This isn't a blog... it's paper mache.

poetry. Satan. nature.

[wearyorgasm]

Being alive is horrifying

My 30's has really ushered in a whole new era of depression, marked by fears of mortality and wholly unimpressed by any slight indication that there might be Good and Beauty in this life.

It's weird how profound and cliché it manages to be simultaneously.

Everyone is just dying or being systematically beaten down WHILE they're dying, and there's no recourse, and there's no meaning in the suffering, and there's no grassroots movement that's trying to change it, and

it's just really not that funny anymore.

[apoemaday]

Two-Headed Calf

by Laura Gilpin

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this freak of nature, they will wrap his body in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north field with his mother. It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual.

[wearyorgasm]

When you finally realize you've been holding your breath, you're too scared (at first) to let it out. You call it a moment of

suffocation.

You see me as a thing I am not and hate and have never been. I am worried about the fact that I'm not there when you look at me. I am worried that I am a

detached witness to myself.

I have all this anger now, more anger than I thought I could hold, and it's so strange because I can't even tell you. I don't want to even let you know. I am sick

with hurt and more isolated than I've ever been. With all these thoughts and all this anger and this hollow, heavy dark and there is goddamn

only no one

to watch it unfold in front of me, unfurling like a sheet of paper, spasmodic and always startling. I know you wish you could change my eyes, but you can change my eyes, and you don't because you can't stand to look at them long enough to change them. You can't even tell me.

I know that it is my fault that you are too afraid (at first) to exhale, that I am your moment of suffocation, but

I'm never very sorry.

[wearyorgasm]

I try to find a way to sterilize the facts.

Stephen said it could be both, that one could arise from the other, and that will be something I carry with me and occasionally heat up, roll around with on especially empty nights.

You said Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star always made you uneasy. You found it

unsettling,

we said. Do you believe the stars

still exist if no one is witness to their shine? Yes, of course, but only as something entirely

else and other. And anyway, we're always only looking from so far and long away. So the stars are only ever something else and other

than what they are. And I guess you are the same then, and I am far and long away, charging you with only my own sins and looking (indirectly) and knowing what it is you do, knowing that you are else

and other but that it is fine because you always are and always were and it doesn't really even factor into the strange equation anyway because you're there

in the night sky regardless-- ostensibly, unceasingly-- each time my eyes unwind your way.

There (you) are.

[wearyorgasm]

My tongue

is sucking off its own

skin, and you

have spent all of a week digging

chunks of broken tooth

from your jaw.

(I know this is not the first time

you've pulled your own wisdom tooth,

painstakingly extracting you from

yourself.)

We haven't been moving much, just pacing

these same two patterns through the house.

We ain't been saying much either, just

spending hours spinning

in our own mouths. I haven't been doing

what I need to do, like pick the laundry up

from the floor, like learn how to share a bed with someone too much like me, like clear out the cobwebs

from my throat and create an astounding

dot-to-dot from my angry, inflamed lymph nodes because there's gotta be something

identifiable, something meaningful,

under all this grotesque swell.

I've been not saying

the things I need to say, like that you have to

get a goddamn job, that

the smell of your burning flesh is exactly

what I had expected, that I know

what you've been growing-- that

calcified shard in your tender gums,

from pushing out what you were to make room

for everything

you're gonna be.

[wearyorgasm]

A lot of life, I think, is about figuring out what you can take.

I don't have any real friends left.

You have to decide who you want to be. But it's harder than that. You also have to figure out under what circumstances you are capable of being that person.

A whole new hierarchy.

You sit here spitting out teeth into my bed, and I can't help but look around and wonder how I let it get this bad and why I'm such a hypocrite and why I don't stick up for myself the way I do for you and why I

still think of it as my bed instead of ours.

I'll use that glue to keep the spiders pinned to the walls of my throat, and I'm finished trying to impress you

(I'm not)

but FUCK I miss not being this person.

