#its cathartic or something

[patchworkgargoyle]

i'll miss you more than anyone

Time for some Steddie yearning hours!

1.9k words, rated T for language. Angsty pining with a happy, fluffy ending. Basically unedited because I'm posing this at 1am. Forgive any wonky tenses. Now on ao3!

Title from Something About Us by Daft Punk.

🌒

It took considerable force, but Eddie managed to wedge open the only window in his tiny, shitty apartment with a grunt and a sigh. No matter how much WD-40 he forced into it, the damn thing's determined to stick and squeal. If he didn't know any better Eddie would swear it did this just to annoy him. Stubborn piece of shit. Takes one to know one, he figured.

He let out another sigh. Leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter, he flicked his zippo open and lit a smoke, relishing that first warm draw of acridness with his eyes closed. Robin would snark at him about the fact that his lease specified no smoking, but fuck the landlord. He needed this. Eddie tilted his head back and exhaled, watching the smoke curl out and away into the darkened alley between the buildings.

The day had been… hard, to put it lightly. It was the last day of Steve's visit. He'd come to see Eddie, to explore Seattle, for a whole week. Just the two of them. It'd been so good, even if Eddie's backstabbing heart wouldn't stop hoping that the visit would end up as something more. It was stupid, a useless hope. Stubborn.

They'd meandered around Capitol Hill so Eddie could show off the first place he'd ever felt safe enough to be queer and loud about it, unable to look too long at Steve's expression of relieved pride in him. He let Eddie drag him to a few bars, introduced him to some new friends who welcomed him with open arms and pointed, knowing stares in Eddie's direction. They'd walked along the pier, doing the touristy shit, ate greasy fish and chips wrapped in newspaper and watched seals play and beg for food in the harbour. 

Hell, Eddie even let Steve drag him up to the Space Needle. It was something Eddie had refused to do when he first moved, not wanting to do something so mundane and cliché when he was trying to become a local. But of course as soon as Steve insisted he folded like wet tissue.

Now Eddie knew he'd be cursed with the image of Steve, his hair windswept, gazing out at the city with wide-eyed wonder at the sparkling sprawl of buildings as the sunset painted him in pink and golden hues.

Eddie didn't even bother looking at the city, the ocean. They couldn't ever compare.

Not for the first time that night, Eddie hung his head and rubbed at his eye with the heel of his palm, wishing the image would stop fucking tormenting him. He was so fucking hopeless.

Raising his head again, he took another drag and stared up at the moon. Light pollution blotted out everything but the moon and Venus. It was the one thing he missed about Hawkins (that was a lie, always a lie), seeing the stars appear in the deep, dark blue above like all the gods took a needle to the fabric of the sky. Here, Eddie's only two stellar companions danced around each other every night. Sometimes closer, nearly touching it seemed, other times further away, locked in an eternal game of will-they-won't-they.

Tonight he only saw the lonely moon through the gap in the buildings. A waning crescent that shone bright enough that it lit up the darkness of Eddie's silent kitchen with a silvery glow. It was silly, but he held a tiny wish that Venus wouldn't be too far behind so at least Eddie would be the only lonely sad sack tonight. At least the thought made him chuckle at himself slightly.

Seeing Steve off at the airport that morning felt like Eddie was about to rip himself in two. If it weren't so public, if it weren't so risky, he might've confessed to Steve right then and there in some desperate attempt to get him to stay just a few days, hours, seconds longer. He'd dig his own heart out of his chest and offer it up on a silver platter; anything for the man that carried him out of hell. But Eddie was nothing if not a coward. They'd hugged each other tightly, just shy of too long, and Steve waved goodbye with a bittersweet smile and something shining in his eyes.

Eddie'd had to wait an hour in the airport parking lot before he was stable enough to drive back home.

Thing was, he was so fucking lonely out here. He'd moved to get away from the pitchfork-wielding, grudge-carrying people that never bought the government's cover story, to stop the vitriolic graffiti that had kept getting sprayed on Wayne's new trailer. The kids would get caught up in it too if they were caught hanging around The Freak. Eddie couldn't fucking go anywhere without keeping his head on a swivel, and it was so exhausting. He'd needed to leave. Even if it meant having to leave his family, the only people who knew the real story behind his scars and nightmares–even if it meant leaving Steve. So, it was hard, having Steve–a piece of his home, maybe even his heart–come visit and then leave after just a handful of days. Great days, but still. 

