lorelarc

[lorelarc]

I peel away strips of waxen skin,

And split open your delicate body,

To relish on your hidden treasure,

Of rubies and juice and blood.

I plunge my fingers in your soft flesh

And smile as your burst against my skin,

Staining me red with your sweet blood,

Marking me with your love,

An eternal declaration and reminder.

I place you in my famished mouth,

And chew on your succulent entrails

Just to feel you pop against my teeth

And slide down my throat,

I savour your sweetness with passion.

You make a mess of my person,

As I desperately dig for a last morsel of you

To place in my mouth and enjoy,

To feel full, replenished and satisfied

Of you, your blood, your flesh,

To feel my fingers sticky with your juices,

To feel my skin smothered in your love,

To lick your sweetness from my lips,

And forever be haunted by a sour after-taste,

When it is all over,

That only you can erase,

By coming back to me,

And allowing me to plunge my fingers,

In your willing body,

And quench my hunger for you.

-----n.a.j.

[lorelarc]

this is something i would say

The marauders as conversations I've had:

Reg, in the bath:

James: Reggie!!!! you alive in there?

Reg: sadly!!!!

James: pardon!?!

Reg: yes!!!!

[lorelarc]

bro i didn’t even KNOW. i was so unprepared for the rest of the satine episodes. they’re my favorites

season 2 episode 12 of the clone wars is so incredibly moulin rouge coded

[lorelarc]

i like to walk in front

with you behind

so i don’t know that you’re gone

until its too late to make you stay

if i concede and walk behind

i’ll kiss the ground in front of me

but that would be foolish

for you are the poison

you salt the earth behind you

destroying my garden

ruining my crops

killing me slowly

oh so slowly

so i walk in front

and if you stop walking

i won’t turn around

i’ll keep going steady

committed to the march

committed to the rhythm

committed to the life

committed to the lie

the lie the lie the lie

and i’ll salt the earth behind me

[lorelarc]

Inspiration strikes like a hammer on an abandoned anvil in the dead of night. Sparks fly from the connection and land on long forgotten ideas and buried memories. The sparks bring light which allows for creativity to find its way among the forests and rivers that live in your mind. It weaves through possibilities so fast that it can be hard to catch up and not let ideas slip past. My sparks seem to be smaller than others. They light up less and focus only on past lovers. I wish my creativity could pass by something profound. Something beautiful that only angels or devils would ever say out loud. Something that rocks foundations and moves generations. But how could i be a vessel for beauty when i have so little to give the world? My perspective means nothing to most and something to few and everything to no one. Does that make me no one? Can i move someone with the smallest spark or will it go out and give way to the dark? I have a warped sense of time and importance but my feelings are real and valid and potent. Are my feelings my only value or contribution? Can i escape unscathed and free of retribution? No. I know that could never be reality. I know my offering will be much more than i could ever see. For my own sake i have to let myself imagine but i can never let myself believe I’ll be loved until it happens. If i want it too much it will pass me by but i have to want it enough to know it when it arrives. Lines are hard to draw and even harder to abide but i hope that I’ll be wise enough to bear my lines in mind and take them in my stride and never let myself be led by a lie. Love yourself and others to the extent that you can, but most of all give kindness to everyone, whether or not they were in your plan.

[lorelarc]

Every single day i am overwhelmingly amazed by the effect people with influence have on the general public. Ignoring bad influencers and celebrities, famous people are so intriguing because some random person just decided that they were gonna do something like make music or become an actor or comedian and suddenly thousands or millions of people love them to death and it’s just so incredible to witness especially if you get to follow someone’s journey from virtual anonymity to complete and total stardom. Of course the ones who preach and condone bad behavior are not to be celebrated but they still did something that a good amount of people find interesting enough to care about and keep track of which tends to bamboozle me. Also cancel culture sucks. Yes some people are horrible and deserve no fame or recognition but there are so many people that make mistakes and then learn and grow but they get demonized for the bad thing they did even if it was years in the past and fans and critics alike never let it go. I don’t get it. There’s a difference in holding people accountable and trying to take away every ounce of success they have just because they do something a few people don’t agree with. There is, of course, also a line in the sand. Some things are unforgivable or barely forgivable and I’m not going to include examples, you can form your own opinions on what crosses the line and what doesn’t, but I think it’s worth discussing what those boundaries are and how they might differ in the minds of different people from different upbringings and cultures. Differences of opinion should be celebrated to an extend because our differences are what make us beautiful. That being said, similarities are beautiful too. Ok love y’all <3

[lorelarc]

i hated milk as a child. so much so that i bit the rubber nozzle off of every single one of my bottles. the taste of milk made me want to cry.

i used to sit outside at recess and dig in the ground for snails. they were all over the place in the small key west schoolyard. i took them home in the bottom compartment of my lunchbox and tried to keep them alive in tupperware with holes poked in the lid and random plants from my yard.

