alterord

[alterord]

I’m not quite sure somebody’s left here, at this point. After all, this page has been abandoned for a while... in case you’re here though I felt like sharing something really personal, and maybe you’d feel like checking it out on my new tumblr account. It was just a photo hub for a lot of time but now I think it might be reinstated to act as something more, if my enthusiasm doesn’t wear off the very next day, that is. I hope your lockdowns are okay and feel free to message me if you need to talk or just share cat memes (preferably, on the new account, or through other means of communication that are listed both here & that acc). See you soon folks! hopefully. 

today was the day I died

Today was the day I died. Today I decided I’d speak with a tree for it was the day I decided I’d try everything; little things, collected, brought together by a quiet voice inside a small chambers, like a confession - sinful, full of secrets. Today I picked the flowers for my funeral. I picked lilies. I wanted to return to inner state of innocence. I wanted to go home. Today was the day I died. I decided so. I decided I didn’t like the feeling of my brain crashing onto the walls of my skull, and I wanted it to stop. I didn’t like the feeling of blood rushing through me, constantly, and I wanted my wrists to finally feel hollow. Snake jaw snapped open, and I hid inside; it was warm and safe, and nobody would look for me in here.

I would very much like to die like a mole - in a little hole, hidden away from the world. Because if I couldn’t be fast enough to outrun my own thoughts then I would have to smother myself with dirt and be buried alive. That way, I would know where the suffocation was coming from, what I died of. That way, I’d have some control. That way, I would know to whom I owe the gratitude. I’d send thank-you-postcards, annually, with a graveyard listed as a return address, because there’s nothing wrong with talking to the dead; when they started it, first.

When I was little, everybody told me I had vivid imagination. Little did they know I’d use in creating my own grave. While everything’s my fault, no matter how small I get I still can’t fit inside a mole hole. I always take up too much air, even when I’m the only one still alive in the room. I’m the biggest of small moles.

But I just really wanted to have my own hole on the side of the hill, and to die there.

[alterord]

Hi people! Unfortunately, this Tumblr account has kinda lost its purpose. BUT as I’m starting to use the platform as creative portfolio page, I’d like to invite you people to visit altervakkert.tumblr.com and alterord.tumblr.com, it’d mean a lot to me. It’s a photo and text hub, with all of my original work. Thank you for your attention.

[alterord]

Beware of the west wind!..

She gets up really early, somewhere around 4 am She’s getting dressed, and she’s made out of smoke and dew Her hair’s entirely made of wind, wild and unsuppressed  And her hair drugs along, it inflates the ashes like dust.

All the mongrels suddenly feel it’s their duty to chase after her,  And I’m among ‘em, and I’m hardly dragging behind  because I’m only a bum without a dime to my name. She’s so fine. She is today and was yesterday.  And if she lets her hair down then suddenly there’s no air  left, and you wanna leave this place for good as fast as you can  but, then, there’s a trade wind within.

All your life you’ve been told to beware if there’s a west wind.  beware it and avoid while you still can but if catches up to you  then stand still and do not try to escape... Her hair’s made of that  and her gear is the ashes you gather around  and hold in your palms with some dew and tradewinds and smoke,  and you to create another her but she’s one of the kind. 

She stopes by really early, it’s somewhere around 4 am,  and she looks quite sad  and yet her hair’s is the wind and sweet heather and, slightly, wormwood,  her hangs down to the floor, and your room is crowded with it.  It is suddenly hard to breathe and you want to escape from here but her hair’s made out of tradewind  and if you’d go way somewhere then it’s only to follow it. 

[alterord]

Have you ever seen a man so broken as that one man that you are looking at?

[alterord]

playlists based on locations and their aesthetics

suburbia; neon store lights, empty parking lots with teens smoking on sidewalks where they think their parents don’t see, one story houses in neighborhoods where no one’s secrets stay hidden long

cities; towering skyscrapers and overcrowded city blocks, driving through streets at night when lit up windows looks like stars, wandering the empty blocks at 3am after a drunken night out at some dive bar with your friends

sweet southern romanticism; sprawling fields that glow gold in the light, small farmhouses where you wake up to the ambiance of the farm animals, homemade pies and sun stained polaroids from your childhood

dark academia; the secrets on campus are hidden amongst the bookshelves of the century old library, students wear tweed and perpetually radiate autumn, someone went missing and two of the students in your classics lecture share knowing looks

midwestern gothic; endless plains and hills drenched in snow, suffocatingly small towns ringed by ominous forests, mysterious rustling in the cornfields and strange noises amidst the trees, abandoned gas stations, frostbite nips at your toes and fingers

pacific northwestern gothic; small, glowing lights in the distance on the freeway, isolated houses dotted through the dew soaked forests, rustling of something big moving through the trees, the smell of moss and pine and petrichor perpetually hanging in the air

[alterord]

