Elliott's Words

i write sometimes. she/they. im 23. (queer liberation).

[words-by-elliott]

Yo, nice hot and juicy tw for ya if you just stumbled on in here.

Not everything, but a lot of what's here is depressing, with themes of dissociation, sui ideation, being queer, being nd, isolation, wage slavery, and other fun and wacky concepts.

So if you're not into that you should go drink some water, get some sun, maybe eat a kiwi with the skin on.

Butt if youre ok with that, i hope you enjoy my art, writing, and ramblings. <3

[akashicrecord]

Do you wanna get sbarros?

let's get some greasy slices

[words-by-elliott]

Bet I have work this weekend but I'll be there this monday at 1pm but I have to get to a volunteer thing 20 minutes away by 2.

[pissvortex]

[writing-is-a-martial-art]

You meet god and she's mostly dead fish. You ask her why and she says most of the world is dead fish, and she's made herself to appeal to the most common denominator, the everyman funnyman comedy show that runs for eleven seasons but with the entire universe in mind. You ask her how much of the dead fish is your fault, she says it's far less than you'd think, in the grand scheme of things. You ask her if you matter at all. If you can do anything. She shrugs her rotting shoulders and says mattering is a made-up concept, like life, but sure, you can matter if you want to, on some scale. She has many scales. She doesn't know what you mean by 'anything', but you can do everything you can. You ask her if it's enough. She says there's no base requirement for deserving to exist. She's smoking a joint and the smoke filtering out of her gills gathers and forms gas giants and red dwarfs. You ask her if there's any hidden secrets of the universe you should know and she says it's not a secret if she tells, plus it's fun to let you figure it out yourself. You ask her if any of your questions were right questions and she says you worry about being right so much it might keep you from fucking around, which is as close to meaning of life as she ever bothered to make. You don't ask but she says she loves your hair, also your whole being, also your planet. She says she figured out what love is yesterday and is trying it out, which explains the ten thousand rainbows and sudden influx in rains of fish. She offers you a drag of her joint and you wake up half past midnight behind a chain restaurant clutching a smoked salmon. The new stars are winking like they're in on some joke and you're sure if you try hard enough you'll remember what it is.

[dragonflea]

Idk what just happened but op's right, writing *is* a martial art

[the-haiku-bot]

Idk what just

happened but op’s right, writing

*is* a martial art

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

[words-by-elliott]

oh my gosh there are like 17 of y'all now. Wowsers. I've been busy finding housing and trying to scrape together enough coin to make that happen. My phone broke too so I just downloaded Tumblr on the new one.

I've been doing witch activities recently. and I think this blog is a safe space to share my experiences and seekins.

as far as experience goes, I'm quite the novice. In magic I mean. but I'm exploring this part of me and trying to figure out what this is, and what it can be. to put it shortly, I am patient. I am open. I believe.

I bring this up because today I had much progress in this pursuit.

In the morning I communed with the sea. I grew up on the Raritan Bay, in my home and my love, New Jersey. It was a 10 minute walk to a quiet local beach. Despite this it had been years since I had fully communed with her. I regret taking her for granted. Especially because now I live a 45 minute drive from the ocean.

But I made it today, while it's still hot as fuck out. There was a lovely picnic, basking in the suns embrace, and of course, the bay.

I swam among the jellyfish with the friend who drove me. I helt held by the cool waves. I felt myself healing. I took my heart and mind stones in for a attunement before I left.

When we got back to the city I met my girlfriend.

I told her,

"Sorry I smell brackish."

She replied,

"you kinda have a brackish vibe all the time, it's really attractive."

It one of the best compliments I've ever received. I love that woman.

The day was not without stress. I struggled. I cried. There's a lot going on right now, I'm up in the air again.

But like, and this is gonna sound like a weird turn, Ive had this pumpkin from october of last year. She made it 11 months before she started growing mold.

This pumpkin has given me so much love and support these past few months. Everytime I saw it I would smile and laugh because it seemingly refused to decay.

It remained. Until now. A month from a year, and a month before my lease is up.

I said goodbye. Took a moment to thank her for the joy she's provided. Lit some insense and blew some smoke at her to send her off.

I kept the stem. Cut the flesh off, (which I'll make into paints later), and scrubbed away what was left of the pumpkin bits.

I love that pumpkin. I truly believe there's a joyful spirit inside of it, that I've fed and nurtured with my own joy and love. And it in turn has fed and nurtured me.

