I hate having the aux, so much pressure to play socially acceptable songs which everyone will enjoy can I just listen to my weird lowkey bad music in peace
btw you will miss this in 5 or 10 years. memory will smooth these circumstances down like a river stone, and you will find yourself longing for a shade of light or a moment of this particular innocence. you don't know about what happens next, and one day that will be the most alluring thing of all. don't leave it all for nostalgia. have a nice night now, whatever night it happens to be.
my review of the album 'perverts' by ethel cain because I am obsessed it's just after listening to it, so it's fresh and I'll definitely update this post
tw: mentions of suicide, gore, freaky stuff including nsfw and violence
First, speaking of the overall feeling, it feels like being birthed out of your mother's womb, still floating in fluids and blood, waiting to be pushed into the world, there is death, there is sex and it's all consuming, there is love and disgust
This album is for the freaks, for the suicidal ones with a possible porn addiction, for those who get off on weird shit and I will not elaborate on that because it's macabre.
It's for and this is specific: the women who had to repress their sexual urges or they would be seen as deviant if they even spoke about them.
The first song is like the epiphany, the realisation of what you are becoming, that it is also happening to everybody and you seem to be the only one noticing
The humming that haunts you, of a mother– a sister– a dead relative perhaps or even yourself once you die? The breaking part, ah it breaks and it transforms into...? into nothingness
You think it's over but really it's only beginning, there's that sweet smell, metallic and almost nauseating of death floating around, it's not blood no– it's something worse, the blood that oozes from a corpse that's been dead for a while, the remnants of its fluids just escaping the orifices waiting for the bugs to come eat it
And there is the voices again, telling you something you don't want to hear while the bugs are surrounding you and you reach down your pants to feel the hotness between your legs
and slowly but surely the transformation happens, it's the way you get more and more heated, sitting in an empty bathtub in the dark, listening to the old rusty fan as whoever has got you locked in here – whether it's yourself, the voices or someone alive and in the flesh.
Punish is the water filling up your tub, drowning you slowly and it's beneath the rocking chair where you were cradled as a child, half broken on the porch now but..
it has always been this way
The slap of a belt, the snap of a hand ringing in your ear after hitting your face, where the bruise start to form under your skin
The realisation that you were light thrown into the dark, with no reason or possible explanation as to why it's happening but– but it's happening to every-body. That, you are sure of and it's sensational. The breeze hits your face, hard like a punch in the gut but somehow you get blood on your teeth, most likely due from biting down your lip.
The asylum doors are brand new, here is your bed, –no don't look at the corpses–no–look! here is your bed, good, focus, don't–don't listen to the screaming in your head, good.
i do
i do
i do
it feels good doesn't it? tilt your head back against the wall, that's it, let the shadows fuck you slowly
just like that, breathe breathe breathe just let it slip inside you, ignore the noise around you and dig your nails in the back of the entity
you know your fingers can only work if you crack your knuckles first.
Or if you take your vibrator
There is browning blood everywhere, most of it has dried now, cum splatters too and then in Thatorchia, there is a siren, a filthy monster of the dark swamps lurking in the shadows with its teeth sharp as knifes, covered in translucid goo and algae and it's touching you everywhere
(sorry for this I'm just explaining what I'm seeing)
at the beginning of amber waves it sounds like a girl is saying she's accepting an offer, that a psychiatrist is advising her to take as many pills as she needs
and she's mentioning the bottle, empty in her hands on her way home
the album ends with a ringing in your ears, the impossibility to detach yourself from what you've experienced for an hour and a half – or was it a millenia? it almost hurts to stop, like the day after a night out and your head is still buzzing from drinking too much, there's this moment between space where no time exists and you are left levitating outside of your body
there are no tears, perhaps tears of pleasure after coming down so hard but the sadness? it's been gone for years, all there is is.. emptiness
the sticky, slippery, gooey emptiness that you are filled with from head to toe and it keeps you there, in between
i just heard the phrase “if you wouldn’t trust their advice, don’t trust their criticism” for the first time and i don’t think i’ve ever needed to hear anything more
“The French called this time of day ‘l’heure bleue.’ To the English it was ‘the gloaming.’ The very word ‘gloaming’ reverberates, echoes—the gloaming, the glimmer, the glitter, the glisten, the glamour—carrying in its consonants the images of houses shuttering, gardens darkening, grass-lined rivers slipping through the shadows. During the blue nights you think the end of day will never come. As the blue nights draw to a close (and they will, and they do) you experience an actual chill, at the moment you first notice: the blue light is going, the days are already shortening, the summer is gone.”
recently when im tempted to say 'i'm gonna kill myself' i try to correct it into saying "im gonna walk into the river and become a trout" or some other form of that. this is my new thing
Romanticizing your life sounds so stupid but it will help you cope. Taking extra time to make a yummie coffee in the morning, sitting outide observing the wind in the trees, writing poems, going to old book stores, watching your childhood favourite movies, listening to romantic jazz, writing in a coffee shop, making sure you have moody lighting in your room, putting on asmr rooms as a background noise while you work. It's not a solution, but it makes things a bit better.
favourite thing in the world is when the pages of a book go all soft and yellowy and the edges are slightly fuzzy and rounded. these books couldn’t give you a papercut if you tried they’ve been loved too much. they love you too much
stormborns
origamiaround
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
