#this weed altering my brain waves at this point

[eyeglimmer]

sometimes our answers that our awaiting need better questions to get to them.

#vomiting #not drunk #this weed altering my brain waves at this point #vent

[silyabeeodess]

FusionFall Writing Prompts: Oct. 2019, Prompt #2:

Dexter and Mandark are getting help from… Albedo?  That doesn’t bode well… But a new upgrade to your Spinal-ARCH sounds amazing.  If you help with testing, you’ll be one of the first to try the device’s improved ability to mimic certain alien species.  Will it be worth it?

I have ideas for both prompts this month, but I’m starting with this one since it’s the longer of the two and there’s some ideas I’m eager to explore in it.  Should be divided into four or five parts total, depending on whether or not I’ll keep the middle ones shorter.  Enjoy!

It wasn't normal.  The summons had been sent out to nearly every research participant shared between Dexlabs and Mandark Industries—and the rivaling boy geniuses that ran each company may very well have called everyone to Tech Square if it wasn't for the war keeping so many of them busy. Summoning this many research participants at once meant only one of two things: A disaster or a breakthrough.

Silya's muscles tensed as her Spinal-ARCH reconnected. For not the first time she was glad that she had missed most of the device's initial testing phases, before a salve had been developed to numb the flesh as it attached itself to a person's back—adhesive plates of a strong, but flexible alien alloy pressing against skin and thin needles piercing through it to reach bone.  It wasn't quite as painful as it sounded, but she released a habitual, baited breath all the same.  Then she stretched to make sure it had locked on properly, rolling her shoulders and shrugging on a plain tank.

Outside of routine inspections and repairs, she wasn't used to taking the device off.  She probably should have more often than she did, but once it was on it was comfortable enough to forget about easily.  Her Spinal-ARCH may as well have been a part of her own body. A sidelong glance at the other young women in the locker room—curled lips, terse shoulders, and faint shudders all reflecting a distinct unfamiliarity—hinted that the lax sense of protocol was mutually shared.

Every research participant's Spinel-ARCH had been updated: Increased data, improved storage, and a new program developed to better filter Imaginary Energy.  It had been a long while since the last large update and Spinel-ARCHs were already widely distributed among Fusion Fighters as a part of their standard gear.  After a day with them off as the alterations were made, everyone was curious about the two-week long tests that awaited them.  

Which would begin immediately.  Walls of blue-tinted steel surrounded the research participants from every angle as they followed one another out of the locker rooms and into a wide gymnasium. A fenced walkway two stories above wrapped around its perimeter.  There, Dexter looked over the crowd with Computress at his side and a tablet in hand. A few minutes passed as the last stragglers entered, then the boy-genius waved them all to attention:

“Greetings, everyone! Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he began, examining data as he spoke, “By now, you all should have received and reattached your Spinal-ARCHs.  I will be brief: This latest update to the device should allow you take on full transformations of certain alien species.”

After he typed some control onto the tablet, two tiny drones hovered close to the wall to project a sequence of holographic models that were recognizable to almost everyone present, nicknames given by a certain hero reciting in their minds: Big Chill, Way Bad, Ghostfreak, Ampfibian—alien forms all somewhat altered to better fit a humanoid frame.  An excited murmur fell over the crowd.  

Dexter noticeably stood a little straighter as he continued, “You will note that these are not perfect transformations.  As these forms will encase around your physical bodies, they will mimic your physical limits.  However, I am pleased to announce that—in each form—you may experience different enhancements through the manipulation of imaginary energy.  Testing these enhancements will be the primary objective for this week’s experiments. Today, you are free to explore each of the transformations for yourselves as my scientists and I monitor your progress.”

The quiet chatter between the research participants increased.  Silya looked away from the holograms still flashing through the different alien forms to her own hands.  Nearly every Fusion Fighter wanted to explore the limits of their imaginary energy: She was no different.  There were a few, rare full transformations in the Spinal-ARCHS datalogs, but for the most part transformations were restricted to minor extensions from their bodies—tentacles that lacked complete coordination or wings that couldn’t actually support them because they simply weren’t strong enough.  If Dexter and Mandark had really found a way to expand on their current abilities…

All of a sudden, Computress tapped Dexter on the shoulder, giving him a slight, reprimanding look.  The redhead blinked at the android before his proud expression somewhat hardened.  He raised a hand to silence the crowd once more. “I feel I should mention,” he frowned, “that this update is—in part—thanks to the cooperation of the Galvan scientist Albedo, whose specialization in alien technology benefited our research for these new transformations.  Given his history with Ben Tennyson, however, I understand should anyone have their reservations.  You may leave the experiments at any time with your Spinal-ARCH redacted to its previous update, but if you do so now please exit outside before we begin momentarily.”

Saying that some of them had ‘reservations’ was putting it lightly.  The very mention of the false Ben’s name sent many into a bewildered, bitter chatter of suspicion.  Even most those who weren’t major fans of the teenage hero had heard of the Galvan: He was slated along with all the other large reports of villains who had sided with the Fusion Fighters for one reason or another.  Some even had the displeasure of meeting him in-person. Why Dexter or Mandark would team up with him was beyond them.

However, for all of their wariness against Albedo, they did trust Dexter.  There was no telling what was happening over at Mandark Industries—where Mandark’s own group of lab rats was likely receiving the same kind of speech—but only a handful of people squirmed through the crowd to exit the gym from the right.  As the doors opened, they could see a small group of Dexbots waiting for them. Luckily for Dexter, their numbers were shockingly about the same.  

Silya was surprised that she herself stayed rooted were she stood, her fists gripped tightly to her sides. The more reserved, rational side of her mind cursed her, but she wanted this.  She became a research participant at Dexlabs for two reasons: The pay was great and the potential to explore groundbreaking territory all too tempting. It came with big risks, but just as big rewards.  For her own ambitions, she hopes one of those rewards would include gaining better mastery over her own imaginary energy.

Whatever their reasons—loyalty, curiosity, insanity—the bulk of the research participants stayed behind. Most all of them weren’t new to questionable or unorthodox tests: Their bosses had already weeded out anyone who would shrink back at their mad science several times over.  Some of them had handled prototype explosives, dipped in vats of fusion matter, and travelled through time.  They weren’t the sort anyone could chase away easily.

Dexter knew that all too well, and once again grinned at those who remained.  He pressed a few more controls on his tablet and the gymnasium slowly began to alter while the group watched on, unphased.  On the left side of the gym, platforms and poles rose from the floor in a kind of miniature obstacle course; targets popped out from behind hidden panels along the wall; the sliding door to the storage closet unlocked, giving them access to everything contained within.

“Take each of the transformations slowly,” he instructed, “and take note of any physical changes that may occur.  Each of you will need to submit a full report of your experiences before you leave the lab. You may use any of the equipment, but should you experience any pain or discomfort at any point, speak to one of the Dexbots present immediately.”

With that, the research participants split up.  Silya glanced at the still-looping hologram footage.  The Big Chill form was the closest to her usual transformations: All types of wings—while difficult for those without experience to summon—were popular among most Fusion Fighters.  To this day no one could actually fly with them, but they could give a bit of a lift and added protection when one had to jump from extreme heights.

A faint tingle dully thrummed along the slope of her back as the Spinal-ARCH activated, already hijacking messages from her brain to her spine and throughout her nerve fibers. She envisioned a set of wings fluttering gently behind her; softer than what she was used to, lighter, moth-like. Sure enough, they emerged from a split-second spectacle of light as her imaginary energy concentrated into a solid form—fitted on top of her clothes and the device, but mentally cabled to her nervous system like any other part of her body.  If it weren’t for the way they fit over the fabric, it’d be impossible to tell that they weren’t a true part of her.  

She was surprised by how dense the wings felt though, especially compared to what she was used to. The lack of true substance was what made their instability so frustratingly obvious her.  For the moment, Silya tried to brush it from her mind: She wanted to complete the transformation before anything.

It took a few minutes. She watched in fascination as her imaginary energy continued to materialize, black and blue plates shifting over her like a thin, flexible suit of armor. They ran over her arms, her legs, her torso until they lastly began to fit along the more subtle angles of her face.  She held her breath—this part was new, and she had to clasp onto the vision of a helmet to keep her concentration from breaking.  A strange filter that barely stained everything a faint green settled over her eyes as the ‘mask’ finished constructing itself.

To ensure a complete, stable transformation it was often better for Fusion Fighters to watch them take shape whenever they experimented with something new.  Fortunately, the gym had a series of wide mirrors along part of one wall, where a crowd had already gathered.  Not everyone went ahead with the full transformations, but nearly everyone who had was over there.  Silya jogged the short distance to them, brushing shoulders to reach an empty frame, and stared at her own reflection.  The sight of the apparition before her was jarring, but besides a few mistakes—which quickly patched over themselves to match each of her mental corrections—it seemed perfect.  There she was, a strange, human copy of the Necrofriggian race; shorter, with a more feminine waist and eyes dipped closer to their true peridot color instead of the bold lime or malachite the species was better known for.

Her heart leapt. There were a few other ‘whole’ transformations within the datalogs, but most of them seemed off in some way or another to her so she rarely used them.  This was the sort of big step she wanted to take…

Again though, she noticed something strange.  In her excitement, her wings gave an instinctual flap.  Silya felt her body actually rock in place at the motion, not expecting the subtle force behind it.  Reaching back across her shoulder, her fingertips gently traced the edge of one wing.  She actually felt as though there were nerves under it, twitching at the new sensation. It did feel more real than any of her past attempts, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly how that was the case.

Startled shouts rose over the casual ambience of the gym.  Although at different phases, around a third of the research participants who had activated their Spinal-ARCHs also started out with the Big Chill transformation. One of the other girls who had only summoned her wings thus far tested them out with a few, powerful flaps—and was apparently just as unprepared for the force behind them.  It threw her body forward and the people around her moved away to avoid a near collision.  She stumbled, but caught herself.

Or rather, her wings did.  Clumsily, yes, but they clearly pulled her back, dragging her a few centimeters with her toes lightly grazing the floor.  Those nearby looked at her in astonishment, the girl hardly able to make sense of what happened herself.

