what is real and present: ourselves — warts and all. This way we can also learn to abandon the idea of escapism. Basically, she’s telling me to suck it up and DEAL with it. In the most literal sense.
When we try to hold on to something, whether it’s a coping mechanism to ‘get away’ from our suffering, we are scrambling for security and in the end are only letting in momentary joy. When we should be letting in whatever emotions that rise up, without judgement. Hey, the only difference between a flower and a weed is judgement, right? Also, this way we don’t always have to make sense of things. Sure, I may think I’m just another one of those ‘indulge in’ ‘nestled in’ churnalists. But, why can’t I just let myself be? And improve naturally. Of course, it’s easier to judge and label, and hence, operate with fear (of never being good enough for instance). Achieving ‘hopelessness’ this way helps us to be grateful of whatever is given to you then and there (mindfulness), not what we can achieve tomorrow or next year. Sounds pretty rudimentary if you ask me.
My outlook on life can be quite black and white. It’s either, this or that. Hopeful or fearful. Time to update a few things? Perhaps.
The airport air feels sanitised. At least it smells like it. No signs of panic nor hysteria at all. Just people patiently waiting and hoping to be somewhere else. The irony.
Stay safe,
Yours x
Mar 21, 2020
absence & temporary insanity
“There is snow on the ground and the sun is out.”
Letting the coldness win, I oftentimes neglect the fact your presence would keep me warm. But cold and heat forever contradict. And I feel like this distance has outgrown you and you’re no longer bothered to give a fuck.
(Whilst I nestle here, on the ground,
and you,
shining that brightest shine of yours.)
Pink Lemonades Will Be The Death of Me
When life gives you two lemons, what do you do Do you wedge one for garnish and juice the other? Do you bathe it in your morning tea and let the zest linger? But which do I let go? I want to fucking know. Do you take them to your friends to compare, if one is too seedy or has bad hair. Do you treat them both with care????? What if one goes well with tequila, and the other fresh water. What if you wanna keep them both warm for winter. When life gives you two lemons, I guess, you get to choose. Sweet, sour or bitter, it won't matter, because you'll know which one to lose. Pick the one who calls you pretty, who perpetually leaves you feeling giddy. You'll fall for the way he says your name, even harder when he cooks you food at 3am. You'll fall in love with this one anyway, even though you know he may never feel the same way.
It's Hard To Think About You When You're There Giving The World To Someone Else
If I kissed you, I think, you would taste like cider, but not any kind of cider, just the dark fruit ones, the Strongbow ones I find too sweet. I think that's your favourite. It doesn't matter cause I downed it anyway, with a straw you found on your living room floor. I wasn't as dehydrated as you were addicted to that stuff is gross, but it was all you wanted. All I wanted wasn't for me to hide behind a wall of familiarity, wishing I was touching skin instead. I wanted a lot of things that night they overshadowed my conscience. You could paper cut my lips and I would think you were painting art with yours.
grow a pair and kiss me already
take me home. watch me undress. play me your go to playlist when you feel like a mess. crave me. tell me about her. im all about you when you’re a disaster. help me get drunk. shut me up with three. pacify me thru intoxication. tell him why you kissed me. orchestrate ur interpretation. unburden my frustrations. wake me from my bed of questions, sprucely wrapped in linen. tell me why you didn’t.
There’s a Huge Void Inside Me About the Size of Texas and You’re There Fucking Your Ex
I feel dead And still in bed At half six pm How tragic is that
Raging hormones Electric testosterones Tiring ourselves out To underrated AM records
“That was the indiest moment of my life” Said the boy Hahaha boys like you and him Are easy to decoy
But as soon as You reach the mountains Romance goes out The window
And I feel dead I feel dead.
fucks fuckers and mind fucking
bet you fancied me even harder with your hands around my neck and how my mouth tasted palatably like your name bet you fancied me exponentially greater with my stick like figure pinned to yours it’s like our inner magnetites finally made sense when your smile explores me like an atlas dissolving waves of insecurities you fucking delight you
last night was a blur and i refuse to concur with your notion of a good time if it revolves around this car crash- dine-and-dash hurricane-esque state of mind you’re toying with my innocence purely because you said you could you
stutter “she’s my lover” about her a moment later the ease of you enfeebling my weight
and self-esteem with every rhythmic pounding you fucking distress me you possess my every thought too you
Stop Me From Screaming
Internally.
hi
6 foot, blue blouse
and her with the nice brows
stealin the dance flo
no rudimentary hellos tho
exchanging looks,
oh lord,
why so quizzical?????????
I. C. U.
U. N. I.
how painfully visible
but thoroughly ignored.
6 foot, blonde hair
stop it with the fucking stares!!!
come come come
I’ll make U come come come.
luvie duvie but not quite
bottling my feelings in sediment containers so i can reach you
at the bottom of the dark, that is your heart so i can erode
as sudden as how your eyes shift to anyone else’s but mine
Oley
I’d quit the lamenting If you’d show up with your fancy words on my doorstep.
