hawkmxth

[hawkmxth]

heard a poem that reminded me of the walrus v. fairy conflict of 2023 (at least i think it was 2023) tonight.

i think we should start up that conversation again actually

[hawkmxth]

AND ANOTHER THING:

has anyone seen those new at&t commercials.

the ones where they talk about how people can't afford food on a plane or how the internet is oversaturated with bullshit.

AND THEN THEY WANT YOU TO BUY A 1100 DOLLAR PHONE

i curse late stage capitalism

[hawkmxth]

ALSO

per my last post:

i miss commercials.

like jesus fuckin christ man, give me a weird storyline to care WAY too much about for 90 seconds.

[hawkmxth]

every time i see an ad on a bus, billboard, bench, train, or whatever; i think about this short story i has to read in ap lang lit. i remember almost nothing from it, just the bit where a man was driving remembering how beautiful his life was before advertising took over the nature around him.

what would the sky look like if not covered by a man trying to sell me something?

how vast would the night sky be? could i see andromeda from my bedroom window?

would trees be greener? flower bloom brighter?

how might i think if my brain was not constantly bombarded by all the things someone wants me to have?

would my poetry be full of joy? would my sorrow be more beautiful?

i dream of a world where no one is trying to sell me anything. where the sky is clear and so are the trees.

[hawkmxth]

i know it has absolutely been ran through on this godforsaken platform before but every time i see normies talk about cannibalism as a metaphor for love it makes me wanna tear my hair out.

cannibalism is NOT a metaphor for love, it simply isn't.

cannibalism is a metaphor for obsession if ANYTHING

cannibalism is the act of craving, yearning, desiring so deeply that one must consume another at BOTH of their detriments.

cannibalism is and can never been sweet. it is terrifying, it is all encompassing. it is the most vile and dangerous parts of desire.

it is digging ones nails into the very flesh of the very person they claim to love. it is tearing, ripping, and blood-soaked fingernails.

it is yearning to be desired so deeply, that one would carve themselves into pieces just to be consumed by another.

cannibalism is a lot of things but it is never love.

[hawkmxth]

i just decided to take another break from university and as thrilled as i am, i am heartbroken by the sudden feeling of stillness in my life. this helps.

Sunrise, Louise Glück

[hawkmxth]

the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.

[hawkmxth]

Anne Carson, from Red Doc>

[hawkmxth]

Haruki Murakami

[hawkmxth]

[hawkmxth]

why is religious Christmas imagery all so joyful and pleasant? where is the inherent horror of the birth of Christ? A mother is handed her newborn child, wailing and innocent. Her hands come away sticky. Red. Simply by giving her son life she has already killed him. He is doomed from the beginning. Her love will not save him from suffering. Because the thing cradled in her arms is not a baby, it is a sacrifice: born amongst the other bleating animals whose blood will one day be spilled in the name of what demands it. the night is silent with anticipation. Mary, did you know? That your womb was also a grave?

[hawkmxth]

– Unknown

[hawkmxth]

“Come love, make me better than I was. Come teach me a kinder way to say my own name.”

- Andrea Gibson, from "Good Light," Lord of the Butterflies

[hawkmxth]

‘germanic warrior with helmet’ - osmar schindler (1902)

[hawkmxth]

on my walks home. in the crisp northern winter air. of whom i have my fair share of arguments. i say a prayer to the moon. i tell her hello, and share with her my deepest fears. and she listens. whispering back to me, nips against my ears, secrets in the form of snowflakes.

i hate the winter. but the moon is so talkative then.

John Atkinson Grimshaw,moonlight,details

[hawkmxth]

John Atkinson Grimshaw,moonlight,details

[hawkmxth]

oh how my heart shatters

A Cloud In Trousers, Vladimir Mayakovsky (tr by Dorian Rottenberg)