I made a necklace out of the stem. I believe that her sprit resides in it, and that that spirit is my friend. I get to take her with me wherever I want now, but I'm thinking about letting her cure so she doesn't get fucked up by moisture or something.

[the charms she wears are my heart and mind stones]

So yea, feeling very witchy rn. It's September so tis the season I suppose. But I remain excited for future lessons, experiences, and friends.

[words-by-elliott]

I have a lot of trouble getting out of bed and it makes functioning much harder than it already is.

Everyday I wake up, and for a slit second I have the whole day ahead of me. Then, I'll roll over and go back to bed. The sweet siren song of my pillows and sheets. Just a few more hours- I mean minutes. Just rest your eyes for a moment. Bask in the warm sun.

I wake up around 8 almost everyday. And I'd love to get out of bed and get started then, but it's like someone cut off my legs in my sleep. So I slip back asleep, and suddenly 8 has turned to 9, then 9 turns to 11, 11 to 1. My day, my life, slipping away.

Even now, I'm in bed when I should gave been up 2 hours ago. I should be leaving my appartment to get to work. Instead I'll have to get a Lyft, spending money I don't have on something I shouldn't need. But here I am, writing my woes onto my fucking tumblr instead.

It's one of the biggest reasons why i hate sleeping alone. When I have someone to get up with it's a lot easier.

I'm just so fucking tired. So tired of waking up exausted, tired of falling short, tired of every fucking day being a mountain to climb.

You'd think the days would get easier, that I would learn from my mistakes and how to control myself. You'd hope at least.

I guess I'll actually get up now. But there has to be something im missing. Something I

EDIT: well it's 10 minutes later and im out of bed and called out of work. feelin fine now but yo i need therapy like, yesterday.

[words-by-elliott]

I got broken up with like..a week ago? A month? Atm it feels like yesterday.

There's a lot of layers of suck to this situation.

The reason things broke off was because im not the best and regulating my emotions. I have moderate to severe depression and anxiety. A lot of hatred and anger towards myself. I'm probably bipolar and a laundry list of other terms to say "im manic and that makes 'normal' functioning hard".

That being said, it was fully a good desicion on her part.

And ive been handling all this really well all things considered. We had a very emotional evening, then i found purchase in focusing on myself creativly. I became more aware of my anger than i ever have, and dispite the fact that it was directed inward, how that can still effect those i care about. Other relationships have strengthened i suppose. Ive become noticably more stoic.

But there's a few feelings i cant shake. An awareness that i haven't fully processed the loss of that relationship. An irrational anger that im handling this healthily? A tightness.

I want to scream for hours. Sob into her chest for days. She was so fucking good for me, and i fucked it up, because i wasnt good for her. Wrong time, wrong place i suppose.

A voice in me wants to self destruct. Just say fuck it, get wasted just to hurt myself. To validate the part of me that tells me im trash whenever it gets the chance.

And now, i have to go to work. At least that makes dissociating come naturally.

If anyone reads this, and you have someone who loves you, truly. Hold them. Hold them as tight and as long as you can. Because one day you may have to let go.

[words-by-elliott]

Wage slavery is weird.

Moreover it sucks, obv, but like, why aren't more people talking about this?

Went to work today and the general manager says to all of us, "yall this store is making so much money omg, make sure to give yourselves a pat on the back !!"

And am i the only one who thinks that's strange? Like ma'am this is a grocery store, none of us are ever going to see that much money, why should we care? Why should we be proud of that? It just seems insulting to rub that in the face of wage employees. I would think that they would try and avoid talking about it to keep peoples mind off of the money they would never have, but it's jist the opposite.

When i first started this job they had sat me down to talk. They showed me some jpegs of the CEO, and 2 other people at that corperate level. I'm never going to meet these rich white dudes why are we even doing this? Management then went on to tell me the average gross revenue for the store, as if that matters to me, and management talking about that in a training setting i understood. What i didnt expect was my fellow unsaleried wage workers to be talking to me about it. Talking about how much money the store makes, how smart the CEOs must be to make all that money.

I dissociate though work for a few reasons, but this is always something that pulls me back a bit. Just being reminded, yet again, of how much money some other people have, and how much i dont fucking care.