It took seconds for the others to begin to test out the strengths of their wings.  Silya gently moved her own and smiled along to the excited chatter that picked up once again as each person made little discoveries to their new transformations. The awkward, uncoordinated handling could easily be blamed on a lack of practice, but they did feel like they truly were a part of her—the product of a second skin.  She looked up to where Dexter still stood watching them over the walkway railing to find the boy-genius practically grinning from ear to ear with pride. Enhancements… she shook her head, That’s the understatement of the year.

It was times like these when she loved her employer’s mad science.

Silya didn’t even bother touching the equipment for now.  She just found a relatively empty, little corner of the gym to continue practicing her dexterity with her new ‘body.’  She only wished she could practice longer with it, but she didn’t want to risk straining the device or herself yet and she’d need to make time to test out the other forms before the day’s experiments ended.  Guess the third scientist’s the charm—even if Albedo’s a crook.  

All-in-all, things were looking up.  

END OF PART ONE

Continue: https://silyabeeodess.tumblr.com/post/188177587074/fusionfall-writing-prompts-oct-2019-prompt-2

#fusionfall #fusionfall fic #Dexter #Dexter's Laboratory #dexlabs #research participants #spinel-arch #fusionfall retro #computress #ben 10 #video games

[sl-walker]

Preview

The air was still a little chilly as the city shook off night and headed into daylight, but despite not being dressed for it, Tally didn't really feel it.

"Mountain medicine?" he asked, incredulously. "Surgeon trained in the best medical schools in the galaxy and you used mountain medicine?"

Dawn was breaking over Aldera in pastel blues and golds; somehow, they had ended up out in the Royal Gardens surrounding the palace, pacing the tended paths and surrounded by the late spring flowers.  Before the pre-dawn glow had even come into the sky, Zan had taken him to an early-opening caf-and-tea shop called Turn Another Leaf on the boulevard that led to said palace, and had bought him a cup of herbal tea (citing that caffeine was the last thing he needed after his stim-overdosing) and the conversation hadn't paused but for that.

Now, Zan wagged a finger, grinning sheepishly. "I didn't use mountain medicine, Frayus did.  I just had it two-day shipped from my family on Talus and explained it to him once he asked me what I would suggest; we keep a stock there, imported from Iridonia.  I figured that your lieutenant probably hadn't been exposed to it, and he wouldn't have built up any tolerance to it, so it might do what it was originally used for."

The first thing they had done was circle each other in conversation, revealing bits and pieces back and forth.  Zan had apparently been a surgeon on Drongar, assigned to an RMSU, a pilot program that was quickly discontinued when the cost of maintaining the mobile surgical units and provisioning them became higher than just letting clone medics do what they could in the hopes of them eventually making it to a medical center.

Because, in the cold calculus of war, it turned out it was cheaper to let badly wounded clones die and be replaced than maintain dedicated on-planet facilities to keeping them alive.

Before that had happened, though, he'd had his hands inside the bodies of hundreds of Tally's brothers, while the GAR tried to protect the very expensive 'medical miracle' called bota.  Tally remembered some talk about it; it had been a cure-all, until a retrovirus introduced by someone -- no one even knew which side or if it was an outside group, everyone disclaimed responsibility -- had altered its genetic structure, making it permanently unusable and nothing more than a prolific weed.  Having no monetary investment to protect anymore, both sides abandoned Drongar.

"Someone reported me for using it on patients, back when it still worked -- troops and natural born soldiers -- and it turned into a mess," had been Zan's explanation, when it was still dark and they'd only just gotten started, and while that wasn't enough to win Tally's trust fully, his estimation of the zabrak went up several fold anyway.  Because bota was so expensive and coveted that of course it was for the rich and powerful civilians and not the people dying and bleeding to protect it; that Zan went against that (and paid for it) definitely was enough to catch Tally's attention and tentative admiration.  "I come from a wealthy, powerful family; they would have made an example of me if I hadn't.  Still, I was disgraced; I escaped criminal charges of treason and theft, but I was thrown out of the army and stripped of my accreditation in the civilian sector.  I had to pay back my wages, lousy as those were."  He had shaken his head there, heaving out a heavy-sounding sigh. "I'm good enough with a quetarra to live well, but--"

"Do you miss it?" Tally had asked, pointedly.

"I didn't think I would, but yeah."  Zan had held out his hands, fingers splayed, looking down at them. "At first, I was just relieved to get away without a criminal record, and to get away from the blood and gore and misery of the front lines, but-- yeah, I miss it.  Not war, but being a doctor.  Medicine.  Surgery."

In between all but interrogating Zan, Tally revealed little bits and pieces of how he knew what he did; it wasn't until they had been talking for awhile that he realized Zan was letting him get away with not ponying up an equal amount of information, and while that made him wary, he was kind of grateful for it, too.

Now, most of Zan's history was out in the open and the talk had turned to current medicine; in this case, a mountain flower native to Iridonia called rasash.  Because it was the first time Tally had ever had a doctor and a zabrak to prod for information and there was only so far that medical texts could take him.

"How'd you know that it would work on a hybrid?" he asked, plunking himself down to sit on a bench and finishing the dregs of his herbal tea; he'd gotten rid of the headache, but he could still feel his own exhaustion.

"I didn't, but even if it didn't work, it wouldn't have hurt him any.  Humans occasionally gain a taste for it; it doesn't have any medicinal effect on them, though."  Zan shrugged and lowered himself down to sit at the other end of the bench. "It was known to work on inflammation in zabraks long before we kept records of those things, old clan remedies.  Over the past tens of thousands of years, it became a common thing in most family pantries; everyone stocks it, drinks it, and it doesn't really do anything for anyone these days because it's so commonplace everyone's built up a tolerance.  It's tradition, it tastes good and reminds them of home or family.  But since he was isolated, I thought he probably hadn't been exposed to it and that it was worth a try as the most gentle way to get his immune response under control."

Tally had stolen Zan's datapad, which was networked to the palace's medical wing, and had called up Maul's stats.  And they were improved; it wasn't a cure-all, he was still a mess, but he was a mess whose status was under control and who was actually resting properly for the time being.  Slow-wave sleep, something Maul desperately needed at this point.  "How'd you know he was isolated?" Tally asked, bluntly.

Zan's usual reaction to his prodding, especially when it was sharper, seemed to be either amusement or sheepishness.  Now, he sucked a breath in through his teeth and rolled his shoulders in the warm morning light. "That's another long story.  Are you sure you want it now?  You look like you should probably go back to bed for awhile."

"I'm sure."  Tally smiled, just a hint of sharpness in it. "Because I might just be a medic--" And there, Zan snorted at him. "--and you might just be a quetarra player now, but let's not pretend there's no deeper reason why you're here to 'consult' with."

"I can't go into that part," Zan answered, raising his brows again. "Not yet.  That, you'll have to take up with Viceroy Organa."

"I intend to."

"As to the rest--"  The zabrak took a deep breath and let it out, then leaned back against the bench and tipped his head back, sprawling there.  "He approached me after I was back on Talus for a little while, feeling wretched.  He invited me to meet with him.  Then he proceeded to grill me to within a centimeter of my life.  You've talked with him-- he's a gentleman, but he's certainly not lacking any speed.  He had apparently been vetting me before I even knew his name, and he asked me enough questions to make it clear that he knew a lot more about me than any public records might show.  Then, just as I was feeling like I was either being recruited as a spy or about to be buried in an unmarked grave, he offered me a place in Aldera here, and an audition with the Orchestra."

Tally chewed on that for a few moments.  Long enough to feel a little shiver in his spine; a thrill of fear.  Or maybe hope.  Or maybe some tangled up combination of the two, a hint of something much bigger than expected on the horizon.

"And just in case you ever need to know, I'm working on Maul's situation too."

Tally knew his brain wasn't up to speed right now, but he was starting to get the sense of just how far Organa had been going since he'd told Tally that on Corellia.  He had thought the man was trying to find some legal loophole, but now -- presented with a compassionate, principled, disgraced zabrak surgeon who had apparently been maneuvered into this, if kindly -- he was starting to suspect that it was a hell of a lot more direct action in nature.  "He wants to know if those cybernetics can be cracked without killing Maul in the process, doesn't he?"

Zan reached over and swatted him on a shoulder. "Come on, don't push.  I'm sure he'll bring it to you before long.  He made it incredibly clear how much he respects you and how nothing gets done without your involvement."

Tally's eyes wanted to close without his permission (again), but his eyebrows went all the way up at that. And completely outwith himself, he felt a sharp rush of affection for the Senator from Alderaan.  His crush had died on Corellia, but the respect he had for Organa hadn't, and now here was another reminder of why: For Bail's faith in him, for the fact the man was working on exactly what he had said he would, but--

But also, for loving Maul that much.

For the first time since before Felucia, Tally could almost feel hope again.  The loss of Rabbit still was digging a hole in his heart, but he felt a little like he could breathe past it easier than he had been.

#tally #zan yant #blackbirds: year one #witness me #-grins-

[authorellenmint]

Lemonade

Dorian is outwitted by a child and his lemonade stand.

With a bit of swagger and the occasional waft of his hand, Dorian was able to ignore the unseemly glisten of summer sliding down his back. Or so he assured himself as he walked down the picturesque sidewalk of your average suburban neighborhood. A few adults stood outside, waving hoses haphazardly at flowerbeds, but for the most part the day was owned by children.

One of which was refusing to let him pass.

"Hey, hey mister," the scamp shouted, both hands waving for Dorian from behind a card table. A white poster board, glowing under the striking sunlight, bore the advertisement that this was a Lemonade Stand which Dorian, unfortunately, had to walk in front of to get to his destination.

Trying his best to ignore the child's pleas for attention, Dorian managed to make it halfway past, when the kid shouted, "Come on! Cool, refreshing lemonade! You know you want a glass! It's for a good cause!"

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" he turned, curiosity holding him in place.

Before Dorian finished his pivot, the boy was already fishing out a red plastic cup from the stack under his chair. Beside him sat a girl in pigtails, at best four to five years old. She was busy coloring instead of diving into this business endeavor -- probably management then.

"All the money we make, see, it's gonna go to this thing. Uh, good thing..." their little salesman was losing his pitch fast, all his attention on pouring a thin stream of pale-yellow liquid into the cup. "Here!" he finished, shoving the cup at Dorian.

