artist-eros - Tumblr blog

[artist-eros]

[artist-eros]

[artist-eros]

Watch "Dylan Hollis - Magic Cookie Bars/Hello Dollies" on YouTube

[artist-eros]

Even when I break your trust, you never let go of my hand. Lover of my soul, you have never broken my heart.

I'll write songs about your patience, sing songs about your love, tell the world of your grace.

I will fight to keep you in my heart, every night and every day.

[artist-eros]

“You are not afraid of me?”

“Should I be?”

*pause. “I am a monster.”

“Hm...why?”

*silence. “It is what I was created to be.”

[artist-eros]

Yes! Hear that imposter, your numbered days just ran OUT!

You are allowed to like your own writing. You wrote it, it's tailored to yourself, you should enjoy it. You took plain words and put them in a beautiful order to create an awesome story. Beat that imposter syndrome and be proud.

[artist-eros]

C'est moi, tous les jours.

[artist-eros]

I wonder where I can read the entire thing

[artist-eros]

The Chosen #1

Life is a fabric, and the Goddess of the Thread is dutied to weave and sew. To merge lives and kingdoms, sew impossibilities into reality, and embroider the most elegant of destinies.

How much the Goddess leaves to chance and how much she places on our paths is the mustery of life. It is the truth of it. Some places, you were meant to be regardless of what you did, and some places you only end up by your own hand.

This place, this decision, is fate. It is destiny showing its embroidered material and pointing out what needs to be done. It is by the mercy of the oracle that we were shown. It is by that mercy that you were named.

Chichi picked her way to the single window of her flat, and tossed the letter out. It was only a few minutes after she had lit up the envelope the letter had come in, that somebody managed to shout through all the noise.

'It's me. I'm the chosen one. Ha, ha, Motherfuckers!'

Chichi continued to pick her teeth and filter through the rest of her mail. Bills to pay, the second ransome note for her third cousin, the mandatory service reminder, and...something new.

The envelope was plain. No writing of any kind was on it, neither address nor name or any body.

It was a notice from a loan master. Her brother had taken a loan and had used her as a guarantor. The fucking bastard.

The guarantor's form was even attached to the letter. He'd faked her signature and everything.

The amount was bogus, heavily inflated by the even more bogus interest rate, and dear Maaon was nowhere to be found. Which meant she had to do the paying.

First word of her baby brother in years, and it was this shit.

By now, the noise outside had worsened beyond the usual chaos of the Mid Area. Sirens, so many people shouting that whatever they shouted was gibberish. It was very likely that journalists and news crews were there. The Officers too, maybe some priests as well.

It was not everyday the chosen one was found after all.

Chichi chewed the toothpick in her mouth, staring at all the open mail on her wonderful table. As a kid, she had felt filled with limitless possibilities. She was going to see the world, live so wild and free like how she imagined birds did. So reckless and alive.

At some point, reality had set in, and she'd understood all that was trash. She really had. Yet, she'd refused to marry, had run away to this dense stupid city, had even written to Maaon so he could come live with her since everybody had cut him out.

They were announcing now, confirming that the shouting man had, indeed, recieved the letter of the oracle. Even the Pope hadn't known who would recieve it, they said. The letter was real, there was no denying that.

The amount was impossible to pay. Everybody involved must have known that. Seeing that an old picture of her had been included, the plan must have been to force her to work the debt off. Make her a whore until some illness, or old age, came for her.

Because with that interest rate, there was no way she was going to be able to pay it off. Unless she fucked an estate worth of royals every day, for about a year.

The fridge was empty except for a bottle of beer. It was the end of the month, and all her jobs had paid her due wages. Just enough to save up for her rent, food, a few second-hand clothes, and some drinks.

The people outside were chanting for the chosen one. Picked out among filth to possess the favour of gods. Immediately worthy of many priviledges now.

With the last bottle of beer in one hand, and consignment letter in the other, Chichi went to her only window to sit and look down.

The chant was still on, some prayer she didn't really know because since she moved, she hadn't bothered to do much besides work, and take short, meaningless, walks.

Still, it was a rather lyrical prayer, and the night air was cool and soothing to the skin. It was a good night to drink and fill out a consignment form.

It was a good night to finally answer the national call.

[artist-eros]

A MEETING WITH THE GOD OF KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM

god: I am all-knowing. Go ahead and ask your curiosities mortal, but beware for it is only one answer I shall give.

Person: Oh great god of knowledge. I have journeyed through the world, battled demons and spirits in search of your tomb. I come here with one purpose, and ask humbly that you indulge it.

god: I am all-knowing, child. Ask me and recieve your answer.

Person: Do you know why the chicken crossed the road?

god:(visibly goes through the five stages of grief) *sighes* ...to get to the other side.

Person: *sputters* Yeah, ok, well...you got that one right, but here's another one for you.

god: one answer to one per—

Person: (reaching into their satchel for something) If you know everything, why did you then allow me reach you when I have every intention of killing you?

god:...

Next person in line: ...um...guys...

[artist-eros]

Writing is hard. It stretches your creativity until you see holes in it, or worse, your plot. It can be lonely. It can be tiring. It can hurt your brain, and your pride, and your heart. It can feel like the worst thing you've ever done.

But it's worth it.

You're worth it.

So take care of yourself, okay? Take breaks, drink fluids, do whatever self-care you can do, no matter how small. Remember, there are people who care, and there are readers who need you - your story, your perspective, your impact.

And if you don't hear this from anyone else today, I'm so proud of you.

[artist-eros]

I have started to think about you again.

It is spring in this city, and I have spent the entire day in this field, watching the grass dance.

You were right about the brilliance of them. I have lived centuries, and know some of the forgotten mysteries of the world, but I have just learnt today all the shades of green a single blade of grass possess.

How the hues shift as the grass dances in the wind, how sunlight coerces brightness from them. It feels like a new lauguage. Like a new city

It feels a lot like you. The way you smiled and laugh. I remember how new that felt, and it is the same as how new all the colours of the grass feel.

When you come for this letter, please leave a picture for me. You were right, and I have cone to regret never keeping one.

Always yours,

Sebastian.