starryrain

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me when starryrain depicts the blurred line between emotional and physical sensations and the tender human flesh (in the best way) and bodies touching and

me when tea dissects my work the way it was meant to be pulled apart 🤕😄

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hi everyone i did a thing

music: ramalama bang bang ★ software: krita and ffmpeg

featuring guy who makes having hemophilia his entire personality, goth girl failing in the workplace, and ridiculous white boy who hates his life. details below!!!

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A Dead Shark Isn’t Art, torrin a. greathouse

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i don't like what i'm becoming and a part of what i'm becoming antagonises the self-hatred that i use to regress

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here's a poem i thought you would like !

tears up so profusely… thank you. i adore this (and you) and the poem is a part of me. thank you thank you mwahhhh !!!!

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i care (or do i?)

i wrote something about the burden of concern and care, and how it'll never be enough, and it'll never compare to that one completely perfect person that is always haunting your actions. enjoy.

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tamino and mitski photographed by ramy moharam fouad

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sorry i’m late i slithered here from eden just to hide outside your door

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thinking about cass & dick and being able to clock each other instantly.. or not being able to clock each other and freaking out. always the perceiver never the perceived. thinking about how they're two sides of the same coin, so close yet too far apart to meet, turning and turning yet never on the same plane. thinking about how they don't agree on much but they'll always agree on the belief in the world they're trying to protect, in the salvation they seek from penance, in the absolute precision of every movement, from the flick of a wrist to a twitch of their toes. they have two hands attached to their arms, one to carry sin and one to carry sacrifice, and they head out into the world in hopes of preserving the very thing that saved them. the thread of life ties them together and they offer to the world themselves, holy and whole.

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Nathaniel Orion G. K. / 11.21.24

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touch-starvation needs to be written with emphasis on the starving part. you are hungry to be touched. so hungry that even the very taste of it makes you nauseous. it has been long since anything has ever touched you, ever fed you - that your body has grown more used to that gnawing emptiness more than anything else. it's better for you to be held, to eat but it makes you sick to try. you know

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i love how tamino is like “your music and the sound of your voice gives me life please never stop, my love couldn’t compare to the beauty of your voice” and hozier’s like “yeeeah it’s definitely… a song… i won’t tell you to shut up but it’s not like you are a great singer as well…”

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— David Cronenberg, Consumed

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Yannis Ritsos, trans. by Kimon Friar, from a poem featured in "Erotica: Love Poems,"

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guys i found my new favourite site. i can type faster and read at the same time?? this is a beautiful invention why did no one tell me about this

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i grow with the same aches and pains in the same way that the house that i spent my childhood in did - the precise address and house always changing but the energy consistent - with groans as the wind blows past in unrelenting fury, with shudders as the heat boils down and with wails and the rain pummels down on the sturdy rooftop.

i grew steadily, but somehow shakily, like the strong bamboo outside my window yeah survives the tumultuous semantics of weather, yet bends at the lightest touch of breeze.

i wish to be like these childhood homes. steadfast and clean in their pure and joyful energy. i hope and pray as i grow that i can shed behind the parts of myself that i despise and have almost outgrown of, and that i can build myself anew.

i miss my childhood home, actually. even if i moved often as a child. perhaps i miss the simplicity of it all, of life when the most strenuous thing was moving a few streets away.

this is insane

i'm actually going insane because what do you mean the lines blurring between the physical and the mental effects, the "groans and shudders and wails" that might as well be you crying in the language of a building

the bamboo metaphor is absolutely genius because there's so much to unpick. the absolute unpredictable nature of it all? the irony of being able to withstand the harshest things but breaking down so easily when you're vulnerable. no one understands why you're so volatile yet so calm, so emotional and yet an adult in the body of a child. matured too fast, just as bamboo does?? actually incredible you're a genius???

the way this reads like a prayer and a promise is actually making me sick in the best way possible. i love the way it's hopeful but also so tragic. the fucked nostalgia you're capturing is something i've always wanted to describe and the fact that you wrote about this makes me feel understood but. in a way i'm sorry that i'm understood. it shouldn't be like that.

i'm so glad you showed me this because what do you mean you became the stable architecture and you are the house and you are now trying to be the walls that you were never certain would stay up for long enough

i'm so sorry you had to go through this, and i'm sorry that we're both able to bond over it, as beautiful as this poetry is. i'm keeping this one close to me. i hope you can get out of the circumstances one day.

thank you. thank you thank you thank you.

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HOZIER — NFWMB | Acoustic Live (2018) [2/5]