we-be-oblivion

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on L O N G I N G

susan sontag as consciousness is harnessed to the flesh: journals and longings \ beau taplin \ mahmoud darwish another road in the road \ susan sontag as consciousness is harnessed to the flesh: journals and longings (via @metamorphesque​)

shout me a cuppa

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Yoshitaka Amano

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Sidewalk Grottos and Pedestals

"There are a lot of grottos on the side of the roads of Bali," you said, walking beside me switching from my left and right as you try to pull your puppy along.

We just passed by a sidewalk altar of a rather decorated Catholic figure and yet you were more brilliant than they could have ever been that night. Blasphemous as it may seem, you were the most beautiful being I ever laid eyes on.

If heaven was real, maybe you did come from above and came to visit. Maybe it was a sign from above that I was not at all too shabby of a human being because I was blessed with your presence and attention.

Your smile glowed brighter than the city lights on a starless sky. You were warmth, welcoming despite my silence. You were calmness, and yet always attentive to your surroundings. Always ready to take action for those that need it.

I had thought that it was the first time I have ever laid eyes on an angel on earth. Without even knowing, I had already put you up on a pedestal.

I wanted to bask in your beauty. I wanted to be even more blessed with your light and warmth. Maybe even more so with your caresses.

Angels don't belong on earth, however, even moreso that they can't belong to me. You are to be shared with the world. You are to share your kindness and light to everyone.

Maybe I'll just leave a space for you into that little grotto at the corner of my heart. Thank you for stopping by.

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Yoshitaka Amano: Midnight Sun (1990)

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Oil study by Liza Sivakova

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{ Mahmoud Darwish/ Virginia Woolf/ Edgar Allan Poe, from a Letter to Helen Whitman, "The Last Letters of Edgar Allan Poe to Sarah Helen Whitman"/ Albert Camus, The Possessed (transl. By O'Brien)/ Emily Dickinson/ Anton Chekhov, The Complete Works of Anton Chekhov "The Two Volodyas"/ Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes/ Louisa May Alcott, Little Women/ Yann Martel, Life of Pi/ Cameron Awkward-Rich, Meditations in an Emergency/ De profundis/ Oscar Wilde}

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Simple hand-holding is just meant to be simple. Light-hearted. Friendly, even.

Finding this sort of connection somehow feels very easy to attain but rather difficult to keep up with. At times, also easily misunderstood. How would you even know if there would be meaning far beyond what is on the surface when everything happens in the same way until suddenly something or someone snaps and changes?

When would one find that they want something more than what's there? When would one find that is truly was what they want? If they found out that they did not like the outcome, would they even speak up when things go south from the getgo?

How would they pick up the pieces they've left if they do leave? Would they take responsibility of the damage or would they just leave to have the other pick up the pieces?

A simple, carefree hand-holding but why has contempt and doubt suddenly come up? How far ahead should one think things through before they jump into the unknown?

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You find people to talk to when you feel lonely... And then you feel alone because you see how said people bond with each other without you...

Maybe I'm just terrible at social relationships.

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Are you really just not that attracted to anyone or is it just that no one giving you any attention?

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You are Paper

You were a blank page. You were a page I would have wanted to skip over in a flash but couldn't. I had been much too used to ignoring almost everyone around me that I passed you for a person I would have to deal with 5 times a week. You had been a page I had to come across at and pass as nothing 8 hours a week.

But then like all blank pages, you had been filled out. Most of the time by obligation... but not without doodles and scribbles you write on the corners of the pages. You had become the light-hearted scribbles on my paper. You turned out to be the temporary happiness on a routinary day.

Time passed, and the light-hearted strokes seeped past its boundaries, coursing through to the center, adding flourishes to what once was another boring page.

You were a page in my sketch book. Thick, weighty, smooth to the touch, created and used for a purpose. You were a page I would mull over and concentrate on for hours. You were (are) a page meant for something colorful and beautiful, a sight in the making. Simple gray hues were no longer enough. Before I knew it, you had become more than a page.

You were a book. Your cover enticing me to read through. Your pages I'd caress, feeling for its gentle leaves over and over. You were my escape from loneliness; from the reality I was once very accustomed to. It felt like I was blessed with a new perspective. You made me believe that even a detached person like I could belong to a fantasy.

But then just like every other book, all stories has its end. I would leaf through each and every intricate page, never wanting to go back to my reality but I always end up staring into the final page. This final page leering, commanding me once and for all close the book. "This is not your story. You aren't the protagonist. This is not your life," it says.

I was so enthralled I didn't realize it wasn't even mine.

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Sometimes, an "I don't care" could also mean "I don't want to care because it hurts"..

With that being said, I'm not even sure how to handle emotions well so I make a semi-anonymous blog to vent out. I don't particularly know who to talk to about it... Or if I actually should

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fever dream: the series

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the midnight gospel is a BEAUTIFUL show. i’m a sucker for adult animation with a good mix of genuine emotion and dumb humor and boy did this have plenty of both

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Consent.

At which point could you say that it really has been given?

Saying "yes" after saying "no" for so many times... would it still be consent?

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Weak

With just a little act of stupidity, I fall apart...

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I've wished for you so many times, only to find that you really aren't the one I want.

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Maybe I want to disappear for a while too