Choking out a bitter laugh, Eddie scrubbed at the tears starting to trail down his cheeks. Stupid, he was so stupid. His throat closed up around another laugh, turning it into a silent sob, a frustrated growl as he begged his stupid heart to just let it fucking go, to stop hurting, stop tantruming pathetically inside his ribcage about a man he could never have.

Just as another sob threatened to claw its way out of his chest, the phone rang. The shrill sound made him jump, nearly dropping his cigarette out the window. Swearing, he reached and pulled it over, answering.

"H'lo?" he rasped.

"Jesus, Munson, you sound rough," Steve's tinny voice replied, amused, "did I wake you up?"

The tightness in Eddie's chest burst into butterflies and he couldn't help but laugh around a sniffle. "Nah man, I was up. Shouldn't you be asleep, though? Isn't it 3am there or something?"

"Yeah, or something. Just got home though."

"Wait, what? The fuck are you calling me for, then?"

Steve chuckled. Christ, it was a great sound, filtered through endless miles of telephone lines though it was. "You told me to call when I got home safe, remember?"

"After you'd slept or something, dude, jesus christ. You didn't have to call at the ass crack of dawn."

"Well I wanted to."

Eddie mentally started stomping out the fresh butterfly swarm fluttering around in his guts. Unfortunately, he couldn't hold back the smile on his lips, wide enough that he knew Steve could hear it in his voice. So he teased, "Wow, Harrington, it's almost like you miss me or something." There was a pause.

"I do."

Sincerity weighed down Steve's words, two syllables dropping into the well of silence left in their wake. Eddie felt the ripples through his whole body, leaving stillness behind.

"Really?" Eddie whispered. He heard Steve inhale shakily and ached to be beside him again, to have him near, pull him close, feel him again.

"Yeah, Eddie. I miss you so much, it– god, it hurts," Steve said with a tiny, heartbreaking laugh.

"Fuck. I– same, Steve, I've been bawling my eyes out since this morning." His words were thick with even more tears threatening to spill but he blinked them back.

"I'm sorry."

Eddie snorted, though regretted it immediately and swiped at his nose with his sleeve. "Why're you apologising?"

"Hate knowing you're hurting too."

"Can't be helped, I'm afraid," Eddie sighed, then added quietly, nervously, "not like you could stay."

Speaking just as quietly, Steve said, "Maybe… maybe I could."

"Huh?"

"I've just, I've been thinking," Steve started, gathering steam, "for a while now but also on the flights home. It sucks that you're out there by yourself. And the kids are all graduated and leaving, and Robin and Nancy are planning on moving, and-"

Eddie's unable to help it, interrupting Steve's rambling that he definitely picked up from Robin, but he can't hold it back, hope forcing the words out. "Stevie, are you saying–?"

"UW accepted my application," Steve said. "I could move out there, get my teaching degree."

"Why?" 

The question hung in the air, all of Eddie's breathless wishes clinging to it. Steve took a steadying breath on the other end of the line.

"I have feelings for you Eddie. Might be kind of in love with you, and I really don't think it's one-sided. Should've told you at the airport."

"How did you know?" 

Chuckling, Steve said, "You're not subtle, but when I said the view from the Space Needle was beautiful, you agreed even though you never took your eyes off me."

"I wanted to tell you," Eddie said in a rush, heart in his throat, "all fucking week. I'm kind of in love with you too."

Steve laughed, full and warm, and Eddie might've collapsed with relief if he weren't leaning on the counter still. "We're idiots, huh?" Steve asked.

"Massive idiots. Complete morons. Absolute buffoons. You're telling me that we could've been kissing all week if one of us had just gotten the balls to confess?"

"Well, maybe more than just kissing." Steve's voice dropped suggestively and Eddie grinned at the bloom of desire that grew in his chest.

"A gentleman never assumes, big boy, but good to know."

A yawn echoed through the phone and the heat Eddie felt morphed into depthless fondness. "You should go sleep, Stevie."

"Probably. Gonna be wrecked for my shift tomorrow." He sighed softly. "Worth it, though."

"Worth having to pry your eyelids open while Marge berates you for letting her kid watch movies her husband rented?"

Steve snorted. "Yeah. Worth packing my bags and running off to the coast, too."

"Christ." Shaking a little, Eddie asked, "Are you sure?"

