#q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

radiohead, thinking about you || jeff buckley, last goodbye || the magnetic fields, strange powers || the english patient || everly brothers, sleepless nights  || paris, texas || jeff buckley, lover you should’ve come over || chris isaak, wicked game

#web weave #web weaving #jeff buckley phase af my mental health is wonderful why do u ask #radiohead #jeff buckley #magnetic fields #the magnetic fields #the english patient #ralph fiennes #michael ondaatje #everly brothers #i mean for me the definitive ver of that song is emmylou harris but #paris texas #wim wenders #chris isaak #parallels #intertextuality #juliette dont include a wim wenders film in ur web weave challenge #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

txf,.7.17

#forever thinking about this scene #wish i could still gif so i could gif it #but in the mean time heres some poor quality screencaps #if u recognise the piracy site no u dont #txf #msr #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

12/11

these are the best times, after a free pint of whatever to semi knock me over so that I sit swaying slightly on the tram ride home from work as the windows remain just a little ajar, letting in the cold air and the sounds of the hare krishna singers, competing with portishead in my headphones. whatever I've said, I've said - maybe people will actually like me for who I am (whatever that is). a lady's talking in loud, resonant spanish in the background. it is all silly, this is just life and it is fleeting and for that am weightless.

#thoughts i guess #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

i was in love with you.

loved you too much to look you in the eye

too much to ever say the words

that were tearing me apart

never to hear you return their ache

I drew out all of you from other's stories

collecting your words, even small gestures

like a collector of stamps

always searching for the most beautiful design

always searching for a betrayal of vulnerability

I listened religiously to all the songs

in which I could hear your cadence

pulling together a patchwork image of you

a false version, perhaps

to appease the shame of wanting something

so dearly to never be mine

most of all,

i wrote these awful, awful poems for you

but loved you too much

to write them in the present tense

and so here I am, again

looking backwards.

#my poetry ew #a cry for help actually #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

to find refuge in the passenger seat, 

alone, or in solitary companionship, or whatever

a repose from the crowds and loud music

rain hitting the windscreen

and even though i can’t look you in the eye;

your hands - well, does it really matter what your hands are doing?

the words and descriptions have no bearing

this warm ache cannot be put into terms

no metaphor could provide a sufficient elegy

for my fondness to you

but of course i choose the words

(i fumble and choose the wrong ones, but for once that’s not the point)

because for now 

we are flailing around in the breeze aimlessly

stealing no more than a cowardly glance

and therefore words are all that exist, except this -

a scenario of pure conjecture

where I stick around long enough 

to allow for the - obligatory and stupid, sure - 

let’s get out of here

(a scenario in which we do not run from each other,

i suppose)

but regardless i am long gone

no goodbye, just wanted to drift the city streets alone

to listen to sad songs and wonder

how I am to continue to lie

in the absence of your embrace

that's the thing about people

always lonely

always yearning

#this is lamw and uncreative but im literally standing in the covid test line so #pray for me #my poetry ew #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

i want to feel as elated as the cranes outside your window

which i can see clearly in my mind’s eye

your makeshift ashtray laying wilted on the balcony

your glasses, worse for wear and discarded on the kitchen table

and although i find these words such a labour to say

i love you like a child’s shaky attempt at scholarly cursive

all messy and nervous and trying potentially too hard

mainly to adhere to something presentable and familiar

and such that the words become indiscernible from one another

it seems sometimes i don’t know where you end and i begin

because we fought alongside in those same barricades

of the past 20 years

and i thought of you just now, because the city lights line the river

reflecting neon against the sky

and springsteen’s playing, an elegy for the youth neither of us had

i try to tell you these things but they never come out right

all i can ever manage is 

open the door, i brought you a bottle of wine.