"I never said I intended to buy any. I was only asking what the money was earmarked for."

"But," the kids eyes drooped, his lips snapping right to crying, "but I got it for you. Poured it. Special made by me and my sister. Why won't you buy it?"

Fasta vass! The tears were coming quick and on command. Last thing he needed were people wondering about him. Groaning, he fished into his pocket. "How much? A quarter?"

"One dollar, please!" the tears vanished in an instant, replaced by a grubby hand clawing through the air.

"An entire dollar? For a single cup of lemonade? That's highway robbery!" Dorian froze, not about to bow down to a child's whims.

"But, but, it's already here. In the cup. Melting." And like that the waterworks were back, quite a few curious adults peering over at the strange man making a child cry. Damn it.

Snarling, he slapped a dollar into the kid's palm. "It can't be melting, it's liquid," he muttered even while taking the cup and nestling it to his chest. The entrepreneur folded his hard-won dollar up and began to stuff it into a lockbox under his chair, when he paused.

"You gonna drink it or what?"

Not particularly. Still... Placing the lip of the cup against his mouth, he let just a smidgeon wash against his tongue. Sweet Maker, did they throw an entire bag of sugar into this? With pinched eyes he smiled and said, "Yes, very tasty."

"And refreshing!" the boy shouted, trying to wave more people to his stand.

"Quite," Dorian gasped, dashing off to the house he wanted, which was conveniently two down from the lemonade stand. He was about to head up the trimmed walk to knock, when he heard the blaring of machinery from the side. Drifting over, Dorian stood with the cup of lemonade in his hands while watching a glorious man bent clean over.

With a whirring tool well in hand, he sliced through a thicket of weeds sending them splattering against the house's outer wall. Sweat glistened against those tan biceps flexing to a stretch, drawing Dorian's eye from the prodding veins up to the shoulders and down the sculpted scapulas. After that, they vanished under a cheap man's undershirt completing the gardener-hard-at-work look.

The weed attacker fell silent, the gardener's tool tumbling to the side as he drew a taut forearm against his forehead and swiped the sweat free. Crystal blue eyes opened and he smiled, "Dorian."

"I did not expect to find you getting down into the dirt," Dorian smirked, crossing closer to the man reeking of the sun, hard work, and pulsing testosterone. He thought himself a fan of clean sheets, air conditioning, and showered bodies. But finding him with cheeks flush from exertion, body glistening in sweat, and muscles aquiver as they waited for a new challenge Dorian's viewpoint was rapidly altering.

"What's that?" he pointed. A crude remark flared in Dorian's brain, but he swallowed it as he realized the gesture was to the cup in his hands and not lower.

"Ah, for you," Dorian said, stepping closer. The wind rustled through his love's hair smelling of clipped grass, summer heat, and that sandalwood shampoo he'd often find on his pillows come morning.

Reaching over with the cup, Dorian placed it in his love's gloved hands and smiled, "Some lemonade, to help you cool down."

"Thanks," he tipped it back, swallowing the gift fast despite the cloying sweetness. After wiping off the side of his lips, his Amatus smiled wickedly, "Though, I thought you were only ever here to heat me up."

Nipping his own bottom lip, Dorian's fingers rolled over his love's waist. The flimsy cotton, drenched from so much hot work, slipped upward revealing a tempting line of abdominals that looked as if they needed a good tongue bath. Hungry, Dorian swept his palm up his love's back, the muscles beginning to tremble as he pulled himself tighter to the man.

"I happen to come with many services," Dorian whispered, his eyes awash in the crystal blue before him.

"That so?" his love smiled, tender fingers brushing against Dorian's cheek before cupping against his waist. "I'm not certain if I can afford them."

"I suppose I can cut you a deal, just this once," Dorian said before diving for those wry lips that melted at his touch. Leather gloves roamed up his spine, as he took his chance to dig into the hot flesh under his love's flimsy tank top. Images of watching his love dressed in nothing but a g-string as he mowed that back lawn flitted through Dorian's mind. As the heat of their kiss increased, they transformed to what the two of them could do on a riding lawnmower -- the rumble of its engine aiding them greatly.

His hungry hand began to slide from cupping his love's bountiful ass forward towards the stick shift when a peppy voice shouted, "Hey! Hey Mister!"

Both men sprung apart, turning to find that cursed lemonade salesman peering in at them. Oh Maker, he must have seen them kissing. Which he could tell the other adults around here. Dorian risked glancing to his fretting love a second before honing in on the child. What would he do? Shout for help? Cry for a parent to save him? Get them banished? Start throwing stones? Anything seemed possible.

Raising his hands high in the air, the child exposed another red cup and his trusty pitcher. In his best salesman voice he shouted, "Do you wanna buy a glass for your boyfriend?!"

#dorian pavus #dorian x inquisitor #dragon age summer #dragon age inquisition #fanfic #lemonade #cute and sweet

[jamesmcf88]