[wearyorgasm]

In the middle of the night, he calls me a goddess and an inspiration. I let the water in my bath grow colder as I sit and wonder how that can possibly be. 

It is not my fault that I understand you, but I'll take the punishment like it were, because I know that it is my fault that I do not tell you that you do not understand me. 

Drop some crystals into the tub, melt them all down before they can get to me. 

In the middle of the night, you teach me about violets (for complexity). Someday, I will teach you about tulips.

[wearyorgasm]

As The Dandy Warhols say in the third sentence of the second verse of the fifth track of their third studio album...

[aesthesiamag]

People Matching Artworks: An Unusual Photo Series By Stefan Draschan

People Matching Artworks: An Unusual Photo Series By Stefan Draschan More info: Website | Instagram…

[cynicalbitchmuppet]

I was really hoping these weren’t staged and the artist just spends weeks in art galleries and days in front of paintings to make these

Well guess what… That’s exactly what he did!

[wearyorgasm]

I called you a hummingbird. Back then, I was more focused  on hiding. I didn’t care too much for telling the truth, just so long as it was pretty.

I’ve got nothing and nowhere to hide these days but damn the way your face looked when you talked about God,

You never held me up against myself too hard when all I could see was the differences, so I grew this new kind of pretty, raw blooms of fleshy truth.

A hummingbird is much smarter than people suppose, but you were no hummingbird.  You couldn’t even tell the nectar from the  blood.

[wearyorgasm]

I will close my eyes when it turns my way because there will never be enough until I am dead, but I can at least try not to fucking drown in it.

[wearyorgasm]

I absolutely will not do this to myself. I need to remember that.

I need that to (please) be true.

[wearyorgasm]

In the end, it turned out I was a spider too

I’m going to try bending my arms backwards. I will leave you

(right) behind. We will go. I will tell you I am fine when I am  not fine. I will smile like I know something 

you don’t know. 

I don’t. I can’t manage to hold on to knowing anything right now. I would cry if it would

let me.  These screens are too bright,  and I feel overwhelmingly (wait.

i know this just  give me a second just please please please give me a fucking goddamn second.)

angry. I’m paying too much attention to the movements of your fingers, to where they touch and don’t. The thought of spending those

hours going downhill with you-- I really might drive us, baby, right into a tree. I am asking of you 

something I will not give, and I will 

keep picking off the skin so  all these thoughts can get in, and

they will get infected and ooze and get into my  blood  make their way to my

wait. 

[wearyorgasm]

There are spiders, you know,  in my throat.

More of them, I think, are hatching above my soft palate, but I  can’t

quite

get to them.

And besides, the egg sacs are indistinguishable from the spit and mucus forming there in the fauces, and

it’s really much too delicate an area to be picking at and digging through in an effort to figure out what belongs and what should be evicted and

annihilated. 

But no. You know I cannot abide any new life growing inside of me, but

I do not hate them.

I revere them and their opportunism, the ingenuity that sent them slinking between my clenched teeth and through these achy gums.

All spiders must find their precious place, and how could I ever hate such clever, exquisite fucking

vermin

for finding  this warm, dark asylum inside me to lay all their pretty eggs? No,

I do not hate them, and I will not take their home.

You should never punish a thing just for being what it is.

Like how my hair is always growing and the wrinkles on my face are always deepening and my brain is bending all wrong, and

there are so many, many spiders in my throat, and they are starting to build webs there, to settle in. I  guess it’s time I ought to start

giving them names.

[wearyorgasm]

I'm not a monster,

but I might as well be.

[person918x]

I have posted a third part to my “Window” series. Too long for Tumblr, so here are Imgur links: Part 1: https://imgur.com/gallery/JTfiV

Part 2: https://imgur.com/gallery/9TDGq

Part 3: https://imgur.com/gallery/DnlGzTj

[lesbianherstorian]

a quote from rita mae brown, lesbian novelist and activist

[dirtprince-deactivated20200503]

[image description: a quote that reads, “If you can’t raise consciousness, at least raise hell.”]