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[black69smoke]

ADRIENNE RICH x MOSS ANGEL THE UNDYING x ANA MENDIETA

‘The Burning of Paper Instead of Children’, Collected Poems: 1950 – 2012 (2016);

Sea-Witch Vol. 2: Girldirt Angelfog (2017);

Untitled: Silueta Series (1978), Super-8 film, colour, silent

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This is what I remember: losing myself. You have to know one thing about me: I'm an observer. I notice things. So it didn't take me long to notice what you liked about me. Not long to understand that the traits and the things and the tidbits that made your heart beat faster had little to do with me and a lot with the idea you had of me in your head. The blond girl, the throws back her head shaking with laughter kind of girl, the girl who sits at home and waits for you to come back late at night, the girl who unlearns to enjoy herself when you're not around. I became her. I was her, for you, for as long I could. This is how it started: I donned a mask every time you came over. My features never slipped, a sweet smile permanently glued to my face, every line filled to the brim with adoration. You looked at me and I saw bright lights and I thought it was how it had to be. I thought this was how it was supposed to feel. A tightness in my chest, in my lungs. Feeling too small for my body, for you, for this world. It didn't matter that I tried to decode entire conversations when you left. That I thought everything I said and did was wrong, that I blamed me for your outbursts, for your deciding to drive home in the middle of the night, for your pretending I did not exist for weeks on end. And I felt like it. I felt like I did not exist. This is what I have to remind myself of: I rediscovered myself. I stuck my hands into piles of ash, debris and broken bone, and I dug so deep, I nearly got stuck on the way back up. I found her, I think. I found who she was before you, buried who she was with you, and treasure who she will become after you. Because there will be an after you, and it will be glorious. And you know me: I'm an observer. I notice things. And I remember them. And no matter how many times I encounter a part of me that misses you, the memory of losing myself will always be clearer, more fleshed out than the muscle memory of my fingers tracing the palm of your hand.

- this is what I remember: losing myself / n.j.

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when you came back you brought back the poetry

3 magical words

I can't write like I used to So maybe I should let you break my heart again Maybe I should let myself feel that torment again  That visceral pain that only you can create Just to scribble those three magical words again – I hate you More than I hate myself And that's saying enough,  Considering the lack of confidence That you instilled in me,  A spine-chilling nightmare Just another vile, primitive, savage You can't run people on your fingers anymore  And it tickles me just the right way, What a delight to see your world collapse, my friend Well, well, look who's laughing in the end!

~ A. A. Roman

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— Malia Makana, from “Like Differently Love.”

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— Kim Visda, from “For Lack Of A Better Poem.”

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this is something my old me would like

— Amanda Helm, from “The Day I Learned That I was Broken.”

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- j (x), hobbies

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comfort space

My airpods aren’t leaving my ears lately. I’m in a weird mood at the moment and music has been my companion in these waves of nostalgia. I created a playlist, which is called like a quote, I never do that, I always use symbols and cover up names, so it isn’t that obvious, a little hidden message for myself. 

When I listen to these melodies, listen to their words, feel their emotions I don’t feel so alone anymore. I’ve been feeling much loneliness in these past few weeks. Music gives me a big hug, when there’s nobody else here to do it. 

-B69S

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dreizehn

Deutschrap ist immer noch tief in mir verankert. 

Als meine Welt mit 13 Jahren zusammenbrach, entdeckte ich die Worte, die mir aus dem Herzen sprachen. Schlaf war ein Fremdwort, jede Nacht lag ich wach, Kopfhörer in den Ohren und die Musik dröhnte durch meinen Kopf. Mein Vater stopfte seine Zigaretten immer selbst, es fiel nie auf, wenn drei, vier fehlten. Ich fing an mich in der Rauchwolke zu verlieren.

Diese Härte und Ehrlichkeit, mit der die Künstler um sich schlugen, gab mir ein Gefühl von Zugehörigkeit und zeigte mir, dass Schmerz schön sein kann, weil auch Schmerz ist eine Form von Kunst. Musik ist für sie ein Ventil, die einzige Möglichkeit ihr Herz auszuschütten ohne dabei unterbrochen zu werden. 

Auch mir hörte damals niemand zu und ich konnte das, was ich dachte und fühlte nicht wiedergeben, wenn mir ein Gesicht entgegen stand. So fing ich auch an die Buchstaben an die Wand zu malen.

- B69S

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“She wanted a storm to match her rage.”

— George R.R. Martin

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carry on, rainbow rowell // the lamment of icarus, herbert james draper // apollo to icarus, nikita gill // sunlight, hozier // icarus, oscar wilde.

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“before you die, experience the love of a writer, poet or painter.

if you’re lucky enough to be an artist’s muse, they will immortalise you.”

- Soledad Francis

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“If I tell you I want you

that means your demons

can come too.”

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It haunts me. Every memory made in the past, cursed to be remembered. It feels like a sword is being pushed into my lungs. But now they are filled with smoke, only with smoke and air. No need to feel guilty anymore. Left the old me behind. I don‘t want to carry her into my future. I must get rid of her in the present, but I’m failing to do so. I must control it, the only way out is to bite back.

source: thought factory in my brain B/S

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Tracy K. Smith, “Don’t You Wonder, Sometimes?”

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You leave a piece of yourself in the every hand you hold

You leave a footprint in every road you walk

Every mirror you look sees a diffrent face

I can't catch up to its pace

I can't find a touch, of the things once my fingertips felt

I can't find a trace, of the love I once had

Can people shed souls like snakes shed skin?

Can poeple shed tears like clouds shed rain?

Can people hide themselves into the ground without a coffin?

You are the question mark at the end of the sentence

Left waiting

You are never going to feel whole without an answer.