pt 2 - james mcfarlane

NEW — weird song (2016) the reaper, put the beat on hold, bones dug up just like the sunflowers in the snow, now deeper into the river of sight, if you go in that cave dont turn out the light, white light shines bright, no stars tonight, behind the vox stack, their singin heart is black, subwayswhislting over my head, thank god i climbed aboard instead, reap what you sew 4x (coda) Heart is black ive been had (ive been had) ive gone mad (ive gone mad) ths is war, (this is war) i told you all this before i beg you, i want you too, write me back heart is black face the facts, art is black, heart is black face the facts, art is black, oohicant stay, (ooh icant stay) cant go your way, (cant go your way) i felt you sweet smack, Your smoke is black (smoke is black) i beg you, i want you too, write me back heart is black face the facts, art is black, Beautiful face she thinks shes alright, butshes out of sight, swim in for a bite, underneath the white light, thining of fashons, and still looking smashing appealing to fools, out of all kinds of schools, lo frequency base, mixed with the acid taste, no it couldnt compare, to your beautiful face. you left a hole in my chest, a better shot than the rest, do you have five minutes, for a warhol screen test, at dawn i see a star burning not lie the rest, cant help but sit and wonder where its going next 4x cant help but sit and wonder where shes going next 4x Blue Haired BelleBlue Haired Belle, hangs around the gates of hellMorning stars get lost, in the flow of your blue sky locksDon’t despair, you’ve been on a track please take care, Come fly with me, its your blue sky that’s pure dont you see. Its alright You, me , everybody,we, see, only moonbeams,comets not so high,eathquakes in the sky,lalalight n short in hight and , nananight and it’s alright,lalalight n short in hight and , nananight and it’s alright, You light the way, through tunnels, try not the scrape, the gunnels,on the right a cave in sight, it’s alright not this timeon the right a cave in sight, it’s alright not this timelalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala lalalalaooooaaaaooooaaaaaooooooooooaaaaooooaaaaaooooooooooaaaaooooaaaaaooooooooooaaaaooooaaaaaoooooo Main Street When you called me up hereIdidnt feel like walkin, Now your sayin to me,youdidnt feel like talkinwhy are we so clumsy,so clumsy with our breadnow you tell me honey, how you keep your stomach fed, always lending yourself out, to the freaks that dot our lives,honey when you gunna shout, at those drones in out beehive,take a walk uptown, to the bucket where they drown,gunna tell them when they get out,to get theiur handouts downtown MorningAt the dawn of a new age,Sun comes up, smell the burning sage,take a step foreward, turn the pagesay goodbye to all those dark dark days, MAking a brew I stare a the fire,stir the pot, and then connect the wires,turn on the amp, the music inspires,got to free my mind from all the cheats and all the liars. Morningdrone You, you know what I mean, when isay,that nothings gunna happen today,and you, you know what imean,wheni tell you it’s just not my scene, you, yeees you, what the hell are we gunnado?and you, the only one you listen to, is a man, by the name of, Lou. We, yeees us three, could make it at a defferentpace,I, know that, it’s a discrace, Lord, take us to another place, So grab your stuff, your record albums,you take the wine, and ill take the guns, and into the ocean, we will go, cause you know, were headed, for the coast,so raise up your glasses, for a toast,ha, which one of us can drink the most,the father, theson, or the holy ghost,and you say that this car can race,but can it take us to that other place, a different side of mother natures face. take me to another place. Nothing drones honey comes from lots of work, sticky feet moving berserkpatterns form in crude beauty, drones fulfill a pointless duty, honey drips, from the hive, golden jkelly feeds their wife, pretty flowers messy home, nothing drones on like the cone, back and forth, in and out, dancing like we use our mouths,the pay is small and so are you, results of that sweetens my tooth, the task is never ending, constantly descending, dripping in the mouths of those not worth defending. Oppenheimer park Rolling down the open road, to the end of the line,end of the world, end of the illusion of time,I go down to the water, and feel the cool surf,hear music in the air and take it for what it’s worth, cant understand why people, could live on so little,when so much goes through them, and through the needle, so hasty, with the selling of their saved souls,the western downtown is bright, blunt, and bold. Walk up and down throughout the day, out of your mind,think of your home nevermore, till the end of timethe loop drones on and on like a broken clock,don’t need to climb the montain, cause your at the top Hastngs is not coming for you, your coming for it,like hell it bewccons like the incline of a pit,the east side, sits a nd people come from near and far,to sit, and sink, into the grass, in oppenheimer park oracle so your torched,your hanging by a thread,don’t scorch, your pretty little head,wishing through your lips that it worntpass,feels like your turning from a liquid to a gas, take a trip right to the edge of your mind, consciousness poured out and left behind,take a break from all the flats and all the sharpd,ride a cloud of nothing, and numb your broken heart To thew edge of your mind, distortion blurrs the line bettweenwhats out there and whats inside, deep in the cave, breath in the cold air,see shadows on the wall,… stare bring news just like homing pigeon,come down, and start a new religion, leave now, and speak out, littereally or metephorical,the knowledge you posess will make you the oracle. Pipe Dream A science experiment gone totally wronga weather balloon with some kind of evil about it,all the kids at school could see it above the horizon,my friends and i knew we’d be better off without it, king kong, walked along high street, where the freaks and thugs call home,if he could reach this floating disaster on time,he knew he would never have to die alone,hethough about it and realised the people wouldntunderstandhe knew their alien nation would turn this ape into a man, darkened minds turn on a dime, revolve in time along thin white linesyin and yang drip from a wolfs fang, one pulls the trigger the other goes band why can we get to the meaningof this philosophy of feeling, how do we break the silence of the checkerboard of violence. Darkened fool has lots of toolsd, dead at the deep end of the pool, boring times and pouring rhyme, the question, is this really mine? why can we get to the meaningof this philosophy of feeling, how do we break the silence of the checkerboard of violence. Psych em out Psychem out like rabid vermin, make em shout a phony sermon,see right through their simple game,right to their core their thoughts of shame, watchem blow upon the fire, rocks explode right on the liar, social change brings end to war, housewife trembles on the floor,backwardsforewards, up and downvoisc encircle all aorund, observeprecieve hear see know learn mirror be, identify possible flaws, of the menace with no causethe time is now, so try to learn how to bend the rules they use to keep you down. Rabbit hole Salvage you mind while it is illuminated, a fire out of control,a cabbage in ttime, right now it is fumigated, wired and housing a soul,badhabbits in line, schedualed to be terminated, inspire you out of your hole, A rabbit , redefined and underrated but higher than ever before, drink up while the tea is hot and bright blue, the flesh of the gods makes it so,3 caps and some stems is all i can do, to see shooting stars upon the snow, think sweetly of me, with emotions so true as yu stand and look through the window,think of thinkgs to do when im gone for good now, waving at the bus watching it go, Im down in the southland, with deep curving valleys and bridges all rusty and crumbling, with grasses all dying and rivers of green and subways whistling under me. a spot on the corner , a 30 dollar gutar, a case and a cigarette too, is all that i need to get usedd to my home and bring my mind closer to you. The last of this song, is all out of place, but the pace rings true to the rule, of the verses before i shut tight the door on the patterns lost and misconstrewen,becauseits all backwards and forewards like this, its in shambles but its not a ruin,the end of this 4 verse song has arrived, to the point you might not clue in. Sea of lights Rockj and rave, through the night,on speed in a sea of lights,jump spin contort thrust,black white pain lust,spent a week there last might, maybe more,steal yourself a holy death crouching by the door cause we all live in sin but it makes music sound new, go out on a limb, and let the world surround you, we rave through the atonal thrusts and the booms,tonight the flowers of evil are in full bloom, Standing there all in white, she sings in the spotlight, in darkness and style, we strum all the whilestanding all in black behind the vox stack, from behind sunglasses, we inspire the masses, cause we all live in sin but it makes music sound new, go out on a limb, and let the world surround you, we rave through the atonal thrusts and the booms,tonight the flowers of evil are in full bloom, Walk and talk it through the park,whiplashgirlchild in the darkrun run run, take a drag shoot your speed while you brag i’ve been orchestrating behind sunglasses,immitatingprodogy, and writer, man, tomboy and a throusand fans zeppelin spotlights on my brain exploding plastic in my veinhypnotyic tones as the propellers drone,mind bending sounds, resonate undreground, dak circles never weed, new york 1963, Chcmysic, velvet freak desensitize alter tweak, no money car moon or sun, sell your blood for heroin,if she ever comes now now, moe beat on that drum now now,pink perfume, mantra neumes silk screen factory tunes superstar test only the best wine coffee speed heroin rest,darkcircl;es never weep, new yourk 1963,theyve been up for weeks, in the white light the tweak, in 63 Skeleton Here we are again, moneys all been spent, you don’t know where hesbeen,hes trying to fend off things that dwell within, hes a skeleton. at the end of days hes been here before he says, narrow in mannyways,hes a skeleton,andidont know where hesgoin, or why he thinks itssnowin, he can see the wind thatsblowin, hes a skeleton, Spotlight Reap what you sew,snakes and poppys in her hair,sun flowers in the snow,make you look like your not so old,it had been so long i could not recall her face,she came outside to meet me though iwas’t her case,nowi sit and wonder if I’m out of place,the memories i had of her, are in outer space Standing all in white, she sings in the spotlight, in darkness and style, we strum all the while,on the odd days I could talk to her,harmony and dissonence, a modern venus in furs,up and down that hallway, rotating the earth,waiting there for hours and hours, for her the quench my thirst. Sweet grass summertime,see the star shine, and i don’t mind revisiting those times,although my mind is blown, i play the drone,saying goodbye while you’re getting stoned. Vicious lips oooooo what to do,iwanna see you too,i think imgoin mad, ooooim not that sad noooi wonder sometimes where you are,what moon what planet under what star,id like to think your not that far, but we both know that trip was hard your vicious lips, eard on the airwaves, waking the dead, from their graves,your sweet, but your toxic, been three weeks since you dropped itI found it in my pocket, your trains comin I cant stop it You Made Me the reaper, put the beat on hold, turns to dust when they turn to dope,promises, he couldntkeep,to save a life, only three feet deep,you’re my catalyst, myonliness, decemberbaby,im the creep you made me,you’re my catalyst, myonliness, decemberbaby,im the creep you made me,the reaper, put the beat on hold, turns to dust when they turn to dope,promises, he couldntkeep,to save a life, only three feet deep,you’re my catalyst, myonliness, decemberbaby,im the creep you made me, Come Back Around JAMES MCFARLANE·FRIDAY, MAY 13, 201610 Reads The process as a whole is always a learning experience like no other. Ultimately, like the brain has a recognition and physical atribute that corresponds with most chemicals in nature (possibly even synthetic chemicals) the psychological functions that a person can aquire are almostordaned and recieved in a timely fashion by the organ and im assuming the subconscious effortlessly and for evolutionary purpose. So I will assume everyones own, (however existential), growth experience is interesting. Having the atribute of spiking and deminishing of at least two of the brains most important chemicals related to experience, and behavior… and the awareness of the (most obvious to you) potential for not only chemical related occurances and their ripple effect, but the behavioral methods that the acute brain, manic brain, almost has a natural function to excercise and use usually either for a better survival or further expansion into astonishing existential and soon to be investigated parapsychological, social behaviors that tend to stick as long as they serve in a new type evolutionary (ie “Counter intuative”, productive and humanistic beavior that the mind eagerly draws in like an antennae recieving and storing up valueable energy. Setting this agenda and also surviving the early episodes, of bipolar, (which are usually the most drastic) are two hurdles to get over, let alone the crude, almost sickening archetectural features in our community hospitals, thats purpose cannot be desguised as heathcare to the human eye. A grossly overused assortment of bondage equipment and isolation chambers (not to mention your absence of any dignifying articles of clothing( also to be moved and set in place on occasion) nowadays plate glass walls, a whole dungeon setup designed by those people involved no less, who really probably care wheather the colour they chose or how their design would function better than the decaying sweat soaked ultimately in our home towns case, my favorite case, dried blood stained, apparenty approved for use by some dr, a single hallway, to alk up and down seemingly endlessly, untill not suprisedby the inevitable dread code white, that is the delight for the predominantly, …listen t me… dominated, by your average practicing as ferociously as they can with as little effort as possible, sociopath and more importantly to re ognise, violent violators psychopaths, who pretymch have the real pl working there stressin over what could possibly be these ppls capabilities, and are alienated inside by this evil thay cannot risk their ,,, virtully anything valuable, like a job or who knows, omg… thats why she left,,,,, so, yaa, these ppl rise like cream, annnnnd they have a really good time eeeehm, .. now nurse practitioners or legends, thir former dominator look like theyve aged, well lets say i was convinced they had beeen using prolongued use on heavy stimulents, like crack. iloldrewaout a blueprint with symboldsfr the patient advocate, neaysi mostly wantd to write and its alot of shit thats gone no doubt as home with ,,,lets say u know like fat cat. what, i was 15, and he was fat then, now hes the last one standing up there that i know of. oh yea… so i would say if u want out, and as of late i thing the design is perfect for the right ppl, socios included, fuckers, but, the dr, they are jst as careless as the security guards who cant hide haw stupid the really are and the odd couple who are revealing that their ok, still, idicovered, ,, maybe not in north bay, but in a proper community, like the city, ………..lost my train,,,, i think that i was getting at how just to be fair and …eyea 50 percent of the staff endowd with the ability to weildstrapps, and are encouraged by their no doubt under educated superiors, to always have the wrist ready to be broken if, now this brings me back,,,, they chokeyou, than comes the bondage that betty page would think is very unatractive, idk,,, the thing is,,, ya the drs, oh waut,, ok…. 1/3 of all of them are,,,, exculding the drs, and the janitors, who if ihaventdiscosedya are always there to pile up on a code white, and i know,, listen to me, no janitor ive met would grab my ass so hard on such a numerous a pile up, i have eyes in theback f my head,,,,,,, italalot,,,,,,, ppl that work so hard tp climb so not that far up the ladder in society, yes, sum of them are costume rocking witchcrftprodiges, who, will, 1 take the whole bunch of guys .. it may have been the forensic unit,,, this little thing is known by ,ppl, ive talked to about the psych who are inderectyl told by their others who work it, and ave stories about the oddity of us. iduno,, alot went down, but,, boring s yea she walks me throught e bysantine conduit iup to the floor, and the police have to walk somewhere behind to uncuff me and ta da, , y o iwanna bring up corporeal action when the best times,,, due to the conditios of bondage uuuuuuuuuuh were strictly through plate glass,,,,, ie. rare appearenced that are pretty much the only way. i really was bloody fucking thirsty 8percent and i mea ya,, when i was younngti chewed up braaaaan and drank my watttaaeer, and drew peace sighnsandd 7 days laterrrrr, after she sumhow managed to get an earbud into my head screaming for any colour you like by pink floyd, and playd the fungsonhggg, badassss. straight jacket. prolly day 4,,,,, i still think cough syrop is good for teenagerswhatver,,m took me to the top. ok… to get offf, the ward do as such; by Ultimately drawin on to no apparent end in crayons complete with nicotine gum (smokes,, the only freedom, not yet a right, that is so hard to get,,,,, and i learned to smoke in side the scarborough general hospitol,,, that room soon became the chamber, i would be locked in, for manny weeks, at different times,, thats where alot also hapened, is where the nude bondage asianfemaldr, ..whati mean i s theatwwhatwuldlou reed say… they never forgave us for nagasaki.,,, newaysive never spent more time in a i also a what appears to be and have bben told by assdocter of the north bay pstychwhi took to court at the hospitol and he got yelled at by a panel while my dad defended him and i ate cookies cus ii was really manic,,,, i also was 15 1/2… he later let me try and commit suicide,, thats a story of a different colour,, sounds like sprockets, idk,, idontwafe war with very real religiossympomatic shat, iuuuuuhm , so,,,, hereswahat krb8tujvcklwelbutrin.,,, ya, it istaken orally it shoul get right to work in three ad a half weeks, if suicidal,,,,, pray, oooir if u cant get dxedrine,, or sum speed beane drink a bottle of childrensgeapecoughsyrup once a day,,,, this acts as a seritonin reuptake inhibitor of a differrentcolour. 2 to 4 hours,,,iu get the mental stimulation,, it reall is a mellow buzz butttttyupppidecare fuck cough syrop…… dexedrineisnt out there and i know it couould really bbe used and they aslso do,, ie. jfk, addisons disease, dexedrine/anphetamine. so,, it will make y0ur 90 year old great aunt we all frogot about over in blind river get up from the abyss of alzheimers and dementia and sing thins is the day that the lord hath made,, ,but with real and concious interaction,,, without memory of course. however,,, she does that,,, did that anyway , but,,, im sure every month not every day,, at least one trial of … iuffingadhd adults can take it,,, why cant she. smeared into the grate of every window and the classy bubble rooom which actually was made with enough pride according to the regionnsid say, to have an even more, almost funny, and certainly battered scratched and spat on bubble for the head psychiatrist t poke his head into every few days. Lets not froget how that scene ended. like my father and grandfather before me who conditioned and alterred the correctiona institutions for fifty fife years now a conmfortablevacatin for psychopaths and whoever, not even the hole could stand up to point blank restraints naked, with your flimsy gown around your chest. at least in the bubble room there was lots of privacy, u know, to each institution their own, glass , bubble blood stained, probably 60 years of ppl that somehow said something that attracted the attention of their nurse, who no doubt vollynteered after printing your file which is most likely epic thick, there is no room for any of their creative stylings in that no, i did just smash the wall into pieces and ya all the insulatin is everywhere, high five and respect from my cute transference mistress, (and a couple others.)