"Never been more sure of anything." He yawned again, hard enough Eddie could hear the receiver shudder in his hand. "I wanna keep talking to you but I'm dead on my feet. Can I call you tomorrow? Please?"

"You don't have to ask, sweetheart," Eddie said, pouring his fondness into every word to make up for the fact that he couldn't be there to see Steve's gorgeous, sleepy face, to fall into bed with him and wrap him in his arms. "Hell, call me when you wake up, before you go to work. You gotta tell me how your flights went anyway."

"Uhg, right. Ask me about the lady who scoffed at me reading The Hobbit."

He scoffed. "She dares to look down upon one of the great works of literature? I don't know her but she has made a mortal enemy on this day." The tired giggle Eddie heard made him smile so wide it almost hurt.

"You're so dramatic."

"You love it."

With a contented sigh, Steve said, "Yeah, I do." Another yawn, loud this time, and Steve continued, "Good night, Eddie. I'll call tomorrow. I miss you."

"Can't wait. Miss you too, Stevie."

Eddie hung up, the receiver settling in with a click. It felt like his body was made of bubbles, or fireworks. He almost couldn't believe it, that his hopes actually came true. Steve loves him, wants to move to Seattle for him. What!?

He let out a long, loud whoop that echoed in the alleyway. A distant neighbour yelled at him to shut the fuck up, but Eddie couldn't care less. He loved Steve, who loved him back.

Grinning, he looked up at the sky again. The moon had moved on, but there, creeping over the roof of the apartments next door, Venus finally made an appearance. Laye, but still there, still following. A beautiful, shining pinprick of light, trailing in the moon's wake.

Welcome to my new tag list! @steves-strapcollection, @ghost--enthusiast, @inairbinad, @rhaenyyras, @chocolate-fishy, @lovelyscot, @little-trash-ghost

Feel free to ask to be added/taken off!

[jedi-starbird]

'Desert hermit Ben Kenobi develops a reputation as a crazy wizard because he keeps talking to thin air.'

No. This is Tatooine, talking to yourself is hardly the weirdest thing they've seen. Ben Kenobi, however, keeps having full on fucking screaming rows with thin air and seemingly gets replies back, which is decidedly a step up.

(They've managed to piece together that a major point of contention is the acquisition and raising of a child? Clearly Ben is a wizard that had a bitter divorce with a desert spirit and is working through a custody dispute)

[dykedvonte]

I think depictions of Anya being cruel to Curly or drawing out his suffering are artful and chilling but completely miss the point of the story and her character.

I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to have that "I told you so" moment with him but not in something callous or cold. Even if that is how it happened, she'd immediately feel guilty cause at that point she's not tormenting her tormenter or even the person truly at fault. She's doing something cathartic, similar to how Jimmy likely hits Curly to release rage he can't against the rest of the crew. She'd see herself as no different when she'd come back from the moment and see Curly cowering at her. She wants someone to take responsibility but how does being cruel to the defenseless help? Why would she want the power Jimmy has over her over Curly?

The idea of her extending someone else's pain is just so against the struggles she already faces and how she can't even bring herself to cause someone pain even to help them. Her very desire is to release herself from her own suffering and I doubt she'd even fine some sort of guilty release in being cruel to another.

[joicecubes]

hey guess who’s absolutely losing it over the stan twins again (spoiler alert its me)

so i was innocently scrolling tiktok when i was introduced to this DIABOLICAL au idea: firstly, what if ford really had shot stan with his crossbow when stan first showed up at the shack? and secondly, what if ford tried to bring him back to life frankenstein-style? (full credit to tiktok user @44boora for this idea, go check their account for some gut-wrenching art) (also… full post below the cut this got long)

but like i was thinking about this, ford bringing stan back to life specifically, and how dependent the concept is on this specific time in his life. i just feel like any other time and under any other circumstance, ford would have been able to, eventually, accept stan’s death. we see it at the end of weirdmageddon, where ford is ready to accept that the stan they all know and love is gone now that his memory has been erased. he tells mabel as much, and only realizes there’s hope for him when mabel is determined enough to push back against ford’s logic. ford believes very intensely in his own perception of the world. he believes in science. theoretically, he believes death is death, and there’s nothing he can do to change that.

