#on time

[akindplace]

the fact that life keeps going when you’re going through something unbearable feels so terribly unfair. it feels like the world won’t stop moving so fast when all you wanted was for it to stop until you catch your breath, but that’s just not possible.

there is infinite sadness and grief in loss and a memory might be enough to bring your mind back through years, but not being able to physically go back is sickening.

and i am still grieving all that i lost, and sometimes i am so exhausted i feel the need to be quiet, and i wish the whole world could go slower. but it’s a good thing that life goes on. i got to go on. it took a lot of effort to move on, but i am here, alive. i am here! i don’t think i ever truly believed i would get here. some things don’t hurt as much anymore. the world kept moving and it forced me to move with it. it forced me to face a lot of what caused me so much pain. the grief will always be here, but so will be this proud feeling of having survived, the feeling of happiness, joy, laughter, and relief.

time doesn’t heal all things. but it brings news types of joy too.

[everythingstoofleeting]

to live is to love; to love is to grieve life recently :)

scorpiopropaganda// "crazier things" by chelsea cutler // urban dictionary on vsauce's yoloblomlmtaasosbtdpwkeoboiodacheoboitod // grace power's "weeping willow" // "omaha (the only what if) by katie lynn sharbaugh // ricky montgomery's "line without a hook" // "the night we met" by lord huron // "all star" by smashmouth

[kitchen-light]

To know the night is a lot like knowing poetry, and knowing poetry requires what Keats called “negative capability,” the capacity for “being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.” To know the night means having the clarity that some things are and should be and always will be hidden, for the night has been, or is, or should always be, the time of lovers, revolutionaries, and other conspirators. The night world is that which should be, or once always was, veiled.

Anne Boyer, from her essay “The Fall of Night”, Lapham’s Quarterly, Volume XII, Number 1 | Winter 2019

[sinligh]

It’s late July, A lost breath of soulful desperation bled half the year that has passed over my eyes, painting a veil like fabric that blinded me mercifully.

can time really heal anything? I’ve been struggling with digesting all that it stored for me…

My cruel heart is only a result of the ignorance that i built brick by brick from its remnants

I even named the process defensive mechanism.

It’s early august, I’ve held on to a routine for as long as i can, living off of small accomplishments; cause what’s the alternative?

Prisesstant melancholy? Undoubtable anguish?

I became insensitive to time passage, like a child that never knew health only saw it as a blanketing apology covering everyone they love.

a child that can vividly touch the heaviness of the life they’ll carry for as long as they’re allowed to.

I’ve been accumulating feelings like corpses that are waiting to be identified in a morgue.

frozen above my brainstem, that until the heat of the summer caused them to melt and overlap into a storming ocean; leaving little versions of me to drown in their waves

and I as a helpless outsider watching from a coast and hoping i could pour all of this in one single poem, or maybe aspire it all like you’d do a patient with fluids in their lungs: Thoracentesis.

And use it as a supply to wash away the catatonic rage that flows through my veins.

reality is ringing it’s bell inside the cavity where my eyes should be, and even though i can hear it.

It’s taking me longer than I thought it would to reach; cause thats all i can do.. try.

I measure my self value interchangeably with all the pieces of me i left behind to comfort others.

That and all the leftovers of my mother’s life.

My soul is constantly tugging.

Tugging, tugging, tugging. Never in the same direction but it’s still clear that it wishes to be free from me.

Emotionally attached to this and that to her and him

But they’re never enough; i never am…

And I’m so tired of it all, the never ending self loathing.

But to whom do I confess ?

Who would acknowledge my longing, Who will embrace my infelicitous desire to be held together or even just touched,

an innocent reminder of my existence, to ease me into being a human again, especially after I starved myself for the sake of nourishing others.

•••

•Quotes: Louis Tomlinson/ Taylor swift/ Henry Miller/ Rainer Maria Rilke/Helen Oyeyemi/Anne Sexton/Franz Kafka/Susan Sontag

•Original context: Sinligh

•Art reference:

1. Timothy Archer - The blue rider. 2. The Train by Ben McLaughlin. 3. Paintings by Raymond BonillaRaymond. 4. Ottoman Beauty with a Butterfly by Harold H. Piffard. 5. Side Light by Quang Ho. 6. Painting by Alex Kanevsky. 7. Fine Morning by Sally Strand. 8.painting by Steven J. Levin

[othellho]

— Elisa Gabbert, “I Don’t Want to Hear Any Good News or Bad News”

[movedac-c]

HAPPY (very late) BIRTHDAY TO DARK AND TSC :D

Have some birthday art I definitely didn’t just doodle after realizing I completely skipped drawing anything for TSC and Dark’s birthdays…

[kiisuuumii]

Mahmoud Darwish, In the Presence of Absence (tr. Sinan Antoon)

[odraziduse]

Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting.

Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance

[pratchettquotes]

It is the nature of the universe that the person who always keeps you waiting ten minutes will, on the day you are ten minutes tardy, have been ready ten minutes early and will make a point of not mentioning this.

Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant

[fairydrowning]

"Time is not a straight line, it's more of a labyrinth, and if you press close to the wall at the right place you can hear the hurrying steps and the voices, you can hear yourself walking past on the other side."

– Tomas Transtromer (1931-2015), from "Answers to Letters", in: "The Great Enigma", translated from the Swedish by Robin Fulton

[llovelymoonn]

victoria hannan marshmallow \\ sheila hati pure colour \\ richard siken war of the foxes: “the stag and the quiver”

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[papillon-de-mai]

For instance, if I am walking through the city and look into one of those quiet courtyards where nothing has changed for decades, I feel, almost physically, the current of time slowing down in the gravitational field of oblivion. It seems to me then as if all the moments of our life occupy the same space, as if future events already existed and were only waiting for us to find our way to them at last, just as when we have accepted an invitation we duly arrive in a certain house at a given time. And might it not be, continued Austerlitz, that we also have appointments to keep in the past, in what has gone before and is for the most part extinguished, and must go there in search of places and people who have some connection with us on the far side of time, so to speak?

— W.G. Sebald, from "Austerlitz"

An innate desire to “arrest the passage of time”.

[immagrosscandy]

my mom reminded me to share my drawings with the world xd

so here i show you some of my homework!

[kitchen-light]

For [Mark] Fisher, as we shall see, there are two opposing temporal currents intrinsic to hauntology: the no longer and the not yet. The former haunts the present from the past, an event, idea or entity whose moment is past but which continues to make its presence felt. The latter haunts the present from the future, through the unfulfilled promise of that which never came to pass but which may yet do so. In both instances, their impact is felt now, in the present, either through repetition or anticipation.

Merlin Coverley, from the Introduction to his book, “Hauntology”, Old Castle Books, 2020

[irhabiya]

literally howwwww do u cope with knowing your parents are getting older :'))))