i read obsessively when i was young, still do. books are comfort and they provide an imaginative outlet. i would fall asleep with a book next to me or resting on my chest. i read the harry potter series eight times in three years while still reading everything else i possibly could. i staunchly refused to put my book down unless i absolutely had to.

i have loved greek mythology for as long as i can remember. at times i feel almost as if i was born with the stories pre-downloaded into my brain. it was my favorite thing to learn about and remains something i am passionate about to this day. it fascinates me to think about the wonderful stories people used to come up with to explain the things they didn’t have the resources to explain.

certain fabrics make my entire body seize up. crushed velvet, certain types of lace, overly starched papery linens, and anything scratchy or itchy. they’re horrible. with just one touch i can feel the irritation blooming into what can only be described as an unbearable need to rip the fabric from my body and toss it far, far away before i burst into tears. my adverse reactions to things were always over the top and sometimes it’s still hard to keep things under control.

i remember having exactly three close friends when i lived in key west, at least three that i saw often and remember well. emilia, grace, and nico. there were plenty of other friends and classmates that i could spend time with but I always preferred being with one of those three. with everyone else i felt subtly uncomfortable in a way i never quite understood and still don’t. there’s a chance that i will never fully grasp the intricate roadmap of emotional connections between childhood friends.

Marguerite.

when i was young i spent any time not with my parents or friends with Marguerite. she was like my third grandmother. she was my best friend in the world and i wanted nothing more than to be with her all the time. i had so much fun playing carts games and feeding manatees from the garden hose at her houseboat. and then she died, 13 days before my sixth birthday. i remember nothing. allowing myself to remember anything would’ve stirred up the silt at the bottom of my own personal acheron river. the memory of Marguerite settled deep into the bed of that river. everything negative that i have felt since then flows through that river and stirs up the silt. the force of the current varies but it always stirs up a piece of that lifetime of pain that i was given at age six. that i couldn’t hold onto at age six. and, so, i remember nothing.

i was viewed as a strange child by many of my peers’ parents. i never greatly enjoyed the activities that most children adore. i loved broccoli. i hated group projects. my mother sang opera to me and i stopped crying. i read every single book i could get my hands on, every chance i got. i knew every song from the sound of music before i was capable of forming the words to properly sing. my life has become a rich tapestry of inconsistencies and rarities of character. my young self would never have imagined what her life looks like now. it was all so different back then. the dreams, the hopes, the goals, they were all so different before the darker fibers were woven in. i wanted to be a happy shiny person when i was little but we are not shiny happy people. we are darkness and light and all the shades in between, colors and greyscales, blending and harsh lines, sharp corners and fluid, soft edges. a tapestry filled with those we love and those we hate. our favorites and our least favorites. everything that contributed to anyone’s current state of being can be found within their tapestry. and it is beautiful. we are beautiful. and we are worthy of the light that we deserve.

[lorelarc]

spontaneity:

spontaneity is important. - it allows for our imaginations to grow further than we thought possible. it opens our consciences to things we never would’ve known about. it extends the already far reaches of the emotions we hold inside. - spontaneity is important.

but equally important is the pause. the hesitation. the slight wariness that comes before you take a risk. that small gap in time that allows you to devote a second of contemplation to your next move. the moment that allows you to weigh the pros and cons. to make a more educated choice. it’s important to remember that too.

it’s important to pause. to wait. to breathe for a moment before you have the best or worst experience of your life. the pauses keep you grounded. the moments keep you yourself. the time heals your fear. and the fear ceases to control you.

pause. but allow yourself the spontaneity. allow yourself the freedom and adventure. allow it to envelop you and bring peace. - spontaneity and pauses. freedom and moments. life and time. love. - love, and grow into yourself

[lorelarc]

i am absolutely, incredibly, and wholly consumed by the allusions and real life relevance of swan upon leda. this song will never leave my listening rotation. i feel a stronger connection to it than i do to almost every other song i’ve ever heard. it makes me want to dance. it makes me want to cry. it makes me want to scream. it makes me seek comfort and seek to provide comfort. it fills me with a yearning to be as completely and unashamedly myself as i possibly can and it forces a deep need to hide somewhere dark and comfortable and never come out. it makes my heart sing with a yearning to escape the societal traps imposed upon women and the lgbtqia+ community and people of color. to go somewhere kind and pure, but also to stay and fight for the betterment of our planet and our people. this beautiful creation activates every contradiction in my body and has become one of the driving forces behind my motivation, curiosity, and passion for the things that are important to me. i will love andrew john hozier-byrne for this as long as i live and simultaneously never forgive him for forcing the harsh reality of my existence into sharp relief. i love it. i hate it. i deeply needed it. and i am eternally thankful.