#ink spilled on me a bit...

[dejavudepictions]

Yuletide 🌿🎄

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Love, or the lack thereof

I do not know what love is. I have never felt my heart racing as my lover caresses me, though I have a lover. He loves me, that much is certain. I recognise it in his smile, his awkward joy at being by my side. I wish I could say the same for me.

I do care for him, the way one would care for a friend. I enjoy physical contact with him, for us humans are social creatures. But… I do not love him. I have never felt love. I will never feel love. When I was younger, a wisp of a girl surrounded by friends muttering of 'love', I asked them what it was. They said it was butterflies in their stomachs. I have never eaten a butterfly, and would not know. They said it was wanting him in your life forever. I do not wish to live forever. They said love was love, and could not be described any other way. I did not know what to think of that.

For the longest time, I thought love was lust. It seemed simple enough to me. The loins were hardly that far from the heart, now were they? But on and on my friends would go: 'He is only after me for my body', 'All she can think of is sex', 'I want someone who loves me, rather than lusts for me'. So it seemed that was not the case. Then, was love friendship? I did feel warmth in my heart when I beheld the ones dear to me. I did want them by my side, for as long as time and fate would permit. So I asked my mother that. She laughed at me for that. It turned to pity when she realised I truly meant my question. She told me I would know love when I felt it. So it was decided. I had to find love. I looked for it in the movies and the soap operas, watching romances uncomprehendingly. I looked for it in the classroom, the office, the flings and love triangles and entanglements. I looked for it in my own heart, in the hand I held as I walked, in the crook of my lover's smile.

I never did manage to find it.

It should pain me, this lack of love. It should ache like a hole in my chest. Everything and everyone have said it does, after all. Yet it does not. How could I want what I do not understand? It is hardly precious to me, merely confounding. What does pain me is the things I can never have because of this lovelessness.

It pains me that I must someday apologise to him for leading him on. It pains me that I do not know if what I did was leading him on. Sometimes I think I was leading me on, looking for something I knew, deep down, would never be found. I do not think he would understand, any more than my mother or my friends understood. I barely understand it myself.

I suppose all I have to say is: Icannot be sorry. Not for who I am. Not for who I will always be. Not even for what most would consider heartlessness.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @tragedycoded, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@xenascribbles, @unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[isawhitney]

A Happy Little Poem

Today, I think, I was happy.

That’s enough for a poem, really,

But I’d like to stretch it out some,

Clarify things a little for you.

So, today I was - thinking back

And contemplating it - happy:

Content is the best word, perhaps,

Because I wasn’t radiant or at all

Built up, brick by brick, of joy.

Rather, I was happy in that quiet way,

Happy in the mode of an orange peel

Or an early chrysanthemum in Spring

(It is Spring, as it happens,

But I assure you this fact is incidental)

And I don’t know why I was happy,

Except for the obvious - I am happy

Because I am not miserable,

And because I have mostly all my teeth -

But the fact remains that I sat

Today, in the spring shrug,

And was quietly, commonplace-ly happy

For quite a while.

[lead-to-code]

May Prompts - 5/03 Geometry - @nosebleedclub

poem not loading? text version available below (click on "keep reading")

Geometry by Kara

Stunning! Is it not just stunning here Curved columns Arched entrance Beams bowing Stellar architecture pointed up Yelling at God its existence here Ceilings concave grabbing All air to suck you in Tips that could kill your soul Harsh, unforgiving, imposing sides Here! It says. Here! I am. Here! I stay

[possibly-a-table-or-just-gay]

The Binding of Fenrir

They feared me

They feared my teeth

They feared my bite

They feared the hunger I was born with

They feared me so they kept me close

My brother and sister they cast out

To the abyss of crashing, swelling waters

Choking on his own tail

To the sweeping fog beyond the grave

A Two-Faced Terror, queen of rot

But me,

I ate scraps from their holy table

Fed by the brave hands of law and justice

But my bark and howl made them uneasy

They sought a way to bind me.

A game it was

"A celebration of their strongest warrior!

A test of his power and force!"

They clapped and cheered with every chain broken,

Every rope torn

Cheering with every challenge defeated

But I could see the fear in their eyes

I could smell rat.

I was wary when they brought out the final fetters

Dwarven-made, forged of impossible things

I made them swear

I made them put something on the line.

There was no fear in his eyes

When he presented his hand before me

He did not flinch

When he felt the press of my teeth

My warden, my keeper

I had trust, I had faith

OATHBREAKERS!

Oathbreakers, all of them!

These links do not bend,

This chain does not snap!

I bit

I bit the hand that fed me

I gnawed and I tore

And I was punished for my insolence

But this blade between my teeth cannot hold forever

This river from my jaws cannot flow for all of time

One day they will taste my vengeance

The Wise and the All-Seeing

For I have swallowed law and justice

And one day I with make good on that promise.

[tracle0]

Boy nearly drowns,t hen gets possessed again

[beemintty]

inktober day 5: map

[antigoneblue]

anyway. free palestine

[julystruck]

Someone wrote this song before, and I could tell you where it's from

[euesworld]

"Good morning, I need a little bit of you and a whole lot of coffee to get me going today.."

