mirukaze

[mirukaze]

they call for me

tomosu #6013 • yamamoto masao, 2023

[mirukaze]

the regret we feel at the finality of death would be an emotion that’s much easier to digest than the possible pains of life

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Jordan Eagles art gallery made of real blood

[mirukaze]

i felt my head squeeze itself. my eyes felt the pressure. the heaviness in my chest came seconds after the squeeze, pain shooting down my leg, trying to pull my attention from the two major organs like ‘hey! my pain matters too’. so this is how i would react, if and when death knocks first instead of bulldozing the door open; laughing at the irony, still full of wonder at the body’s mechanisms, and leaving a trace if i had the chance. then i would sleep, like nothing happened, letting the fates decide if they would still wake me up tomorrow. faces pushing forward behind my eyelids like they’re dying to be my last memory.

[mirukaze]

@seima-tenshi was here.

[mirukaze]

with dirt like ears and stems like veins

i’ve left things here - buried names...

thoughts that didn’t mean to, but somehow fit inside a small hand-sized pit. ~ Helaena Moon

[mirukaze]

[mirukaze]

“Grief is not gauzy; it is substantial, oppressive, a thing opaque. The weight is heaviest in the mornings, post-sleep: a leaden heart, a stubborn reality that refuses to budge.”

— Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Notes on Grief

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[mirukaze]

ever had a drunken torture session with this piece sucking every sticky tar from your soul into a glass so you could drink it again?

[mirukaze]

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“I want what I am made of returned to me,”

— Clarissa Pinkola Estés, from “Women who Run with the Wolves,” c. 1992

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I will bear you on my blood.

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images by Amy Haslehurst

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“The world did not begin with me / it will not end with me / I am / one pulsebeat in the throbbing river”

— Octavio Paz, from “Identical Time”, The Poems of Octavio Paz (via wordscanbeenough)

[mirukaze]

i should have stolen your lighter