lucid-jun

[lucid-jun]

gay rep is like “kyaaaaaah!!! i like a boy but… i’m a boy >////<?!?!” meanwhile queerbait will be “it’s not a game for me troy. i’m seeing real lava because you’re leaving. it’s embarrassing and i don’t want to be crazy, but i am crazy so… i made a game that made you and everyone else see what i see. i don’t want it to be there either, i swear. i want you to be able to leave, but i don’t think the lava goes away until you stop leaving”

[lucid-jun]

A Shameful Life

a poem inspired by Dazai Osamu's No Longer Human, as well as a bit of BSD's Dazai.

The precocity of intuition, premature in all its senses, barely peeking yet I know it all.

A God gifted manifestation of maggots and that five inch rookie prancing around in my dreams, the drooping faces of all who have come before me, and the eyes; the gleaming eyes of the beast.

Goodbye, dear friend, you've been a jest to me.

And now laid to rest, a hunchback hermit's whimsical death.

The perimeter of my affectation, a fatous glimpse into the mirror of self.

In hopes these moths turn into wingless, heartless, cruel things. In hopes I remain convalescent and free.

What a shameful congregation, fruitfully in love with the Devil's leaf, and all these radical adherents with their moderate disbelief, and all these comical capitalists with their pennies in a twist.

And yet, the borderline between my truest self and the imprecise imperial clown, the periphery of a hypothetical hypocrite, a mathematical delicacy.

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs imagine #bungou stray dogs x reader #creative writing #writers on tumblr #bsd #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs manga #dazai bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs dazai #no longer human #p

[lucid-jun]

Mother.

An average supper at the house.

!! tw !! : mentions of substance, uncomfortable family dynamics

....

The walls had always been the same colours - cream, peach, and pink. Never once had anyone bothered to change it, and throughout the years, it seemed the vibrancy had died down, even if the house had been renovated twice already. The wooden table laid parallel to the sofa, and three chairs had been occupied for the evening.

"Of course, after that entire process you have to consider the ups and downs, just because someone likes the idea of a product doesn't mean that they're  going to make the purchase, it needs that extra push…" 

And as it did on most Saturdays, the dining room smelt of alcohol and smoke, cigarette butts lined up on ashtrays like soldiers for a march. Instability waving back and forth between the woman on the left and the child in the middle. Neither she (the mother) nor her little girl are capable of comprehending the words which are being spoken to the fullest. The man simply excludes himself from this conversation, he knows too well. The child too, wishes partly, for a peaceful dinner, food on the plate untouched and head constantly in motion. Nodding once, nodding twice and nodding three times, saying nothing. 

"No, you don't understand, do you?" 

There is a certain twisted annunciation, an annoyance or, more like, a poke; at the child, obviously.

Naive, naive little child. 

"I got it." Says the girl, fixing her posture and feigning confidence, yet she has no idea what she would say if her mother asked her what exactly it was that she understood. 

"So that's how it works. It's not a foolproof method but it's a good one nonetheless. If you want it to be foolproof you'll need to do a little more than that." It is possible that the mother knows her offspring is less intelligent, however, one cannot guarantee that as it is equally possible the mother is so far caught up listening to herself that she stays oblivious to this. 

The man gets up, raises both of his hands to indicate that he is done with dinner and will no longer continue to be a passive participant in the conversation taking place. The child pushes a spoonful of rice into her mouth, swallowing down as fast as she can as if she has to attend an important meeting in just 6 minutes. 

This is a common occurrence, dinner in unrest. Secret psychological warfare which takes place but no, she just wants her mother. 

She just wants her mother. 

The click of a lighter is heard very faintly, and the smell of smoke penetrates her nostril, making her grimace, food still in her oesophagus. 

"Well, it'll take some time for you to understand. I guess you'll just have to be like me to get something like this." 

The final belittling comment, which signals the abrupt end of the conversation. Moving from her seat, the woman goes back to her room where she will commence an orchestra of a night routine. 

And the girl, alone, discards the plate to the side. 

Food still left, but what is food to a person with an extinguished appetite? 

The same as an idiot daughter to her genius mother : useless.  

—---+++++----------- 

#writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writeblr community #writblr #writeblr #writing #my writing #writerblr #writers #amwriting #original writing #writeblur #writblur #creative writing #j

[lucid-jun]

Conversation.

a conversation i had with my current partner before we started dating.

tbh i half assed writing this so it is kind of sucky but i still ended up liking it, reliving this felt very intimate.

....

"Don't you think that's strange?" 

"What?" 

"Don't you think that's strange?"

"I don't know what you mean." 

Spring heat made the air thick. Blue wooden benches hidden in a narrow pathway faced by walls on either side. One said to the other, 

"The perfect line thing." 

"Why is that strange?" 