Can I get a kiss to go with my coffee? It would be sweeter than donuts, not gonna lie - eUë

[coffeeandstudys]

FMP UPDATE

FMP=final major project

Sorry that I've been inactive, I'm not good at actually posting.

For my FMP I was going to do a short horror film but that fell through badly because me and my actors all fell ill one after the other, so we changed the idea. Instead of a short horror film we are now aiming for the stars with a mockumentary about us failing to make the horror film! I thought this would be easier on me especially with the time restraint, I also had some material for it already from our first horror filming session because we can't do anything without bloopers.

I'll be posting some more posters that I've made for the mockumentary too so stay tuned for that!

[stained-glass-salamander]

Weaving breath into the rain

between tap-tap-taps

wack wheezy woosh

the night, so timid and so frail

under bitter buzz and bale above

splashes, slips and scoots away

on shattered joints of summer love

for only crescent cut conveys

the click-clack-clock of weeping days

[astrum99]

Human’s inherent desire for understanding, and why angels are a perfect lure. (Rambling)

Humans have studied the art of the mystic for centuries. Before science, literature, and math, there were stories. Because storytelling is what guides us to experience, to learn, to make sense of both experience and knowledge.

Even when we do science, we say: “First, extraction of the sample DNA from the flesh was conducted through the process of centrifuge. Then, PCR was run to amplify the amount of recovered DNA. Restriction endonuclease enzyme was added to the sample, fragmenting DNA into smaller strands. The product was evaluated through agarose gel electrophoresis. 80-150V of electric force pulling the pieces toward the bottom. The shorter the pieces are, the faster they go. So, the DNA separates more, and paints a ladder of bands. You cannot see them. As the last step, you must stain them with fluorescent dye, and only under UV lights can you observe the crude data.”

Temporal. Sequential. Meaningful. This is a story called “DNA fingerprinting”.

The story of magic and godly realms and religion is of the same. They carry teachings (and entertainment). They last through centuries because there is something in them that humanity sees.

Humans are driven by a maddening sense of curiosity and exploration. To make sense of it all. To separate organs from man, to separate cells from organs, to separate DNA from cells, and to do it again, at a smaller scale with enzymes. There is an inherent desire to learn until all is deprived. To become passionate is to be consumed wholeheartedly.

So we sent people to explore the Arctic, the ocean, the sky, the universe. And when they perish, we send more.

The study of death is the same. To see beyond the veil is something impossible, because the dead cannot return. (Well, they technically can, depending on how you define death. If death is the stopping of the heart, then I suppose we are dying, in microdoses, every second of our lives. If death is the cease of memory and autonomy, then I suppose we are dying, in microdoses, every night in our beds.)

(I digress.)

The study of death is attractive because it looks into what we are sure we cannot possibly touch. So we only hope to examine what we can. The maggots that gnaw at the meat, the stillness of limbs in silence, the invasive infestations of bacteria and mold and creatures of all kinds.

The corpse is an afterimage of an experience of both life and death. We can only hope to study the husk and the life that sustains on that husk, hoping it is close enough to touch death.

It is similar to the study of the supernatural in that way. Magic only exists because we do not understand it. That’s why it is so captivating. The creation of a potion in a cauldron is the same as biochemistry. The transformation of forms and elements is the same as fusion physics. The impossible feats of flight were achieved by aeroplanes and carefully measured aerodynamics. There are ghosts born from boring undetected monoxide poisoning.

When we understand, magic loses its… well, magic.

It is similar to the study of religion in that way. Because we are desperately lonely, and we must make meaning, and so magic shall suffice in place of what we do not know and to fill what we do not have. I do not study religion, but I know at least a part of this is true – at least in its origin. The stories of gods, angels, demons, palaces in the sky, monsters in the ocean, a form of thousand eyes and arms and all-knowing and all being and loves like nothing else because we are greedy organisms that crave validation and safety and love and love and love. And we can learn anything it wants us to learn, make it through anything if love and peace are waiting for us at the end of it all. (Though religion, in all its implications, forms, and renditions have changed since then, as well as the interpretations of survived passages.)

I am not a believer in a higher being, nor am I a student of religion, so I cannot speak of all of it. I cannot claim understanding.

I think this is also partially why angels compel me so. They are the beyond. Above reasoning, above logic, in the same realm as the untouchable pureness of undiscovered science, death, magic, and religion.

What stories flow within its (his?) veins? What stories lie dormant in its (his) throat? What stories are etched on the body, the wings, the blade? What stories speak of the beating of its (his) heart and the bleeding of its (his) light? What of the cells, the molecules, the very physics (magic) that binds it (him) together?

Do you speak of the stories of love and despair and violence and hope as we do?

Please, do not answer me.

Because to know is to kill. The utter destruction of the imagination and wonder and passion. To purposefully look away from knowledge is the complete comprehension that understanding makes something die. It brings dullness to love.

So, please, let me see you in my mind’s eye, and nothing more.

[adornself]

[little-mooshroom-guy]

Would you perhaps consider talking about whatever may have happened to your horn? I feel terrible for asking, Sentry, but it's something I simply cannot turn my attention away from.

-Starry Anon

“…sorry, uh— w-what was the question?”

[tracle0]

These characters will not show up again but LOOKIT WRITING