Fear not darling I am listening my head is slightly turned and my eyes seem glassed, I might be on the brink for I have not slept for hours or bobbing in and out of a hallucination that won't last. I am here the cogs in my brain fit into place I have existences beyond this realm I make mental notes, I am listening and I will get back to you fear not darling if I love you even if my brain's not here your words leave an imprint on my heart
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Fear not darling I am listening my head is slightly turned and my eyes seem glassed, I might be on the brink for I have not slept for hours or bobbing in and out of a hallucination that won't last. I am here the cogs in my brain fit into place I have existences beyond this realm I make mental notes, I am listening and I will get back to you fear not darling if I love you even if my brain is not here your words leave an imprint on my heart
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as we stare into the sky there’s twice as many stars
commission for @marberrie, based on Laura Gilpin’s poem “Two-Headed Calf”
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I just want to sit for a while, my eyes burn but I am afraid to cry.
My eyelids droop but I am too strong willed to just die.
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I want to be a toast; golden melted butter.
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All of my bookmarks are just flamin hot cheeto wrappers...
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All of my bookmarks are just flamin hot cheeto wrappers...
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all of my bookmarks are just flamin hot cheeto wrappers...
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my entire personality is making pretty paintings and then crying because I can’t lick them...
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A concept
where we poop bunties, imagine all the things that would change
.our drainage systems
.our diets
.the number of people I murder for blue mnms
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His diary my scribbles and the numbers of his friends that we sat and deciphered on each Eid trying to connect with even any one of them. I remember his face lighting up each time a phone was answered.
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These watches might have been really important to him, but i just remember wearing them both together and being really happy about it.
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His Sarotha (a beetle nut cutter) no matter how much I hate all of these things now, but as a kid I used to lovee painting his beetle leaves with with weird colourful syrups.
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These aren’t of Dadoo’s but of Dadi’s like so many off her clothes dadoo kept her close long after she was gone. I remember putting these on and twirl till both of us were giggling.
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I have never seen another old man so concerned about his nails. I remember him being so happy when I took him for a manicure. stumping patriarchy together.
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So many newsclippings. Jokes, conspiracies and tips that did more bad than good. It is like he had his own version of a facebook wall.
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All I think of when I look at these books is, is this where my love for books comes from. I feel lost when I take these books in my hands and fail to recognize the stories that once resonated within my soul.
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