[words-by-elliott]

thought about buying a gun today

had a conversation with a trans friend of mine who's thinking about joining the military to escape poverty. not gonna go into detail there but it was heavy conversation and sparked these thoughts.

on the one hand, i'm queer and leftist. i'm scared when i see right wing people hoarding guns. i'd like to have one or more for the peace of mind that if push comes to shove i have something to defend myself with.

however, i know that if i do acquire a firearm, im going to put it in my mouth to see how that feels. not with any bullets or anything. just to feel it, taste it, experience that feeling.

but i know enough about mental health to know what that is. that's a big step in suicidal ideation. what's to stop me from putting a round in the chamber once i get more comfortable? and even if i'm not actively planning how i would kill myself, if i owned a gun, i would know i could. i would know deep down that if i ever wanted too id have a really easy way to do that. and is that even really different from having a plan? i also don't like that i don't know if i would play russian roulette if i purchased a revolver. i'd like to think the answer is no, but if i'm honest with myself, 17% is like, not terrible odds?

i'll be 23 soon. and i've noticed over the past few years my suicidal ideation has progressively grown. when i was in highschool, or maybe even middleschool, i realized nothing really cosmically mattered. i think soon after the idea of dying was scary but it wasn't impossible, and i thought hey it would suck but i'd be dead so it wouldn't really matter to me at that point. i wouldn't ever kill myself, but if i got hit by a bus it wouldn't be a huge deal.

and that's how it stayed really. and i still feel that way, although now that i'm actively transitioning and finding myself, i'm a lot more hesitant when i think rationally about these things. i don't want to die and have my obituary and headstone say [deadname], and what's more, things have just started getting good and i am excited to see where life takes me. despite that though, a few weeks ago i looked at my window differently. i live 5 stories up. would that be high enough? i didn't google for an answer. and i frankly still don't want to know.

objectively, i am the happiest i've ever been. ironically though, i'm also the closest i've ever been to suicide. i've been throwing that thought around my brain for a few months now. it's weird.

[words-by-elliott]

So this isnt a poem or a song or anything, its a vent i guess.

If you think its ok to ask a stranger anything about their genitalia, or frankly even talk about that in the first place if you dont know them, you are a fucking asshole and a creep.

Im literally at work just trying to eat lunch, and this queer guy, (who i thought seemed sweet), offers me a swedish fish. I say omg thank you thats so kind, and he follows that up with "hey, youre a guy right?"

I say "no im actually transfem", (and its fine that he asked that honestly, we all make misteps and occasionally assume things), to which he replied, "where you born with a penis?"

Ive spoken literally 2 dozen words to this person. Literally the smallest of small talk. He knew i was at work. And when i asked him "dont you think its weird to ask someone about their genitalia" he said, "isnt that the same as asking if you're a guy?"

Suffice to say my appitite is ruined and i walked away after that. I dont know what else to say now. So yea. Fuck that guy, dont do that.

[feelingsoftheday]

please stay, even at my bad times&gt;&gt;

[words-by-elliott]

Personal_Doom_better_reccording.m4a

here's something new, wrote a song. there might be more of those in the future.

[words-by-elliott]

how do ypu contend with the silence you find at the center of your soul? how do you escape the blood soaked trenches of your flesh? asking for a friend.

i do not think that the center of my soul is inherently a silent place. many if not all of the poems posted here so far where written during dissociative episodes. if anything the words i've written are a cry out in the dark, or a life raft to cling too in those moments. as if to say, i am creating art from this, therefor despite it all, i am real.

funny that you, (and i think many others), think my soul is quiet. I am screaming. Always.

as for escaping the blood soaked trenches of my flesh, i have some advice that took me almost 10 years to come too;

nobody asked to be born. consciousness is non-consensual. this is tragic. but hope, for that means that fundamentally, this is not your fault. the body you are in, the places you find yourself.. we are all in this moment just the sum of our lived experiences. i see a lot of people, whether consciously or not, blaming themselves for simply existing. since we are not to be blamed, it is not good to hold onto anger and sadness too tightly. meditate on your pain and fear, allow it to pass through you.

this is all pretty heavy, and despite the art i create and write, i'm not always such a bummer lol. so in short here's my practical answer;

create art, and know in your soul that you are more than just flesh.

[words-by-elliott]

[words-by-elliott]

[words-by-elliott]

a new day

my eyes peel open.

they lift the weight of my sleep

with no small effort.

bleary vision clears.

6 P.M. , violet sun-set.

i'm awe-struck, briefly.

Apathy bleeds through.

oblivion waits for me.

i go back to bed.

[words-by-elliott]

I worry about you.

You said I was loved,

worthy of others & you.

I'm apprehensive.

Will you behold it?

Runoff from my punished heart?

Why won't you see me?

You turn to blue light

and I wonder for your sake.

Will it fulfill you?