railagainstflinch

[railagainstflinch]

Thank you algorithm for showing me blue light dancing into meaning, like that cool advertisement about forgetting your first philosophy, or the code pattern in Kontra, on how to solve ocean acidification, with molasses or was it moss? I can't recall which one I decided but as long as the sight of the half-drunk rum bottle resembles your waist, I will paint memories of how before the break of dawn, we sneaked past your village guard at 3 to kiss inside the broken roundabout fountain like two abandoned hydro power plant machines, covered in giggles and moss, or were they molasses and saliva? Wow, you retained the lush green appearance. Hell yeah, I know you still gently touch the lawn in the silent afternoon, afraid butterflies might come out for the sun is too bright and dormant. Throughout history, being mean paired with compassion has been the greatest remedy. Visit me, Selkie, as my bones may once again delve deep into our duty into the sea. To remove its acid or something. How long will it take for a village to raise the dead child? How long will it take for the travellers to come back for a glass of water?

/someone will arrive soon, please, please, please, do not remind me of the sea/

#prior things #watercolor #oceancore

[railagainstflinch]

do you have or could you make a webweave about nostalgia? specifically of the yearning and grieving variety. it's killing me that all of it is gone forever, that all that remains is an echo, and that it will only keep fading. big yikes.

@robertszombie \\ jordanna kalman \\ jordanna kalman \\ @wearemadeofstardust0 \\ david foster wallace \\ jordanna kalman \\ okechukwu nzelu here again now \\ jordanna kalman \\ jordanna kalman \\ jordanna kalman

kofi

[railagainstflinch]

''It goes on... to the ocean.''

[railagainstflinch]

I have spent nearly two years searching for the pastel-colored tickets you gave me on V-day '20.

I have almost used them all up wishing for a chance to change in this lifetime.

Nearly directed the anger towards my grandmother. She might have tossed them again in the bonfire, but that would not be possible for lighting things up is now illegal in our town. Unless my Mama is a criminal.

I wish I were an arsonist. Like her. Or a ghost. Or an arsonist with a fiery soul. If I were one, you'd command me to haunt you.

So that I could forget what Mama did. The possibility whatsoever.

Though she took care of Winter (tongue-out pink poodle), a gentleness I'll always remember.

Though I will not let the possibility of her getting tossed.

So I took her back, placed her in the back of the hatchback. I am still the same selfish bullet pretending to be a comet.

An optional quest every time. ''What a lucky day,'' I tell myself after being a hazard on the road for 33 minutes.

I really do not care about those odd big eyes blocking my rear view. For the record, I merely glance at them from time to time.

For the record, I'd rather drive through potholes. Feel the motion. Have faith. Feel the rush.

I can serve at 17 kilometers per hour!

I wish it were taken care of.

#spring is coming #with strawberry in the mouth

[railagainstflinch]

Today I was hugged by the oldest guy in the room yet the youngest in mind.

Eleven minutes in silent embrace felt gut-wrenching, eternal space between sleepwalking and falling into a black hole spiraling within.

He shed a single tear. I didn't. He tightened his grip, I was just standing, relying all to gravity.

For we both need to be strong enough for what's ahead.

I am journaling this for I do not know who to tell this to.

Matvey is the first student I've had who's on the spectrum—he reminds me of my late aunt. No words could express how much we will miss each other, Matvey.

#avoidant

[railagainstflinch]

resting !!!!! human

Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Aurelia Plath written c. February 1953 featured in The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940–1956

[railagainstflinch]

let this be soon please please please

Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Aurelia Plath written c. February 1953 featured in The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940–1956

[railagainstflinch]

Love poem I guess, happy 🫀's

Love will feed the cat save the half for later bathe for an hour sing-write a second song hear the breathing in the singing sleep at the back of a trike then wake up and make up to you sleep during a filmmaking workshop wake up restless from all the films love love gladly mention your name right and write your name wrong at coffee shops piss you off by doing forgetting gravity and the weakness of gerunds, the heft of words, love will let you breach and will theorize, will solo the theoretical framework by becoming the poet, forget to work, become the muse, remember exactly what time your best friend died, or born, forget the fork, attempt the other ending, writing the third place,

what reverie meant

or any phrase from your beloved book

or the one you wrote for a course 101

I don't remember what the stars look like

Yet this, I know

One day, love

will try and teach you how to swim

despite the

You must learn how to fail its class

Be noticed

Take love's hand

Command it to be well

To write a note

To sing in a lower note

To remember to touch your hair

To denote what the ocean cannot

To plant the bones with hope for the flowers

And to float with you even when grief is ashore.

— rail against reveries

#valentine #love poem #heart #fist #angst #twenty-one

[railagainstflinch]

so ruined, it's silly

i crawl like a bug all over rotten plums and marigolds, my lungs are filled with the stench of the dead, the desperate, the greenhouse ghosts from the corner of my eye, i briefly touch their outstretched arms, so cold it burns, so haunting, it stays and leaves all the same.

so cruel, it's comical

one day, i swear to all my abandoned gods, i’ll be able to breathe the air of my hometown and it won’t feel like dying.

— fray narte, "neurotic girls" | written august 16, 2023, 11:30 am

photo screencapped from: valerie & her week of wonders (1970) // dir. jaromil jires

[railagainstflinch]

[railagainstflinch]

Memory is a treacherous ocean, and a lighthouse, pointing us to the pen. Write this one down before it sinks.

Emily St. John Mandel, The Glass Hotel

[railagainstflinch]

haunt me then!

forever and always insane about the fact that haunting means "heimsuchen" in german which literally translates to "homeseeking". a haunting is a search for a home you can never return to

[railagainstflinch]

What’s the best editing tip you have?

[railagainstflinch]

keep becoming

keep becoming

[railagainstflinch]

I'm pretty sure someone other than my parents peeled a whole orange for me before (forced myself to eat one slice even though i don't eat fruits) and for some reason I don't remember who the person was? (everything is so blurry)

#orange peel

[railagainstflinch]

he told her

nothing exists

past the window sill

it's nothing new

I wait for you.

—I wait for you//Alex G offline//Past Lives//deleted scene (2023)

[railagainstflinch]

To the flickering lights two decades into the underground.

Take your sweet time in slumber.

I am still digging for that ancient land mine, praying that one of them might or might not lead to the tavern.

The tavern that will lead me face to face with the sewer maniac, wandering the wastes, digging for miners' bones from the 2000's, praying to the worn funko pop of who-knows-who, he found this the other day under the cart.

The mason kept striking in the background. I think this is to generate electricity just enough to power a railway station that might, or might not lead to her first beloved.

Someone said that tears, like seawater, are great conductors. Stars make a sound, if you sprinkle them a little water.

Take his flashlight, take whatever ember's left, pocket the flint, dismiss the thought of following the tracks, go further down.