#Freeflow

[sarahsalixart]

Midnight shimmy

"Be silly, be honest , be kind ." Ralph Waldo Emerson

[quintential]

Caught between a rock and a hard place

Not feeling so good.

one cigarette too many,

i don't fly as high or spin as fast anymore on twice as many drags;

and now i hate that i cant scrub the smell from my hands.

My breasts are heavy with the shame of telling my birdie how much i care for her. its embarassing, to let her know how much i love her. i hate that she'll find out. i hate that she spent so much time picking out birthday gifts for me, and how 

and how much , and how deseperately, we want to please each other,

for different reasons and not all at the same time.

No, she's not beige at all,

the color of a new yellow chick would be more fitting.

With a heavy heart, i must accept my squirelly friend will not visit me. I try and accept it's her having a hard time,

but when you spend hours on the phone with someone helping them book a ticket to your home, and telling them all the marvelous things you'll do together,

only for her to say- weeks later, she never booked a ticket-

it's hard not to hurt.

And hurt i do. 

i will grieve this lost future time, and for her as well. I wonder when, or if, we'll speak next.

for my racoon, i wonder why you sent me those meaningless words and read my earnest response and did not say anthing back. was it a revenge, to get back at me? That's okay, and i'm sorry, and i'll never know why, but the shame will eat me up inside regardless.

no matter how many times my hummingbird will tell me she loves me,

and she'll say it everytime i ask her, 

i won't believe her.

it's hard to believe her love is so unconditional.

when people do things for me, i'm always shocked they do. i try to measure their love; when will i realise i'll never succeed.

i'm simply caught between a rock and hard place. Maybe I'll die here, or maybe i will make my way out, back to the ocean.

i need to breathe, after all.

[wisteriabloomz]

It’s as if I have walked through those lanes multiple times. Like I have lived in that misty weather and deep green forest and heard the wood crackle in the fireplace my entire life. Sometimes it will be some music, or some fragrance, or some figment from the deep recesses of my subconscious that I am beckoned to that place. Maybe somewhere in England? Scotland? Or Ireland?

There is a sight, I am walking back to my cottage, wearing by black coat and handbag and an umbrella coz the roads are still glistening and reflecting the warm streetlights.

And then the mist blankets the whole town. The warm lights from the windows of the lone bookstore, and the fortune teller’s attic room smudges with the twilight. It’s as if Neptune and Venus were undergoing a benevolent aspect and creating this half visible half make-believe scenario. Is it a dream? Maybe go visit the Buddhist cafe where calming chants just elevate your vibrations and the ginger honey tea will take you back to a bittersweet memory of sipping tea with your parents at a parking lot outside a cafe in some average town when a life-threatening pandemic had restricted the movement.

You are knitting; a muffler for it’s so simple to make and gives off an impression that you care for whoever you are gifting it to. Now crocheting an envelope to keep a love letter warm for the man you love(d?) has been so cold you think if you send it off the feelings weaved in like the first knot knit by a toddler’s hands, may just disintegrate and fall through. Failing its purpose. But at least you learnt how to weave, knit, create, think because your heart compelled you to devour whatever morsel of hope, whatever little glimmer of basic decency made you think that yhos was worth knitting and making that man feel the warmth that resides in your heart.

But is it warmth? Or just fumes of a deeply suppressed inferno scarring your insides coz if you let the lid off all shall be consumed. Better to implode and shattering yourself to pieces, right?

Complexities. I am back to the shaman’s cafe. Of course I am carrying my crochet needle. Because I am always weaving. When I was seven I weaved a string of thoughts to create an entire script of how love will fill my life once I grow up and not every relationship is about not talking for months, violence, strangling your lover with the same hands that you held while you palpitated before entering a dark room. I have been weaving these thoughts into scarves, sweaters, sometimes they are red sweaters with stains of orange and black because the story always needs variation. The good, the bad. Sometimes they are bright pink bikinis made when I feel like exploding in my sexuality and intense hunger for a warmth. But it’s always an implosion, fireworks going off in my brain, a deep sigh of relief once I free all that fantastical image of making love with the actor/singer you saw on your YouTube shorts.

I always carry a stock of loose yarn because I am always ready with a crochet to create something. Doesn’t matter if some knots are too tight and too loose. When I finish knitting my work, it is a continuation of thoughts committed to create something. Of course I will always knit tangible intangible things/feelings/entire worlds. They have been my only true companion since I was a child. I am after all my mother’s child who wore sweaters, caps, mufflers she knit to keep me warm in winters.

And I am back to that intrinsic feeling: mist, warm lights, tarot, Buddhist mantras, tea, and always a yarn and a needle.

[loktopossum]

beyond the sheets, the world stretches… endlessly. the ceiling becomes sky, a dome of soft nothingness. no names. no persona to puppet. just warmth, just stillness, cradled in the pause. where the universe forgot to end.