There's never any proper answers, only that an answer which is more convenient seems to be a popular choice. 

"It* suggests that there's no other way."

[ Silence ] 

" Don't you think?

—----------------------------------------------

*Moments ago, in sharp breaths and with heavy words, this conversation had taken place : 

"Can you see those two lines there? on the floor?" 

"Yes, I sure can." 

On the concrete is a cracked line unevenly parting the ground into two. Long, thin fingers also pointed towards the running line of black paint which was at the very bottom of the wall they were facing. 

"The line on the ground is the line of perfection… now that line on the wall, those are all the people who're away from the line of perfection."

A brief exchange of eyes, 

"But I happen to be a bit closer to that line, that's why people, that's why you, appreciate some of my qualities." 

A tangy sensation travels tip-toeing on the tongue. 

I wish you'd shut up now. 

—---------------------------------------------

"There's only one way for me." 

"But, there's a lot of different ways that exist, right?"

"Yeah, you could say that." 

Unsaid words scramble around the brain, trotting shamelessly on the rim of the mouth, wishing to be set free and heard.

Instead, the  scene is doused with a fresh bout of silence.

"Like…" 

"Yes?" 

"Like, if you were not close to your own line of perfection but to a different line of perfection, wouldn't that still make you close to perfection?" 

A sigh, a weighty sigh. And the heart crunches a little at the sound. 

Do I irritate you? 

"No, what matters to me isn't the other lines, but whether or not I can stay close to the line I want to follow."

"But, but, there are other lines, why stick to just one?" 

"Because that's the only way." 

Stiff, unmoving, unfaltering and unable to surrender. Big brown eyes look. 

"I see." 

"Yes, that's why I try my best." 

And this is where it ends, or perhaps where it begins. The dissection of a phrase said in an attempt to communicate and capture the emotions stuck between the folds of the brain. 

"Do you want some ice cream?"

A cough and then a sneeze. 

And the way that I house you within me and you house me within you, providing strength and shelter to a broken bone which hangs from the string of our souls.

"I don't think an ice cream would do me any good." 

"Alright." 

-------------------------------------------------

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #writing #writblr #writblur #writeblr community #writerscommunity #creative writing #amwriting #orginal writing #angst #j

[lucid-jun]

Portrait of a man holding a mask (c. 1976)

by Stavros Bonatsos (b. 1945)

[lucid-jun]

back again lol

[lucid-jun]

I guess I’m on a game Nostalgia kick. Shout out to Ib starting my obsession with macarons.

[lucid-jun]

Ib sprites

Played Ib through for the first time recently. It was really fun and actually still a bit scary. I always used to prefer Mary but I was very fond of Gary in the playthrough because he’s just so caring and kind to Ib. I had to run off quickly while getting ‘together forever’ so that I didn’t get sad about leaving Gary..

[lucid-jun]

I ran off, fists in my ragged seams: Even my overcoat was becoming Ideal: I went under the sky, Muse! I was yours: Oh! What miraculous loves I dreamed!

My only pair of pants was a big hole. – Tom Thumb the dreamer, sowing the roads there With rhymes. My inn the Sign of the Great Bear. – My stars in the sky rustling to and fro.

I heard them, squatting by the wayside, In September twilights, there I felt the dew Drip on my forehead, like a fierce coarse wine.

Where, rhyming into the fantastic dark, I plucked, like lyre strings, the elastics Of my tattered shoes, a foot pressed to my heart.

- Arthur Rimbaud, “My Bohemia: A Fantasy”

[lucid-jun]

In English from Yoimaru on Twitter.

As with this post, I want to keep posting these here on Tumblr so people can see them!!!! Because it’s really fucking important, folks! I know it’s a giant fandom and I know it’s messy and it’s difficult to keep track of all of this, but it matters a lot.

Even with credit, you are taking the attention away from the original creators.

Stop reposting art and please respect artists. They deserve credit and notes. Be decent fans!

[lucid-jun]

The scene in the mall with the baby stroller is taken directly from the 1925 Russian propaganda film The Battleship Potemkin - in which a mother is killed by Imperial Czarist soldiers in a town square and her baby stroller rolls down steps in the middle of the fighting. This metaphor is likely paralleling the Proxies as being the power of the domes but not caring/being emotionally connected with their people (who then die as a result of that apathy).

[lucid-jun]

I watched this anime 15 years late but damn it's so good I had to make fanart of it

[lucid-jun]

‘favourite of the emir’ - jean-joseph benjamin-constant (1879)

[lucid-jun]

[lucid-jun]

Paradise Kiss 💗🔗✨

[lucid-jun]

A little ago I was trying a new brand of watercolor paper. In hopes that these would replace one I was very fond of. amazingly, it was a pleasant surprise. Here a wrecked griff’s I did for fun.

[lucid-jun]

That cliffhanger.