But you keep me on your dusty trophy shelf you put on display for when your friends aren’t looking.
Help
If regrets were like cassettes
would you help me rewind? and let
me do the rest
Regrets, regrets
Forgive-and-forgets
Help me do the rest,
because I only long to reset.
Drunk in Funk
Stop fucking complaining dude Life’s been well good So displaay your crooked smile and slaaay, bae, everyone is everyone’s boy toy*. Don’t you start fooling around, oi.
*fuccboii
uh
i never told you this, but, i called you 12 times on the plane before it took off, because there was a 2 hour delay, and the last thing i wanted to hear in that godforsaken town was your crying voice, shaking, telling me that i left my keys in your car and how fucking stupid and clumsy i had always been, or something more nonchalant like your forearm smelled like my shampoo, because i had just finished showering when you arrived and i curled inside your arms for the last time in my room and took pictures because everything felt so casual as if i would still see you next week, because i would always still see you next week. i turned my phone off because i was angry i was angry because you didn’t pick up and fuck you because i called you 12 times and you didn’t pick up. i saw faces and i was starting to shake and mum was sitting beside me when i started to cry my eyes out she was there but nothing was she did because, like you, she didn’t know how to react, but you would have held me and i would have probably cried even heavier and i thought you’d fucking be there on the bad days because you said you loved me and i believed you because i thought you meant it, because you vowed to stay with me until i fell asleep. i glanced at the trees outside. i could not stop wondering where you were. i could not contain the urge to call you. i finally turned my phone back on, hopeful to see your name on the screen. hopeful that you would fucking care. i called you once more, once more i called you but you were not present on the other side to placate my angry calls. i wondered what you were doing. i wished you were dead. i didn’t want the plane to take off without you. i hated the thought of moving to a place where the sky is always grey. i was scared. i was scared that the void i left would be replaceable. fuck, i was willing to drop everything. for you. and i never told you that. i looked at the closed curtain that separated us from the first class passengers. i begged god to see your stupid face, to see your hand reaching out to me, handing me my keys, and screaming to All My Heart with the other coach passengers but you didn’t do what we have planned last night, and it hurt. i neglected the existence of my dear ipod since songs would make me want to self-destruct even more. i was silent, momentarily. i thought about last night and how i should have stayed awake but my nose decided to release a stream of thick red fluid and why the fuck did we decide to sleep early?! we should have stayed awake, god, if i knew this stupid thing would happen, god i would have taped my eyelids over to my forehead because i would do anything to relive 28th december, and because what a waste of fine wine! but the plane took off eventually, and i was hopeful for what the future might bring. it was you and me, against rivers and seas and oceans and roads and cars and trains and planes, planes that bring me back to you. but in that moment, everything felt doable. as if distance would not matter. as if i would still see you next week. and now. up to this day, we have survived 197 days without each other, and it all comes back to that one evening in the plane full of people with Bromhidrosis: me wishing for you. i would trade our 197 days for that one december night, because, god, what a waste of fine wine.
Stepping out
People can be utterly fascinating. People never fail to amaze me. You meet approximately 9.213.639 living souls (possibly dead ones, too.) everyday in total (lies). A term I learned today from a 2 hour session with Kamila, my econs tutor. Normative statement. Opinions. Judgements. Fictitious. People make things up. We make things up; in our heads. We fabricate naturally.
It has become a habit. I have not determined whether it is bad or good. Nothing is bad or good. Quit making rash judgments. I fabricate things in my head, and it has become a habit. I am not quite sure if I like this habit of mine. I am enjoying it but not quite sure if I like it.
It is 5am at home. I am by myself, accompanied by a dim light of my telly screen, and grumbling sounds of an empty stomach. I am by myself and I am enjoying it; not sure if I like it.
It is 10 past 10pm here. I lie about being at home. I lie to myself (in attempt) to keep my mind occupied. I am enjoying being 14 hours away from home. I am enjoying it; still not sure if I like it.
I rest my pen down; in hopes that my mind will, too. I stand in the middle of the hollowness (of my room); in hopes that my body will know what to do. I cloak myself in layers of warm clothes. I step outside in the cold night of Liverpool, surreptitiously, as I step out of my comfort zone.
Fuck you no way
well i saw you today
wearing that casual smile
and your stupid hairstyle
makes me want to say
that you look daft and gay
but nevermind, that’s okay
i saw your friends, too, they
were staring for awhile
while resting cigs in a pile
but then they said hey
and thought i came to play
but fuck you no way
A nice little poem I composed a very long time ago.
(Quit judging. I was under the influence … of anger and distress.)
I can get used to this.
my body decides to wake
before you do.
on the left side of the bed
that i sleep best on.
i decide to take a shower
before you do.
i decide not to tell
that i’ll be skipping breakfast
i decide not to tell
where i’ll be in an hour.
i decide to take two last glances
at my silenced phone
at my unmade bed
without your name on the screen
without you lying on the side
that you sleep best on.
i decide not to tell
that i’m fine
without you.