[diana-panda]

wow I can’t even remember the last time I logged onto Tumblr. This place used to be my life, I even had to reset my password to log back on here. i’m amazed that I still have followers. looking at things I used to blog about is so bittersweet, I legitimately feel the things I felt back in the days. shit was really changed since then. been broken over and over and having to grow bigger and bigger. I decided every few years I'll make a  post, a lil update of my life so I can  continue to self reflect on the shit I wanna change. considering I know absolutely none of my followers, this is the perf place for me to just unload a bunch sack load of shit. covid was crazy this year, survived that shit and realize all those years smoking have really fucked my lungs up. today I got another call from Dahni, who I still consider as my best friend forever. one day when we both got our shit together and both thinking straight again, I know we’ll be able to be friends like we used to. I never pick up to phone numbers I don’t know but every fuckin time I randomly choose to pick up to a rando number - it’s Dahni. this is the 5th time she has called me from a mental hospital. it’s crazy, never thought my life would have be me working in a mental hospital and her coming in and out of one. after all these years, you’ve probs haven’t seen her in 3 years - but she has never ever forgot your phone number, even when she has completely lost her mind. she literally doesn't make sense when she talks. at the beginning, you sometimes understood the shit she said and understood what she meant and felt because you were that fuckin close to losing your whole damn mind before you decided to get sober. still so proud of you choosing to be sober, even after probation, even after drug tests. Dahni still remembers your literal exact address. she said she’s been sending you letters for the past 2-3 years but you haven’t seen shit, especially because you moved to Milwaukee this year. you texted daddy but he said he ain’t seen shit, probs lying, he would hide this shit from you. he always hated her but he doesn’t understand that it was actually you who got her into drugs in the first place. I pray all the time Dahni has completely lost herself or she’ll be able to return to herself again, I miss having my best friend around. after the call, you looked at oldddd ass pics like 2015 shit, yall were the craziest - up and just went to alberqueque, breaking into hotels and creating body slides out of tables and chairs in the ballroom, tripping at the trail of lights and deciding to just walk towards the Austin skyline, there were so many pics I don’t even know where we’re at. I miss that life with you dude, not giving two shits about anything and doing whatever we could to just live life. you were the one person I connect with in such a weird way. anyway 2020 was the year I had to finally grow up, and I can’t be more proud. the reason I got sober was because I was drugged then gang raped in 2016, but I have finally accepted that it happened and I am finally moving past it. your ptsd and anxiety was debilitating. months of therapy with no progress, Janet your psychologist thought the best option was drugs to calm you down but you refused, mommy had to move down to San Antonio with you, you got daddy to install security cameras around the house, you went to 3 different police stations and 2 different apple stores because you thought you were being tracked, a panic attack literally every fuckin day, you got your first gun - but damn shit has changed. I think when you got rogue, that was the start of your life changing around. you used to walk her literally only on your street but now you can walk her for hours anywhere. you got control of your own life again. texas sunshines helped you tremendously, you met a few life long friends - even though you made some besties but ended up losing them - either way, they helped you return back to your old self, the free spirit and careless golden wild beautiful soul you had. exposure therapy - that shit works. going to 6th every weekend, even a couple times a weekend helped you a lot. you had only a couple freak outs where you let your anxiety take over you but there was progress. you have grown so much the past 4 years, it’s honestly mind blowing because you used to be at rock bottom. you legit lost your mind at one point, legit rock bottom, even hearing voices and seeing shit, Janet said drug induced psychosis - but your resiliency and strong heart and soul helped you, with the help of god of course. you were in such a dark place but getting through that helped you be where you are now. but none of this could've happened without the help of your parents - they taught you the definition of unconditional love. maybe that’s why Dahni is still battling this love and hate relationship with drugs - she doesn’t have this support system like you. your parents never gave up on you dude, like how am I ever gonna repay them, because if it wasn’t for them - I'd literally be dead long ago. you still have only told a few of your close friends. Dahni and Mikayla a year after it happened. kiara, erin, and Gracie 3 years after it happened. maybe that’s all that ever has to know. this shit don’t define your life anymore girl. it sucked but you have let that shit take enough of your life. no more living in the past. you live and you learn. stop thinking of ways how you’ll somehow find these fuckers and make them pay, they’ll get what’s coming to them. I used to pray everyday these fuckers got killed and died a horrible and painful death but you’re letting them win every time you waste a second thinking about them. just be thankful you got out of that shit alive. you have this deep rooted reputation of a party girl. but never forget, daddy defended you when yall had guests over once - “yes she parties a lot, but she also studies hard too.” you’re legit a UT grad, you got into grad school - which you are killing. you’ve never been a straight A student but now you are in grad school whaaat. but you know if you studied this much and this hard during UT - you would’ve had a higher gpa, but no regrets. ever!! my time at UT was truly a blessing - it was the best time and worst time ever. that was boot camp training you to be resilient. you used to think you were being punished for having to move to Milwaukee for grad school but that was the biggest blessing in disguise. Jim howard was right, even if I did get accepted into UT’s msn program - I shouldn’t go or stay anywhere near Austin, I have too many distractions here, I would’ve failed out immediately - I need to start thinking like a healthcare provider, people’s literal lives will be in your hands. you can’t kill no one dude, losing your license will actually be the end of yo life and all this school and bullshit would’ve been for nothing. Milwaukee was rough at the beginning but you’ve grown to fall in love and appreciate its true beauty. you needed a break from Austin, it’ll always be your endgame and it aint going anywhere. you got to start over, start fresh, grow up, it was exactly what you needed. Milwaukee was the place where you defeated your ptsd, your annoying anxiety - I mean yeah sometimes you do psych yourself out but you have made the craziest progress, even Janet is so surprised and proud of you! you fuckin live alone and do a damn good job of it. but it wouldn’t have happened without Lola. rogue saved you 4 years ago and now Lola has saved you. they are both fuckin wild and misbehaving, but I am sooooo thankful I have them in my life. god put the most perfect dogs into my life, they helped you be where you’re at today. you even made a fuckin solo trip with just you and Lola from Milwaukee to Austin, stayed in Memphis with just yall 2 and literally no panic attacks. never thought that would have ever been possible. lol having your gun around definitely helps. this year you realized that you used to be fat, how come no one told you omg. but that doesn’t matter because you have finally reached the weight you had on your vision board that you made in high school - 105. you got home from grad school and literally every single fuckin person in your life has said you lost so much weight - girl you didn’t even know it, you don’t got a scale in Milwaukee. but looking at past pics, holy shit girl you lost weight. you still got some to go but good job dude - don’t ever let yourself get that bad again. your new goal is to be 100, then you can stop stressing. lol you’ve been trying to lose weight literally since high school, and all it took was grad school and being depressed AFFFFFFFFF to lose 20 fuckin pounds! with the help of addy too. yeah you were depressed, started in the 2nd semester of grad school and was at its worse at in the 3rd semester. but you yourself, and Lola of course, pulled yourself out of that. you walked to the beach, appreciate the scenery, focus on the sound waves - learn to love life again. you’ve changed so much dude, I feel like you’ve finally lost all of your old self now. quarantining for covid made you finally truly clean your room and rearrange it. took the biggest cleanse of your life, and damn it was a struggle because you the biggest hoarder out here. you found your old pieces, crazy how you still got them, you found old pills, even weed - proud of you for throwing everything away finally, and real quick. because you did think about smoking some and pop a pill or two - what’s the worst thing that can happen right. bitch you know what can happen, normal people can do that but you have forever fucked your mind up, like physically and biologically fucked up your brain. the way drugs works on your brain and Dahni’s brain only has a dark side to it - drug induced psychosis - every time, no matter what or when or how long it’s been, you have forever fucked that up. yall dropped the ball on that shit, yall did it too much, esp the mind altering shit and will never be able to enjoy drugs again - but that’s okay. you don’t need that shit. okay for guys, fuckin listen to me here girl. we ain’t going into zayne or Terren - yo first 2 boyfriends was just dipping yo feet in the waters for dating. you already know what you learned from them. you know what you want and don’t you ever fuckin settle.”life is a mess when you settle for less.” I loved Arin, and I'll always love him. your dumbass almost married him but why, knowing he does not meet half yo standards. from Arin, you learned you want someone that treats you like a princess like he did, he always showed you off, he put you on a pedestal, you were legit his everything - you want someone that does that, where you are their everything. but you don’t want someone who gets angry like that, who lets problems get bigger and bigger til they explode - shit needs to be fixed immediately, if your their everything - shouldn’t they do everything in their power to make sure it stays like that. from josh, you learned you want someone who you can be your goofy self and have fun and literally laugh all the damn time with you - it was such a fun time with josh, yall really did have this amazing connection. he truly loved you and honestly truly loved you. I loved josh, and I'll always love him too. he was the first relationship you had after getting raped, and he showed you how to trust men again. these 2 dudes lacked goals and had different visions for the future from you. you’re such a goal oriented and family oriented person - they were not. you worked hard to get to where you are today, and continue to drop the guys and the people who will get in the way of your goals. friends too - if they ain’t with you, drop em. in the end, it’s your family who will always be there for you. lol you truly treat guys like shit dude and everyone knows it, you don’t even feel bad about it, maybe it’s from being raped, maybe it’s from that ginormous wall you’ve built, or maybe you’re just that afraid of getting hurt, but that’s okay, you can keep doing that, it’ll get rid of the weak ones - what you can’t do is treat the good ones like shit, like tai. you never expected to find a dude so different, but maybe that’s what you need. he’s the exact opposite of the typical guys you usually go for - a fuckin gamer, not 6 feet, lol even asian. you didn’t date tai but yall definitely had something for 6 months. he has never done drugs and doesn’t want to even try drugs - I didn’t know that was maybe something I needed in a guy. from tai, you learned that you do want someone who went to college, grad school is even better, super caring about you. at one point you did think he was going to be the one - he speaks Vietnamese, he’s in pharmacy school, he can game with your brother. he may seem perfect but you learned a lot of shit you don’t want in someone. you’re not on social media a lot anymore, other than snapchat. you even had insta deleted for months - then when school ended for winter break, it took you awhile to download insta again, but when you did, you made one post and never got on it again. tai is super in the social media world, and you don’t want that. you’re starting to be someone who really lives in the moment, the shit happening right in front of you matters to you more, you don’t want someone super into the social media world. he doesn’t treat you like you’re a priority to him, he actually makes it clear that he actually doesn’t give two shits about you - so why you allowing yourself putting any efforts into that. the second he’s upset, he’ll drag that shit out and won’t try to fix shit at all - you need someone who will fix shit right then and there so yall don’t go to sleep at night angry, you need someone who will fight and continue fighting for you no matter what. he doesn’t apologize for shit and when he does, there is always an excuse - you need someone who owns up to shit and apologizes sincerely. you deserve someone who truly cares about you and is committed to you, they need to do anything in their power to keep you and show you love you and not give up on you. you did not get gang raped to settle down for someone who doesn’t make you feel loved. you did not graduate from UT and get into grad school for someone who causes you mental stress and make you unhappy. you did not grow into this strong, independent, brilliant ass woman to date someone who makes you question your worth. you deserve someone who continuously challenges you to be your best self and make you feel beautiful. cami said you deserve someone who spoils you, and she is damn fuckin right. you have come so far, getting sober, getting into grad school, someone needs to feel lucky as fuck they have you. but what’s the common denominator between all these dudes - quit pushing guys away, quit purposely ruining shit because you’re scared of shit, quit getting pissed because they don’t react the way you wanted, quit overthinking shit because you’re usually fuckin wrong. just don’t settle for less but allow yourself to get close. your trust issues ain't going anywhere, but learn to put your guard down a tad bit, let yourself get hurt - it’ll only make you into a stronger bitch than you already are. nothing will ever hurt you nearly as much when you got raped. if you got through that, you can literally get through anything. a lot has happened in the last 4 years, but you know what you need to focus on. continue working on your best self. keep thriving and surviving. maybe we’ll self reflect and reorient again when grad school is over in a couple years and you’re back in Austin. just be happy <3 do your best and fuck the rest