где вчера было море, сегодня останется лишь пустырь. я говорю ей, молю её: пожалуйста, отпусти, а она лишь смеётся. где вчера был лес, сегодня осталась зола, и бетонный крест. посмотри на меня: я живу один, никого не прошу, чтобы распяли меня на кресте или крест на мне, и мне хорошо одному. а потом, представляешь, осень снова пришла, и мы снова вышли из дома босыми. мне хорошо одному, но я продолжаю писать тебе. солнце садится все раньше, и все темнее становится этот мир. мы забыли, что если об осени говорить, то только с друг другом и очень тихо, и поэтому нас услышали, рассекретили, увезли в осенний лес, где ольха, осина и куст рябины сменили цвет, и осыпались на грунтовку ковром, в котором погрязли босые ноги. мы вышли из дома за чудесами, но так ничего не нашли. и я сижу на балконе, марая бумагу, и жду рассвета, чтобы рассеять власть тишины над этой пустой квартирой. послушай, прости меня, я соврал, я сказал, что мне хорошо жить одному, но это не так. я вывожу акрошифром тебе на дубовом листе, потому что он единственный не опал, как невыносимо шуршит все в этом городе с наступлением осени, и как стало невыносимо вдруг жить, и хочется, чтобы осень тоже меня отпустила.

[alterord]

i think it’s a shame that so many people speak perfect english just from the internet/tv and get no real recognition for it. there’s this horrible assumption that being fluent in english is just a given (propaganda from americans in cargo shorts i believe) and english is brushed off as an “easy” language. that isn’t the case at all and if you’ve learned english that’s amazing and im honestly in awe. i hate that people achieve so much to reach the minimum expectation, and then english speakers will pat themselves on the back for being able to count to 10 in french

[alterord]

@incorrect-class-quotes (7/?)

[alterord]

Atypical (2017)

[alterord]

FUCK I think I’m gonna fall apart.

Чем глубже в лес, тем толще партизаны, твою ж налево.  Okay, it was bad enough that I’ve been writing poetry but this is whole other level! Being of sound mind and solid memory, I wrote something that could be a song, I guess? Yep, that’s it. 

Telling everybody about them is always hard, the person that I love. They're shining like the sun, the person that I love, oh, they're so fun. They're modest and a little shy, and spending time with them is so worthwhile. I loved them all the time I had them in my life, they were so unexpected, they lit my life on fire, and it burnt. And they dire like an untuned radio, like a bird on a wire - they say: Maybe, I'm not something you need, something you're waiting for, maybe, I am the speed and you want it so bad you don't even think you could crash. And then I reply: maybe you're right, maybe, you're right, but I've found you and now all inside me aches when you're not around, and I don't think I'm strong enough to silently watch how my body easily breaks. Impossible things, even as they seem. I've seen the Sun and it's doesn't match you. In fact, after you, it's the bleakest thing I've seen. I tried, honestly, I've tried to reject you but the person that I love wouldn't leave me just be. Oh the person that I love. Going back to the corner where I first saw you, I now know I was right when I thought that's the end of me. Oh boy, the person that I love could easily break my heart with only their smile, oh, when they smile it's like the whole world's on fire and we're content and we're burning with it.

[alterord]

[alterord]

And sometimes, when I have seen the pure white clouds billowing in the sky after a rain, I used to think that it was as if the angels themselves were hanging out their washing for I reasoned that someone must do it as everything in Heaven must be very clean and fresh. But these were childish fancies, as children like to tell themselves stories about things that are not visible. And I was scarcely more than a child at the time, though I thought of myself as a grown woman. –Alias Grace, part 3

[alterord]

I think of all the things that have been written about me. That I am an inhuman female demon. That I am an innocent victim of a blackguard, forced against my will and in danger of my own life. That I was too ignorant to know how to act, and that to hang me would be judicial murder. That I am well and decently dressed, that I robbed a dead woman to appear so. That I am of a sullen disposition with a quarrelsome temper. That I have the appearance of a person rather above my humble station. That I am a good girl with a pliable nature and no harm is told of me. That I am cunning and devious. That I am soft in the head and little better than an idiot. And I wonder, how can I be all of these different things at once? –Alias Grace, part 1

[alterord]

It is knowledge of me you crave, Doctor. Forbidden knowledge. Knowledge with a lurid glare to it. Knowledge gained through a descent into the pit. You want to go where I can never go. See what I can never see inside me. You want open up my body and peer inside. In your hand, you want to hold my beating female heart. – Alias Grace, part 2

[alterord]

I, personally, feel like I’ve taken the best of the religion, and thrown away the rest. And, what’s the best? It’s like … compassion towards others. Be grateful for what you get. Help people. Be positive. Do what’s best for others, not only yourself. That’s that. But, that’s exactly what the rituals in Islam remind you of. By fasting, praying five times a day, it gives you a focus. It reminds you of what’s most important in the world - to be a good person. Don’t you think I’ll remember to be a good person without having to pray? Like, to me, I stress through the day with a hundred thoughts in my head and everything can be a total chaos, but when I start to pray, everything turns silent and clear. Because in spite of all the chaos, you remember what really matters. It’s fine because everything has a meaning.

[alterord]

Are these kids even real???

[alterord]

What is art? This is art.