#my poetry ew #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

you bought yourself pyjamas

you bought pyjamas, that is nice

and I managed to hold back my tears at work

but I couldn't stop looking at the pint glasses today

and how nice it would feel to smash one through my flesh

but then I didn't because those were the nice pint glasses

and wouldn't it be such a waste

to muddy them with my disgusting blood

and then I began to hate myself

because why shouldn't you buy yourself a nice pair of pyjamas

and why should the good glassware suffer

because today I wanted to get up and hug the nice lady on the tram

who asked me if I am okay

because I did not realise I was crying

did not realise I'd been doing so for the entirety of the journey

and because she spoke my mother's language

and maybe if, instead of posing the question

she had simply commanded

simply told me the words

I would have arisen to her embrace

and crumbled in any offer of affirmation

I'm glad you bought pyjamas

sorry I never responded to the text

#my poetry ew #im actually fine #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

just your voice, so familiar

and washed away by yesterday’s rain

before it has the chance

to lull me into a sort of naive tenderness

and so the imprint of your words

hangs brightly in the air

with such crude resonance

and their remnants in the sky

and in my mind, 

these remnants mock me

because you seem so unbearably kind

as if everything that you are

does not shine loudly but exudes a low, dull warmth

a sincerity far too earnest, i am afraid, 

to tide this godless night over 

with the same ruthless bloodthirst i see in my mind’s eye

what a shame that you would not kill me if i asked you

what a shame because i’d been waiting for someone like you

but this softness in your voice

i am afraid, would forbid your beautiful lips

from ever uttering in real life

the cruel words they murmur in my mind

#juliette just say you need therapy #my poetry ew #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

i seem to have no trouble detecting others’ sadness

but seldom is it a point of contention when they are elated or even just content

for me happiness has always presented itself as simply an absence of terror

just like how darkness is only the absence of light

but happiness is not darkness - and therefore i wonder

is it too much to ask

that you should show me its true form

not simply the vanquished abundance of its opponent

because in my mind we've walked alongside each other for years

fought on the same frontiers - and therefore i wonder

is it possible to invent also

a happiness to have walked alongside us

this is all just conjecture, of course

#my poetry ew #i hadnt done a poem for a while and i wrote this on the train into the city its. .. not great but was nice to get out ig #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

how odd and yet completely fitting that i should now see your name as if for the first time in my life and to calmly come to the realisation that i’ve been writing lousy poetry about you this whole time, before i even really knew you and yet you come forth now by choice rather than necessity which i find confusing and too good to be true, even if it all that’s happening is simply a reading between the lines of vague pleasantries on my part.

#idk #not the diamonds and rust referece tho #thoughts i guess #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

I’m thinking about people and trees and how I wish I could be silent more, be more tree than anything else, less clumsy and loud, less crow, more cool white pine, and how it’s hard not to always want something else, not just to let the savage grass grow

ada limon, mowing

#...yeh #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

I'd like to walk around in your mind someday I'd like to walk all over the things you say to me

I'd like to run and jump on your solitude I'd like to rearrange your attitude to me

You say you just want peace and you'd never hurt anyone You see the end before the beginning has ever begun

I would disturb your easy tranquility I'd turn away the sad impossibility of your smile

I'd sit there in the sun of the things I like about you I'd sing my songs and find out just what they mean to you

But most of all I'd like you to be unaware And I'd just wander away

Trailing palm leaves behind me So you don't even know that I've been there

#lyrics #i'd like to walk around in your mind by vashti bunyan #yeh...day ?? of trying to get over college-induced fear of being into people #all my tags are struggles about this. sorry #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

mothers cease in their existence when babies shut their eyes. this is something that is true insofar as it is the young infant’s truth. to him, his mother’s existence is entirely synonymous with his continuous perception of her.

what i’m trying to say is this; i don’t weave myself under midnights and over dreary middays. i can’t exist for your affection because i gave up that ghost years ago and yet i tap dance around the pure conjecture of love between strangers i barely know. i invent this love in my mind because i can no longer look in your eyes. love is not static and i’m worried mine for you seems, presently, to be melting through the cracks of a comically large colander. it is not disappearing, nor is it dying entirely. love is not static, this is something that is true.

this affliction of mine concerns me. i am numb but i still love you enough to emmulate, to tranpose this love onto strangers so that, on the off chance you seek to see some vision of hope in my eyes, i can fake it to myself, suggest that i’m one of the strangers i worry about, and say, more to myself than to you; yes, i’ve loved. that is something i’ve done.

#thoughts i guess #absolute brain dump idk how to explain this. #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us

[thatsulleninhabitant]

I never liked that ending either. More love streaming out the wrong way,             and I don’t want to be the kind that says the wrong way. But it doesn’t work, these erasures, this constant refolding of the pleats.

richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

#this poem is such a work of art i find new favourite lines every day honestly #q: perhaps we're always hurtling our body towards the thing that will obliterate us