but then, think of ford after he’s been betrayed by bill. this ford is at his absolute lowest. he can’t trust his own perception of the world anymore. he’s seen the truth of what their relationship was and the horrors he was so close to unleashing on their universe. he is desperate to right his wrongs. he’s losing sleep, his body is abused every time he closes his eyes, and the end of the world as he knows it is iminent if he doesn’t succeed in making the portal as secure and unusable as possible without dismantling it entirely. the only person he believes he can trust after everything that’s happened is stan. so he contacts him for help, and in his time waiting for him to arrive, cannot stop thinking of the worst-case scenario: that bill could still be coming for him. so when he opens the door to stan, his high-strung, paranoid brain doesn’t see stan, and he shoots.

he shoots his own brother with a crossbow and kills him.

ford is not usually one to blatantly ignore a scientific fact. again, death is death, and there’s nothing he can do about that. and yet, in a state of such intense grief, when his entire world is already close to crumbling around him and he’s holding his dead brother in his arms, there’s nothing else he can feasibly do but deny. so he does.

he lives in denial of a lot of things. that stan’s death is final, obviously, but also his reasonings for attempting to do the impossible and revive him. ford likes to believe he operates purely on logic, so he tells himself he’s doing this because he has to. without stan, he can’t prevent bill from entering their universe. he’s still the only person ford can trust, so reviving him is another step in his ultimate goal of stopping bill and saving the world. it doesn’t matter that its never been done before, ford will do it anyway. and he believes that he can, because as much as he thinks he’s moved on from his hubris, he’s still acting off the assumption that he’s special. he’s so far ahead of everybody else, so naturally, if anybody could accomplish the impossible and bring stan back from the dead, its ford.

and so he denies that the real reason he’s trying to save stan is not a logical one. he denies that he’s running entirely on emotions. it would be foolish to try something so risky and impossible and time-consuming if he were only doing it because of his crushing guilt and decade-long yearning, so he tells himself there’s so much more to it than that. he can’t just be doing this because he loves him, right? he’s not that shallow. he’s not that desperate.

and yet, he is. because as much as ford wants to deny it, he can’t live without stan. he can’t live with the knowledge that he was responsible for stan’s death. if he didn’t succeed, his grief would surely kill him.

[axel-tiredstudent]

silent conversations and catching up after many years

original version with the wrong arms under the cut

[overtake]

Trying to do something resembling coping after Singapore. Have some Max/Daniel hurt/comfort (1.3k). Also on ao3 if you prefer.

The press of a button freezes Max’s watery blue eyes, the space between them bifurcated by the crease in his forehead.

“Is now really a moment to remember?” Max asks in a raspy voice. His throat isn’t clogged by tears, but there’s almost a decades worth of race starts together sitting uncomfortably in there and congesting each word.

His hand hasn’t strayed from Daniel since he found him after the race. It’s somewhere on some part of him every time he’s close enough to touch.

Normally he’s halfway home by this point, Air Max somewhere over the circuit skies and headed back toward home.

He’s stayed, this time, in case this is it. In case this is his last chance to neatly fold Daniel’s clothes into his bag, even though his own are always wrinkled under pairs of stained shoes and dirty briefs. In case this is the last time they both exit the paddock as drivers. In case this is the final chance Max has to trace the shape of Daniel’s jawline and tell him, “Good race.”

Daniel’s mum is giving them a last minute alone. She’s standing guarding outside the door and leaving them be for now. Daniel knows, though, that when they stand, she’ll hug Daniel close, wishing he was little enough to hide in the crook of her neck while she covers all his gaping wounds with plasters and a kiss on each one to ease the ache. 

Despite his complaints about the camera, Max still moves from where he’s crouched in front of Daniel to collapse into his side and observe the photo. He wraps one arm around Daniel’s back to tug him impossibly closer and rests his mouth on the top of Daniel’s shoulder in an exhausted kind of kiss.

“I look like shit,” he says, statement muffled by the fabric of Daniel’s shirt. He sounds like he wants to poke fun at himself until he makes Daniel laugh, but they’re both too hollowed out to muster up the energy. Instead, Max reaches out and turns off the display.

For a second, their fingers linger together on the camera’s body, until Daniel lets the camera drop back against his chest so he can entangle their hands instead.

“It’s not a nice memory,” Daniel agrees. Unlike Max, his voice right now can all be attributed to tears. “But in December, no matter what happens after today, I’ll get a retake on the farm. I’ll be happy, and we’ll be together, and life will go on from now.”

Daniel feels the dampness on his shoulder when a single tear breaks containment, then another, and a shuddering breath, until Max rights himself and pointedly looks away from the tiny patch soaked in cotton.