#reorienting self part 1 #2020

[ivycali-blog]

Musical Ideas From My Notebook Pt.4

Pace: Straight-time, accelerating, decelerating. Combinations: Staggered, Clustered

Shape: Ascend (Types? Stairsteps, Back & Forth, straight, etc.), Descend (Stairsteps, Back & Forth, Straight, etc), Linear Cominations: Staggered, Clustered

The music is a symbolic representation of the message/vocals

Pop songs are more mathematic/artificial than drug-out/speech-like songs.

Build the song up to meet the imagined/intended outcome.

Repetition, solos, & breaks aid absorption.

Aesthetic sounds have lots of texture.

Megan Thee Stallion (Feat. DaBaby) - Cash Shit: “Slurp” sound - highly aesthetic, “lack of concern” vibe

What would you be doing in the situation the song is portraying? Sipping while driving or grinding (Cash Shit) (Song is about grinding, then you get a relaxed “slurp” every now and then to give it a confident/relaxed feel.)

What elements do I want to include? Then how and when do I want them to play out?

Pattern: Comprehendible variation/Texture: Blended/rapid/incomprehendible variation

We learn through association. The more things you can relate/associate with a concept you’re trying to learn, the easier the process will be.

What are your repeating motifs? What do you want (them) to absorb?

Create a cheat sheet of helpful songwriting tips to set at your desk. (Plug n’ go)

What media/influences surrounded you during your youth? (1995-2007) Use aesthetics/associations from those sources.

The lyrical message could be like a dream/fantasy scene. (Erotica lol)

“Does this song sound “insert intended vibe” enough? Create a convincing soundtrack of tones, feelings, & dynamics to frame your “intended vibe” song.

Gunshot=gangster, so overtime the gunshot goes off, you’re reminded what type of song this is. Your brain goes “gangster!”

Write a “_” <-- (vocal attitude overtone) song about “_”.

During writer’s block moments, listen to Post Malone, Travis Scott, or any other artists that keep it simple & to the point.

Post Malone - Rockstar (”I feel just like a rockstar”<-- Main point)

Variety, contrast, rhythm, & melody<--incorporate these wherever you can

It’s all about where the lead melody is in relation to the rhythm melody/bass

Setting=context/vibe component

“Roots in the ground” song: Short motifs (at end specifically) -->Short, playful notes, not emotional

Straight-time beats vs groove beats

Rhythmic simple melody/note vs. complex melody

Complex vocal melody vs. simple vocal melody <--contrast

Where would you hear this song being played at?

Come up with/imagine a prompt melody to start your lyrics. From there it’s not hard.

Get into character when writing. If it’s gangster, dress/act gangster when you write. Method act.

Story (vocals) vs. context (Instrumentals), which is easier to start with (writing)

Songwriting is equivalent to painting mental-pictures.

Start with a sentence about something, then repeat, alter subtle aspects, or elaborate.

Play with small clusters/multiples (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)<--Seconds notes/chords are being held, or number of times within a section/cycle notes are being played in a motif.

1/4=Straight-time, 3/4=Exponential Cycle? (Fibonacci Numbers)

1, 2, 3, 4 or some rhythm in 1/8 time, then the same rhythm in 1/4 time creates more complex rhythms

Mismatching (right-hand) chords with their (left-hand) bass melody is fun

Music is constantly diverging and converging.

Post Malone - Rockstar main vox melody: D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D#, D, D, D, D, D, D#, D, C (Anchor notes used: D#, D, C)

Secondary vocal melody: G, F, G, F, G, F, G, C, A#, A#, A#, A#, A#, A#, G#, G, F, D#/A#, A#, A#, A#, G#, G, F, D# (Anchor notes used: G, F, C, A#, G#, D#)

2-chord songs pull you from where you are (home base) to the feeling they want to put you in.

3-chord songs pull you & throw you in the air to a new feeling

4-chord songs are an emotional dance with multiple arch/climax points

5-chord songs add stair steps to these arch/climax points

The first note/chord/rhythm is your center/baseline emotional place. The song will take you from there. This prompts specific contrast in relation to the starting point.

Start with the showcased instrument - for hip-hop, it’s the bass & 808′

What’s the minimum amount o times you need to create variation? (Example: Sectional changes, key changes, beat changes, etc.)

Music - an ordinary message for an extraordinary frame

Essential component: Change of pace, focus, & emotion

Hum/beatbox something good, then input the lyrics

For a Post Malone/Tank God - Rockstar type song, describe the massive party/scene and shift the focus to different events/scenes within. (Why you got a 12 car garage? Been fucking hoes and popping pillies, don’t give a damn, it was legendary threw a TV out the window of the montage<--all fit the mood & describe different aspects of the rockstar life)

They’re gonna take your word for it, whatever you say/describe in the song.

Even if you’re trying to portray a different character, it’s still coming out of YOU.

When listening to music, you want a specific feeling to move you.

Jump into the song’s portrayed character when singing.

Simple to complex ratio: Amount of time:number of notes/chords

Is the melody accompanying the beat? or vice versa?

For each instrumental/vocal motif, write something that screams the vibe you’re going for.

“Ooh, that feels “_”.

If you can dance, vibe, & laugh, you’re in the correct mindset to write music.

Take the process 1 section at a time.

Create as much non-clashing variety & motion as you can while maintaining some ground.

Vocal rhythm matters more than melody. Even rap has annunciation/phonetic melody.

Rapping flow rate usually sits between 1/8 & 1/16 bpm, or 1/16 & 1/32

All of the chords in a chord progression don’t need to be different. Try repeating previously used chords.

Repetition & accentuation/emphasization

changing a 2-note motif into a 3-note motif at the last note (Lizzo - Truth Hurts “Minnesota Vikings”)

Music is metaphorical. Metaphors make the mind think.

Your audience wants to belong with you, and you want to belong with your audience. Most of your ways are common to all.

Travis Scott - Skyfall: Just frame the song with vocals that would do it justice. Clear emotion & rhythmic variation is what matters most.