[intimateportal]

And all these bitches model body heavy neat

Speak freak peeked switched my flow cause your game stank like weed smoke choke

Under the stars we talk all night i wait for our walk make you think I'm on top drop me off

Waiting in forests creeping in on only you when I lost it forgot how to toss it frosted

Stud muffin glasses but im bigger than texas

Found only you on the ground green mosses

Free possy getting higher a fear of yours you learned to steer

Gettin weird the things I've viewed sold in seconds on the new chanel finger bone

Road map on only you home is whispering id fall into you

Read my mind I knew blue eyelid tat dewd

I go so overdoin flowed done did it bitch I'm in paradise Damian marley

Smoke turning blue glass cracked through the reflex half relaxed he's your whoa

Drive up slow hug me in dreams unpacked the sac then I go restock the grocery ho

Banana dipper lostsight of the tipper hungrier gum collard revolva

Told ya this last month i slept with ya in a nightmare with flooding eyes wide open

It was potent material to cope with floatin super soakin outer body booty hold me. Cont...

[xe-5aj1700155-024]

Deception -- AKA -- Resentful Concessions

[surferofrowdybliss]

©Deborah Coulter 2024

*Collage for week of January 7...a love for free flowing mix of starlight and sparkles.

Happy 2024!

[open-music-reviews]

Eric Born & Varvara

The enchanting music of Eric Born & Varvara takes listeners on a tranquil journey with its captivating vocals and meditative melodies. It enhances the listener’s day by creating moments of serenity, offering a soothing escape from the clamor of a busy city, and breaking the dullness of routine through imaginative odyssey.

Recommended songs: Set Your Heart on Fire, Japan Post II, Midnight II, Under Water II, Love Song

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Open Music Reviews © (@open.musicreviews)

[thunderpoolisawesome]

I love using limited feature applications ☺️

Yes, I have an IPad now, dudes.

LETS GOOO 🗣️🗣️🗣️

[quintential]

Woven into my hair

I am warm,

perhaps i can be as the sun is to the moon, i will give but you will not take it from me.

and cool.

i will spit into a cup, and dip my fingers in and paint a pretty picture with it. it will not be pretty, or even so much there. it will smell like spit.

I will be... embellished. A shiny something or other that catches your eye, maybe you will want to put it into your nest, like a crow does to a piece of tinfoil. But never curl up beside it. More as, the kind of pretty treasure you do not like, but will keep buried deep, for safekeeping, because you cannot bear to get rid of it.

and maybe,

simple. The feel of cloth thats been washed too many times. maybe a little rough, but certainly I will not smell too strong one way or the other. Unless you lean in too far to smell my hair, which will then smell like hair.

I am forgiven, and in some ways

i never can be.

i will smoke a cigarette on the balcony and take a deep breath of my fingers, they will smell smokey, like a barbacue, but not in a good way. Like meat that's gone bad, and something else quite unpleasant.

I will scrub my feet afterwards, and wonder how much my mother worries about me.

That's about all it will be.

[etjevuextonrevange-blog]

All the things I didn’t understand are understood

But the body cannot be talked to

The body cannot be reasoned with

My body is blind and deaf

My bodies been beaten and

My body’s been used and

She doesn’t know

That I’ve learned something new

She can’t be talked to

She has to to feel her way out

But she can’t even feel what she doesn’t see

In the dark

She has to feel

But feeling comes so few in between

And when it does feel

It’s like feeling everything

All at once, and then it just stops

Always confused of whether it’s been felt or not

Now we can feel and I touch her hand

So she understands, yes

This is real

And I can help her this time

It’s no longer the blind leading the blind

Because I was kept in the dark to

But I went and found us a light

And in time your pretty brown eyes

Will come back

The pain in you chest will relax

It won’t feel like the anxiety attack

Of being close to someone

Wondering if their feelings flow back

The poem is done

[mernolan]

artfight prep so far has been updating character profiles with new portraits and working on a full body lineup

(my artfight profile if you feel so inclined)

[aurelion-solar]

Remix Rumble Unit Art - Battle of the Golden Spatula (CN TFT)

[geminovae]

Mind doodle. messy, but I like him enough to post anyway

[rawliverandgoronspice]

I don't get why people hate the timeline so much, its not like you can't pretty much completely ignore it when you play the games. The only time it even approaches mattering to the story is when there is an explicit sequel like botw and totk or zelda and zelda 2

Hey sorry your ask got lost in the sauce of my broken tumblr, but: yeah!

I mean, I get why in some sense. It's been a heated point of debate and I think some people understandably resent the space it has taken not only in fandom discourse, but in how people began to understand the game and its narrative aesthetic choices. There is such a thing as over-rationalizing everything to hard logic, and sometimes it's just not the fandom for that --especially when you begin to forget it's all just fan theory and start to forget what the games are supposed to be like and evoke beyond just strict facts displayed in a linear way.

What I think bugs me with TotK in particular is that it both evokes and relies on continuity and the idea of a timeline, of archeology, of history itself, while being so loose and vacant with it that it both is doing Timeline Shit while also completely failing to understand why some parts of the fandom were invested in Timeline Shit to begin with.

But that's just my two cents of course!

[wingedqueenlynx]

My week was great, yeah. Nothing too stressful or knuckle-whitening.

Meanwhile:

.... Maybe a little stressful.