“It’s not fair,” he says tightly. For a second, he sounds every bit the bullish teenager with a black and white view on the way the world ought to work and bitter frustration that sometimes reality dapples in nuance. It’s the first thing to get Daniel anywhere within city limits of smiling since he set the lap record and gave himself a final moment in the car to reflect on everything this sport had given him, and that he had given this sport.

“Yeah,” he agrees hoarsely. “It’s not fucking fair.”

He’s done with excuses and niceties and dancing on the Red Bull puppet strings in hopes that playing their game might finally net him a seat he’d killed himself to earn. It’s not fair. It’s callous and cruel, the way they’ve strung him and everyone who loves him along for a race they aren’t even brave enough to tell him is his last.

They’re silent for another moment. Daniel closes his eyes and soaks it in: the tendrils of freshly washed hair still trailing water down his spine. The din of dog-tired employees breaking down the paddock, to be quickly vanished away as if it was never here. The ragged in-and-out of Max’s lungs as he tries to coax both of their breaths into something resembling normal.

“Thank you, by the way,” Max says softly. “And congratulations on your lap record.”

“You owe me a really nice Christmas present.”

Max presses a whisper of a kiss over Daniel’s drying curls. “You always deserve the nicest presents.”

Daniel’s mum slips in then, gently shutting the door behind her. Unlike Max, she’s made no secret of her tears. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she musters up enough of a smile when Daniel heaves himself up into her arms.

“Come here, Max,” he hears his mum scold. A second later, Max is in an awkward three-person hug. Grace’s short arms struggle to embrace them both, but smelling her vanilla perfume and knowing she’s there is enough to surround him in all the ways that matter.

She whispers in turn to each of them, but they’re all so tightly wound, they can all hear every word.

“Thank you for being here every time I couldn’t be,” she tells Max. He murmurs something back, but he manages to keep it quiet enough that Daniel can’t make out all his words. It’s something about thanking her for trusting him with Daniel, but the rest is lost. All he knows is that his mum’s tears start flowing again.

When it’s his turn, she can barely choke out the words. “I’m so proud of you. For your career, of course, but for who you’ve grown into. I couldn’t have asked for a better son.”

“I love you,” is all Daniel manages. He buries the nose shaped like hers into the brown curls that his genes copy-pasted and soaks in gratitude that he has both her face and her endless capacity to love.

Daniel walks into humid night air with his head held high and a career most drivers would kill for, surrounded by people who love him for more than that list of achievements, and knows that he’ll survive whatever comes next.

“That’s a terrible photo,” Max complains three months later. His eyes are scrunched up all cute in it, framed by long lashes and sun-soaked freckles that are almost hidden by the streaks of dirt on his face. He’s smiling, both in the picture and right now, so Daniel knows he doesn’t actually mind.

Two weeks of busy Australian summer have left Max various shades of pink and tan. He'd somewhat learned how to use the grill that Daniel was too scared to touch and now had matching grill aprons with Daniel's dad. He christened the new baby cow the wholly uncreative name ‘Lilly’, because god forbid any animal in his vicinity not be named after Monaco nightlife. He’d also 100% taken to the dirt bikes as easily as everyone would assume and had absolutely, definitely not sworn Daniel to secrecy about where he got that giant bruise on his side after their first go.

When Daniel transfers the photos to his computer later, his finger pauses on the photo captured in a melancholic driver’s room. In it, Max’s eyes are dull and weary, but they’re looking at Daniel with the same unblinking love from today’s picture.

It’s proof, memorialized in expensive pixels, that Daniel’s life did not end on the streets of Singapore; that his worth to the world never depended on his points or podiums.

He closes the lid of his laptop and joins the gathering in the living room. Max is pouring fake tea for Isabella’s dolls. Isaac is politely sipping an empty teacup, one pinky in the air. Isabella is nowhere to be found, probably busy dragging Daniel’s poor parents to see Lilly the cow for the fifth time today.

“Daniel!” Max says, in the sweet, distinct way his mouth always forms the name. His face brightens when Daniel walks in. When Max smiles like that, it’s as if the sun has come through the roof and taken human form in broad shoulders and rumpled t-shirts.

“Max!” Daniel says back, matching his enthusiastic tone. He sits cross-legged in Isabella’s empty spot and slides his fingers between Max’s.