Songs are collages/symphonies of separate dynamics and aesthetics diverging & converging.

Bass/rhythm - Environment/ Leads - Subject

Label, or call, something by it’s adjectives. It’s not “weed”, it’s “that sticky sticky”

All of my songs are within “Ivy’s world”. I’m welcoming the audience to my reality.

Put the listener in a certain space.

Pick a topic/flow/melody/rhythm/harmony/etc. & stick with it, then elaborate again and again until satisfied with what has unfolded, then pick a new center of axis.

Tempo - The ground/song’s heartbeat

Art says what words are incapable of saying. To illustrate a point effectively, explain it in doodles, in a song, or in a sketch.

What sounds/noises/instruments rise & fall? Motors, The waves, Voices, Sirens, etc.

Common patterns in our world: Increase/decrease, back & forth, bouncing, swinging, rocking, tapping, etc.

Contrast draws attention: Dawn Golden - Still Life (last note differs from the repeated notes before)

There’s a lot of simple melodies that say what you want to say. You just have to find them. Clear minds can carve through the possibilities quicker.

Miniature motifs can be combined to create more complex motifs.

Ad-libs are like your “crew”. They’re the voices of the people hanging out with the character during the song.

The better a motif/part is, the more you want to present part of the motif, and tease the possibility of completing it.

You gotta be cocky in order to effectively write music.

The key to slipping on another persona is complete and utter External AND Internal) confidence.

Who are you portraying? Who are you speaking to?/Where/who are you vocals being projected to? Drake speaks to his bodyguard/whoever’s next to him most times.

Transitional baselines/chords/notes* (Basslines/chords/notes between the main basslines/chords/notes)

Songs are literally just as important as any audio file or soundbite. Perceived value is placed by our own hearts & minds.

“Give me something I can “_” to!”

[naffwrites-blog]

10/2016

There is no freedom in anxiety. Everyone has had a head cold. Everyone knows that “my head is about to explode” feeling; the boxes and boxes of mildly lotion-ed Kleenex swiftly deposited into an overflowing trash can. Having to breathe through your mouth while you try to fall asleep and while you eat your food rendered tasteless by mucus. Whether it lasts three days or ten, you know there’s an end in sight. If you’re more mindful, you’ll remember to thank whatever gods you believe in that you’re not sick on those other 300 something days. With anxiety, you don’t get that relief. There’s no ten-day limit on your illness. There’s an ever piling metaphorical Kleenex tower and an endless river of metaphorical mucus all happening in your brain. There’s no vacation from it. There’s only a long, hard battle through the most terrifying tunnel of chaos you can imagine.

The problem with having a disorder that happens to be an adjective or noun already present in the English language is that it leads to innumerable misuses and misinterpretations. To a casual observer, “I’m sooo anxious about this test,” uttered by a middle school girl with her rolling backpack in tow and her braided hair swinging, becomes the same as “I’m too anxious to leave the house,” uttered by a beaten down, 25-year-old me. For anyone who hasn’t experienced any level of uncontrollable panic understands anxiety as one of those run of the mill emotions. The statement “I have anxiety” accompanied by a functioning adult with a full time job, an ample social life and a penchant for speeding on the highway doesn’t have the same ring to it as the same statement from a person who is too anxious to work, drive, or have any social life worth writing home about. Someone who has been struggling with true life-altering panic scoffs at any functioning member of society who claims anxiety as a dependent. And your best effort is never enough. It’s ironic to possess a chattering brain and collection of organs while simultaneously snailing along your life path.

It was my third summer working at an architecture firm on 34th and 9th avenue. My job was simple: scan these images, clean these 35mm slides with a tiny archivist’s brush, organize these renderings and floor plans. The individual images took so long to scan that I read all of Jane Eyre while I scanned a couple years’ worth of files. This left plenty of time for my brain to go on overdrive, and particularly a lot of time to focus on my stomach. Always a picky eater and a good 20 pounds underweight, I struggled to eat enough at lunch. The six hours between lunch and getting off of work often left me nauseous and lightheaded to the point of collapse. This particular day, I was set to attend a young alumni rooftop party, also in Manhattan. Although I had built up a solid group of friends in the first few years of high school, an addiction to weed and cocaine in my senior year left said friends on the brink of hating me.

My stomach lurched, careening me out of my scanning daze, a wave of nausea washing over me. I froze, immobilized, the not yet familiar feeling of panic filling my body from bottom to top like a scientific cylinder. My heart doubling in speed, my torso tensing, realizing that I might throw up at any second. I raced to the bathroom, keeping my outward composure for the snazzy architects in their open cubicles. Architects always wear the most avant gard glasses. Tiny circular and wire rim or too-big-for-their-face red cat eye frames. I crouched over the rim of the toilet and nothing happened. Afterwards, I hid in the archival shelves, pretending to file manila folders in the stacks. The wave of panic and nausea had transformed into a tsunami, ever rising over my head. Humiliated at the prospect of leaving work early, I edged into the archives department office and timidly told my boss Timothy that I had to go home because my stomach was bothering me.

I couldn’t possibly face the subway, so I called my dad to pick me up because it was his day off. I sat on the sidewalk, unable to stand, and giving off what I thought was a get-away-from-me vibe. Of course, a young man approached me and asked if I was okay. When I said I was, he barreled into his spiel about the circle line boat and proceeded to ask me for my number. I told him I don’t give out my number but I would take his. His name was Fashion. Yes, really. I still have his number for some reason, perhaps as a symbol to represent the last day I was able to work.

If you had told me this had been my last day of freedom, maybe I would have gotten on that circle line boat, run away with Fashion, gone to that high school reunion. Three years later, I don’t have those options anymore. Agoraphobia rapidly delivered me from Sylvia Plath interning in Manhattan to Emily Dickinson in her own personal prison.

#memoir

[tandamalaika]

Our adventures began at 7:30am when a large van pulled up outside our villa, and we loaded in like socks and underware stuffed into a tiny drawer. We had signed up for a cycling tour. Our $25 would take us off the beaten path on a wonderful, intimate journey through Bali countryside, and included breakfast, lunch, lessons on coffee production, rice paddies, the Hindu beliefs and untouched villages.

Our first stop was the Luwak Coffee farm. Though I’m not a coffee drinker, I had heard of some crazy little meerkat kind of creatures that were fed coffee beans and pooped out $100 cups of coffee! Well folks, I’m here to tell you that it’s true…these little civet cats are a nocturnal tree cat in Indonesia and feast on the coffee berry. They can’t digest the hard stone inside and poop out the little ‘gold nuggets’ which are gathered, washed and roasted. Supposedly the process “lowers the bitterness…imparting a musky smoothness.”

Jude decided that she was going to start eating the coffee berries and selling her poop to make make some extra cash on the side. If anyone is interested in an order, please contact us. We can enlist all the creatures if bulk orders are needed.

A couple trays of tea, hot coco and coffee samples were placed on each table, and visitors from all over sampled to their hearts content.

Cups of steaming or iced coffee was served to those who ordered for 100,000 IDR, which is $7.50. A pretty high price for a drink in this part of the world. In New York these same sized cups of coffee are sold for $100 a cup.

Our friend, Daniel, ordered coffee that was brought to the table looking like it was straight from a science lab. We watched in great anticipation as the water heated in the lower glass ball, boiled and worked its way up into the coffee chamber above and then filtered back down into the ball as a dark brewed concoction. Daniel doctored with a little milk and sugar and loved it.

With new coffee knowledge in our brains, we continued on to Kintamani Village, where we were served banana pancakes. The best part was the view of Mt Batung, which is a semi active volcano.

The volcano spread out across the valley to the edges of Lake Batur.

After enjoying the views we continued on to our drop off point, where we were met by Adi, our cycling guide, who constantly joked and immediately memorized all our names.

It was there that we were introduced to our waiting chariots, which we mounted and made sure everything functioned well. Especially the breaks! Daniel and Aidan immediately started doing funky tricks and spraying dust clouds as they skidded across the dirt.

We rode through a wide variety of terrain, including dirt back roads,

small farm roads,

and narrow paths.

We loved seeing the way farmers use their land so efficiently, growing as much as they possibly could on the land they own. On this lot, tangerine trees tower above thick healthy cabbages, which are neighbors with hot chili pepper plants and any remaining spaces are filled in with peanut plants. All the crops work well together – providing what the other needs for healthy growth, maximizing the yield.

In some areas there were fields of these large hot peppers, and in other fields, grew small even hotter red peppers.

We cycled through several tiny villages, each with their unique temples.

Periodically we’d come across farmers and their families weighing and loading crops onto trucks heading to the city.

I could just imagine the soups, salads and entrees that would be created with these beautiful juicy cabbages.

We passed little old ladies carrying heavy bags up and down uneven ground in the jungle. I wanted to help them all, and can’t believe their strength.

We also passed sweet little old men who got big smiles on their faces when we greeted them in Indonesian.

Some of the villages were larger than others and seemed to have been there with all the same people for hundreds of years. A spell cast. I want to go back and listen to their stories, learn their ways…

Early afternoon we passed a school bus, carrying excited children who waved and smiled at the weird white people sweating on their bikes.

One of the areas we passed through was where much of the concrete is poured into molds and set for building temples. The structures which are either grey, black or orange in color, are then transported, set in place and further carvings into the concrete are done on location.

Grey structures are made from regular concrete, the black is from concrete containing sand from the black sand beaches and the orange is from concrete containing the orange/red colored sand from various places around Bali. I love the breasts on the little old lady in front of this temple!

Shortly before entering the rice paddies, we came across women in a village drying rice on the road on tarps.

The dry rice was then scooped up into bags and sent to be husked. Adi tried convincing us that at breakfast they all sit around husking one grain at a time!

Four kinds are rice are grown here in Bali: Long grain white rice, short grain white rice, sticky rice and brown rice.

My favorite part of our entire day was cycling through the rice paddies. Small paths through endless green fields, chimes ringing out across the expanse in the breeze, a coolness in the air…it’s so incredibly beautiful!

We passed an old woman who was working knee deep in mud in her field, and I asked Adi what she was doing. He said she was weeding.

I immediately asked if I could help her, and Adi spoke to her and she nodded her head. Jude and I kicked off our shoes and climbed in!

