gemorcales

[gemorcales]

I have no outline tho, just vibes

[gemorcales]

habitual addict

i am an addict, but not to drugs nor alcohol.

im addicted to the taste of 

sugar cookies and laughter on my tongue 

the smell of crinkled leaves piled

atop the wet dirt and the magic

that life can bring that

i cannot find anymore.

i am an addict to my own brain,

the thoughts that are shiny

and beautiful and colorful and

romanticized and 

not for an instant real, and

i see my old self standing there,

the girl whose mind just started fogging up, 

the beauty fills my senses and

i couldnt forget the surge of emotion i felt

staring at someone who no longer lives here,

on this earth, in this moment.

i am not going crazy but soon i will be

because i am addicted to the grip of 

the breeze as it claws to my 

bare and saggy arms,

the breeze that knew me before

i believed my flesh to be this way.

i am addicted to both eating and the

thought of starving myself but i cant,

my mind wont let me and for an instant

it drives me crazy but i repeat what others say

and suddenly it’s for the better.

i am addicted to the youth i lived 

before i knew what youth was,

before i realized how time was tick 

tick ticking and how little i had left and

i am addicted to the thoughts that force 

me awake at night, thoughts that become

these long and redundant run on sentences

that no one will read because someone

has said these words once and they sounded

much better than mine and

i am an addict, and i am addicted 

to self destruction, running in circles

with memories so far overused they play

like a scratched vinyl, endlessly spinning, 

straining more each day.

i am addicted.

and to go to rehab would mean to

reshape my mind.

— jacqueline buechel (2024)

[gemorcales]

a good sailor will always return to the sea

[gemorcales]

Slow Burn Realization Prompts

✶ “when did it happen? when did i start looking at you like that?”

✶ “i think i always knew, i just didn’t want to ruin it.”

✶ “you’re the only constant in my chaos.”

✶ “everyone else faded. you stayed.”

✶ “you laugh, and something in me aches to keep you happy.”

✶ “i didn’t mean to fall for you. i just... tripped into it, slowly.”

✶ “i watched you fall asleep one night and everything just clicked.”

✶ “i tried to convince myself it was just friendship. it never was.”

✶ “i think the scariest part is how much sense you make.”

✶ “and then one day, i looked at you and thought: ‘oh. it’s you.’”

[gemorcales]

I.. I love this 🥹⭐️

Pinterest Tag Game !

Go to pinterest, search "your name + core," then post six pictures... and tag six people!

Thankyou for the tag @glowydiaries ✨

I'm tagging: @cowboylikediane @ego94 @evaneds @hotdigitallegend @inafictionalworld + you! 🫶

[gemorcales]

[gemorcales]

GOING BACK TO THE CORNER WHERE I FIRST SAW YOU-

[gemorcales]

this made me do a hard single laugh so rough it felt like a throwing a rock out of my lungs

people say “write what you know” and then get surprised when i hand them 47 pages of unprocessed emotional trauma disguised as fantasy worldbuilding

[gemorcales]

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

[gemorcales]

marie howe, in an interview with krista tippett of on being

[gemorcales]

In Bloom

poppies curled as they grew up my arms, anemone bloomed from my palms— from my mouth sprouted violets. my feet planted themselves, deep-rooted, twisting vines secured; the skin of my face ached for the sun. lilies of the valley adorned my crown. amethyst formed in my eyes, purple and white— sight clouded by intuition, flooded by beauty. the honey that ran through my veins glistened as it spilled down my chest. thick and heavy, it collected fallen petals as it ventured down. iris threw itself from my ankles, spiraling up my legs— the flora conquered. all that was once peach found itself drowned in a sea of green. in the moment of eclipse, as transcendence was in reach, the last of my will slipped past my lips. as the sun sets, another flower is planted in Gaia.

Liya K. Lynn

-

[gemorcales]

Twist Her

Water hangs in the air yet refuses to fall from the sky, motes stained green by pollen. Snapped stems and discarded wrappers ride on the wind. In a small corner of the parking lot, a breeze asked the dust along the asphalt to dance. How gently they held each other, how the wind stuttered at the slightest flirtation. Losing themselves, they twirled faster, starved, taking as they needed. In the throes of passion, the breeze became the wind, and the dust became shrapnel. Growing larger and hungrier, the pair continued reeling through the lot. Abolishing all in their wake, vehicles were discarded—useless, impeding. Great buildings—just furniture to crawl over in the heat. They fell through each other, blurring the line where fluid and rigid met. Each claimed the other with the ache of something already destroyed. Very little survives such a ravaging—least of all a breeze and some dust.

Liya K. Lynn

[gemorcales]

penniless thoughts no. 02

if only i could write her

[gemorcales]

Skirt along the edge

Of something real and something deep,

So you may too, for lack of more,

Know what you want to seek.

You will not find it ever,

Like it's meant for those like us;

But Onward you will wander after

With no hope of giving up.

[gemorcales]

"Across Lifetimes Untold, We Still Say Hello"

This piece is inspired by a petroglyph in Peterborough, Ontario, c. 900-1100 CE. The First Nations people call them Kinomagewapkong, "The Teaching Rocks". To the Anishinaabe, the rock site is sacred, an area where spirits and the corporeal can meet. This figure really sticks out, scholars believe the top of their head is the Sun.

How the sun's light reflects upon the moon shining across our faces as we look up and connect, 2024.

[gemorcales]

"Moksha"

"Shambhala"

"Saddhu"

Three part mixed media series, 2024. The ascetic lay under the banyan tree, the fungi took hold of his brain. He achieved moksha for his madness and now his soul non/exists within Shambhala.

[gemorcales]

"my troubles in communication"

Mixed media collage, 2024. My experience with how it is talking with others. The ear, eye, and mouth are photos of my own parts. They are rendered in the struggle to work together in the communication process.

The brain is a hand grenade,

Words shoot-to-kill first,

I stutter or be silent-

Fire.