The tea party continues, and life moves forward.

[kori-senpai]

New Leokumi content in the lords year of 2024?? It's more likely than you think! (x)

[ghastlyaffairs]

for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of

also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut

the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)

[lopposting]

with every mistake we must surely be learning

[spaciebabie]

if you are someone like me who has trouble processing life events/mental health stuff create an oc. like. make a guy who's entire story is yours, who knows every inch of your suffering b/c they are you but maybe all their troubles stem from being in an intergalactic war with goob noobs or something. hurt them in terrible ways so that you dont hurt yourself.

[snowshinobi]

hear me out: divorce ceremonies. divorce cake and divorce outfits. toasts to the uncouple spoken by the Worst Man and Maid of Dishonor (gender neutral). separate piles of gifts for the freshly parted, stuff like nice sheets and Target giftcards and cookbooks. marriage gets to have all this ritual attached to it and by god divorce deserves some of that action

[bluvlet]

checkmate.

[chamoemileclown]

mlp bbh save me

[mellotronmkll]

yesterday made me really reflect about how there's nothing better than a bunch of people being really enthusiastically unapologetically excited about something that they love in a really earnest way and not caring if others think it's silly and like I know this but really seriously I'm sooo done being embarrassed about acting like that or judging others for acting like that and just being Really into whatever thing they love even when it's not my thing or they're doing it in a way i wouldn't cuz also if people are being haters and being like fandom is cringe and im above all that because im too aloof and ironic and cool for that l do just feel bad for them because it's like . Maybe you should listen with a bunch of other fans to a 12 hour marathon of your favorite band that takes requests from all over the world and people submit their really genuine heartfelt stories about what the band means to them and their art they made out of sheer love for the band and stuff like that and just talk really frankly and unabashedly about how much they love this thing and how being a fan of it makes them happy and everyone is just like sharing in that joy together including the band itself who really appreciate it and take time out to call in and give interviews and it all just feels so beautiful and true and maybe YOU WILL CALM DOWN

[dent-de-leon]

It still gets me that there were moments when Molly told Lucien to surrender and go back to the Mighty Nein--promised him that they'd still take him back, that there was still a way out. Mollymauk trying desperately to save his friends. But also, Molly tying to save Lucien too--

"They've only given you this much grace because they want to believe you're me. They'll find a way to best you, they'll kill you before you reach Cognouza, but not if you stop this now. Admit who you are. Admit that a part of me still exists within you...I'm your only way out of this."

After everything Lucien did to him, after how much he tried to hurt him and the rest of the Nein--Molly had absolutely no obligation to save him. But he did. He wanted to. Mollymauk comforting Lucien when it all falls apart at the very end--asking him if he's tired, if he wants to rest. And when Lucien is so sure it's all over? "When a hand reaches out to you in accord, you take it." "Yes, Lucien thought. I'll take it--"

Mollymauk still feeling for Lucien after everything, still deciding to reach out to him in the very end. Because of course he would, of course Molly couldn't just leave him.

And now we have this lovely new lore in the context of the Luxon--about how people would split their souls to better understand themselves when they became whole. Learning to love and accept yourself, seeing the world from another perspective. Thinking of Lucien taking Molly's hand, and the two of them deciding to come back together. Both of them learning to care for each other--

Also, sidenote. Maybe I'm missing something or it was just the effect of Vess killing Lucien while he was in the Astral Sea. But I do wonder how exactly Vess managed to really shatter his soul in the first place, or how Molly's piece found his way back--

[sporesgalaxy]

okay so. There's this poem I started making in 2019 and only just finished this year. And I was thinking about René Magritte paintings. So here we are I suppose

The poem is made of chopped-up lyrics from the following songs:

•••

"First Love/Late Spring" Mitski • "No Children" The Mountain Goats • "Fly In My Room" Kerrin Connolly • "No Surprises" Radiohead • "Hope" ROAR • "The Comfort of a Laugh Track" ROAR • "Emotional Vagrant" The Scary Jokes • "Little Dark Age" MGMT • "How I Survived Bobby Mackey's Personal Hell" Lincoln • "Televised" HUNNY • "Bets Against the Void" The Scary Jokes • "Life on Mars?" David Bowie • "Fluorescent Adolescent" Arctic Monkeys • "Love, Me Normally" Will Wood • "Catabolic Seed" The Scary Jokes • "Puzzle Pieces" Saint Motel