It was only after I was up to my shins in mud and water that I took a closer look at my surroundings and realized that I had entered frog heaven. I looked up at Adi and asked, ‘Adi, what lives in the rice paddies?’ He replied, ‘What lives in the rice paddies Mum?’ I said ‘yes, Adi, what lives in this mud and water?’ ‘Oh!’ He smiled, ‘what lives in the rice paddies is snakes, leeches and fr…….’ I stopped him right there with my finger held high. ‘No Adi, don’t say it! Frogs do not live in the rice paddies!’ I tried to convince him of that. ‘Yes Mum, lots of frogs, lots and lots of frogs and tadpoles!’ Just as he said that a brave little soggy froggy of disgustingness jumped onto my hand! I sent that thing flying faster than Danny can fly a jet. Jude laughed at me and just then, something large moved under her foot and she squealed. Our sweet grandma in the paddy laughed at our sissiness. Emma joined us and weeded too.

We decided to suck it up and keep helping. The process was to pull weeds, then push them deep down into the mud so they would act as fertilizer. In no time at all our backs were killing us but we continued on. Adi said these people will wake early in the morning, get to work and stay till sunset.

Day after day after day… We saw the little huts farmers live in, and outside them each family had their alter to make offerings to the Gods.

We continued on through the rice paddies, constantly in awe of the beauty there, and so grateful to be witnessing it.

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After 5 hours of cycling, we reached the end in Ubud, where we were served lunch in a beautiful Balinese home. Teresa and I love the kitchen.

We had made friends with a family from Australia, and all sat at the table together.

Lots of deliciousness was served, and we were incredibly hungry!

Yum, yum and more yum!

I wandered through the yard, enjoying the peaceful setting and admired the simplicity of it all.

Adi showed me a lovely little spider,

and traditional things around the grounds.

Many alters stood in the garden where offerings are made daily.

In the center, out in the open, is the bed that is slept in the night before some of the more sacred ceremonies.

I could not imagine spending the day in a more beautiful place!

Bali is so beautiful. The people here are wonderful. It’s an amazing place to call home.

Cycling Bali Our adventures began at 7:30am when a large van pulled up outside our villa, and we loaded in like socks and underware stuffed into a tiny drawer.

[bronchitisandcigarettes-blog]

whisperings of you

read some Charles Bukowski if you're into his sort of thing. He's an incredible writer. It's honest and raw and broken. Everything so incredibly beautiful about your writing.That's all. Have a beautiful day and never forget how like the moon you are.

songs to listen to this week:evangelists by gangs of youth.Leo Kalyan - Fingertips (cln remix)halsey - trouble (stripped)broods - recoverytwo door cinema club - next year (RAC remix)

book recommendation: Junot Diaz - This is how you lose her.

Finished it this week. It's absolutely phenomenal. It's about love, written from the perspective of 'the bad guy' who's a love-troubled Dominican man. It's so tragic but so worth the read. I think you'd dig it. ✌

i don't know if you know, but Mary Lambert is taking a spoken word approach to melody in her new album and there's a piece called 'I know girls' - Live on KEXP. give it a watch/listen/minute.it's beautiful and important.

happy saturday from cape town.

I'm in India, and I've seen so many beautiful things in a space of two weeks. The air is heavy, like regret but the people are the happiest I've had the pleasure of seeing. They bathe beneath the moon and under trees wherever possible. I was walking through a forest in manali and came across a crop of weed (they call it Jai, here). The biggest, most green part of India that exists for the people, by the people. It's astonishing. Today I'm going to film on the Ganges River and I don't remember a time in my life where I've been as grateful for the little things as now. The skies are foggy and the sun hides all day until last light, where she screams so loud that your skin feels it running deep - deep like the dimples of the girl I love. It's humid here and I've learnt that people act so primitively in extremity, as if the most natural, innate parts of themselves are let free in the thickness of the day. You should come here, if you haven't, because true beauty like this, has a place for so long before people capitalize on it and make it ugly and sore. Hoping wherever you are, is where you're meant to be. Regards, Rebecca.

Oh oh oh! Songs to listen to this week : michl - when you loved me least. Michl - killed out way to heaven Anne Marie - her cover of Alicia Keys and Kent Jones on 1xtra Wet - don't wanna be your girl*killed our way to heaven. Autocorrect, soz.

today, i realised that for negation of self-sabotage, i need to decide which part of my brain and heart people deserve most. i breathed through today like i do a perfect sunset or a breathtakingly present moon. easily but not without remorse.

thank you for being proud of this community. your words carried such a weight but such light and were beautiful and oh so needed. thank you. from, Rebecca (Cape Town, South Africa)

this weekend, for whatever reason, i almost died at the mercy of my love for ---- (she's great and beautiful and absolutely made the moon). She once told me we love each other differently to how people think we do; "we exist in limbo between lovers and friends"

it killed me . I once told her I loved her under the stars and under influence and she floated away. she's someone I'm okay with loving from a distance because I know my feelings have no space in this limbo. - we're gliding through time on a tiny log and if I try and lean forward to look at her like she's the moon, then we both fall, over and under and won't ever be able to get back on. We'd fall down into the depths of friendship - pure and unadulterated ofcourse, but in this limbo, sometimes, she looks at me like I made the moon too. And i think just those moments might be enough to keep my heart from bleeding. You know? Until next time.

there's something so needed about this message box. i don't think i've ever been more honest. i'm sorry if honesty is sore and too much. i think even when people write privately, like on a blog, there's an audience aspect we wish to negate. i write to you and do that. there's a strange promise made and understood in the quiet of this.

do you ever wonder if you'll be seen. being seen is scary and i think she sees me. but then most days i'm convinced she wouldn't know what my heart looked like if it were packaged differently. sometimes i'm sure she loves me like i love her, but that idea hurts a lot more than her hands on my neck, because if it's true, she's touching him infront of me and hurting me and her. i'll be fine, and i think she'll be fine without me. it's crazy.this is a mess, and so am i.

there are large parts of my soul buried all over the world. an all-seeing one here, a suffocating one with her, a drowning one with me, a dying one with my mother. one day, i hope to gather them all together, have a meeting and love me with all of them. you know?songs to listen to:Sticky fingers - rum rage sticky fingers - feast your eyes sticky fingers - australia street sticky fingers - these girls

so last night, post-shift-pre-bed, when i was about to lock up the restaurant, a drunk mid-forties couples stumbled through the doors. this feeling.this is what i've come to know as gratitude. the man, who's name i'm relieved i don't remember because if i did, i couldn't type this. he shared his secrets so willingly, as if he'd known me his whole life. we spoke through divorce while his partner looked on, and drank more. i refilled her glass more times than i care to admit, just to hold onto one more sacred moment. one more story about his daughter. one more laugh he recalled and one more dream he wouldn't tell me under the harsh light of day.i learned someone well last night, purely based on the premise and understanding that we'd never see each other again.

he had the warmest eyes. they looked like ocean (Side bar: listen to ocean eyes// astronomyy). they were calm but i recognised a fierceness in them that i'd seen before more times than i care to remember in her. they were kind. he spoke about his alter ego- this muzo with dreams of a life devoid of attachment - he's a pisces you see. just like me. he loves everyone too fully to love himself but it's okay. she loves him. so much. with the kind of love that he needs. i remember when she laughed sarcastically and said:"aaah, and i've just made it soo easy on you", to which he lowered his voice, sighed and said:"yes. you have. you've made it so easy. i don't know who or where i would be without you" -in that moment, i saw every fight my parents ever had. i can't figure out why. but i think that's the point.. not knowing. there's a safety in that.

P.S Listen to dropout // you always win

she's in New York at the moment and I'm here.She's there and I'm here and I think it's always been that way - you know-how with her there and me here

2017 started with me kissing a girl I didn't believe. moral less, hope less. her less.it'll be fine. I usually just breath through the waves of sore. she needs to be hugged and i can feel it, but I'm here. And she's there

Last night - the love of her life sat next to me and It felt like I couldn't breathe. he has no idea how broken her whole makes me. Is that selfish and wantonly? Do I care?I probably do.Or not.I Don't know.

i write about her everyday.that's the point though isn't it?to love the shell of something so much it haunts you when you're breathing?goodnight from cape town.p.s wherever you are, i hope it's where you're meant to be.stay safe. (always)

-- unread message

[nickhansenisaboss-blog]

A Complete List of Reasons Not to do Drugs

They are bad for you, they makes you think worse, the ones that “aren’t addictive” because they don’t have withdrawal symptoms (weed) are actually addictive. Don’t believe me? Here’s research https://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/research-reports/marijuana/marijuana-addictive Yeah, withdrawal symptoms actually do happen with weed.    It has nothing to do with law or rebellion. It’s about self-control and that means at all times. I know I won’t have that control when I alter my inhibitions using drugs. that’s why I don’t.  It’s so weird being surrounded by people who are constantly doing something or other to alter the way they are thinking/feeling.    I think it’s because when people stop drowning out the noise using drugs, alcohol, radio, tv, internet, or their choice whatever, then they start having to cope with their actual feelings. They need to acknowledge their anxiety or depression, or realize that in recent times their lives have been empty. The person that said “Ignorance is bliss,” raised an important point. The reason geniuses like Steve Jobs use drugs, i think, isn’t because they needed them to come up with ideas. I think they just saw some of the objective shittiness with the world and with themselves and that was how the drowned it out.     The night before last I realized that I haven’t gone to sleep without some kind of screen going in almost two years. That’s fucked up, that I don’t even sleep without trying not to let my brain just do it’s thing. When I tried to sleep without anything to distract me, I was overcome with waves of powerful emotion and thoughts about old friends that I don’t talk to anymore. I was on that line between awake and asleep for hours. Then, I slept, and when I woke up I felt completely rested. and It hadn’t been 8 hours.    People like to distract themselves from what really matters. that sounds cheesy but think about your fandoms. politics. or any of the other fake crap that you look at and read to distract yourself from how you feel or how to fix the problems in your life.   I think It’s important to just let that happen. Just let yourself feel everything that’s been in you for so long. Feel it, unadulterated by anything that could distract you. I don’t know. Maybe being that sad will make you that happy later.

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