We've all been there: unfriending people and being unfriended by others. Yes, it is unfortunate, but that is life; people come and go. Regardless, guess what? Life goes on, your story does not end yet, only the people who cease appearing in your part of the story do. Keep on going forward, learn those life lessons, grow to become a better person, meet new people and stay with loyal people, and explore more. Life has far too much to offer you to pause at your path when you haven't seen anything yet. We all deserve to be happy and live in peace. Rise up, loved ones.
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dissociative disorder? uh yeah, i sure hope it does
and so suddenly, it's just me here. the bright, life-filled wonder i lived within for just a day has faded out with the music and so suddenly, it's just me here.
today is wednesday august 30th and i have school in two days. i turn an adult in a little less than five months and still don't feel so much older than 14. i'm still a kid with a keyboard clacking beneath their fingers, painting a dimmed screen with miserable lines of text. i'm still a kid so full of fantasy that when my unfiltered joy is met with the expectations of my age i crumple from the bottom up and top down in one breath, debris colliding at my heart where a fire is doused.
whose skin is this, pinched questioningly between foreign fingers? whose neck is bleeding from a sharp hangnail and whose scalp is stale and parched for shampoo? who is popping their joins in the middle of the witching hours, the sound ever so distant?
a laugh track plays on repeat behind my staggered breaths: one too shallow and the next too deep and so on, a group of the most mindless trying to perform the dance of life and keep the oxygen moving. i hear her laughing, 14, and i pity her and her rainbow drawings, waxed into the in-between pages of a forgotten notebook. she isn't going to college. the only future she has will also be waxed into the in-between pages, breathing that sweet summer oxygen only every other moment, like my staggered breaths: one too short and the next even shorter and so on until some end comes of it.
the cogs and whatnots keep the fan turning up there on the pitched ceiling, every part of it so old and scary that the child of the forest is resigned to crying yet again into a pair of unnamed arms. a creak and a crick and a squeal and a swill and a dip and with a yell the whole ceiling comes down and sends baby right back where she left.
and oh we are hungry, starving, gnashing our teeth at every flash of fresh meat, starving. wet dog on the porch, half-blind, twice my size, and he is starving. a hand misses his teeth by accident, its fingers young and untrained. the watcher prays this is not another falsehood of its memory. when the child pets the starving dog, everything stills, and then she laughs. and then the ceiling comes down, and the porch is made wider, and the rain meets skin, and there are two wet dogs, starving.
and so suddenly, so shortly, so quickly, with the same fading of the music, the same clacking of the keys, the same fan and same dog and same me, it appears that i am alone. here, in the dark where both the world sleeps, i find the waning of noir in its countless hues to be it all. so many memories, so many scared faces stuck in a game where everyone is unsure just how long they've been playing. the world could end and who's to say the turns wouldn't keep coming and going so cyclically, one day so bright and the next so dull and the whole thing just one digit different in an expanse of noir, something so vast that these precious words in between are born to be forgotten—you find comfort in that: that even your words exist on borrowed consciousness.
and to just keep going, drawing a word and another and so on how you just love to, repeating yourself on that borrowed consciousness, repeating yourself because you are only yourself, repeating yourself, repeating, repeating, repeating, into noir again.
have you ever been in love?
i don't think i have, not really.
i think words like "i love him" or "i love her" or "i love you" and i never say them, because that would be too far. i mean them how they mean to me, in that indescribable way. i don't say them because you won't know love how i have come to, and so those three words will sound different when they leave my lips and fall to your ears. do not mistake my loving you for me being in love. i love you, plain and simple, and it's a thing of honour to look no further into it. in my own way, in my own space, on my own terms, i love you.
soft. oh to be held so softly. unnamed arms cradling so close, light brown hair, and a deep, warm voice.
i can nearly see you, but you just won't show me your face. i could just call out to you, but alas, you are ever so unnamed.
i stare at the woods, cold and dark and creeping, and i mouth the words "thank you". i see the demoness, i see her glowing eyes, i see her flowing robes, i see her antlers. i hope your house is warm, wherever exactly it is. i hope she eats well and isn't afraid to cling to your arm or laugh as loud as her little lungs allow. she never got what she deserved. please. give her what she deserves.
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Neptune is not impressed with this child that Juno declared to be his. Oh, certainly he’s powerful, but he’s- he’s wild. He’s sea blood and storm and shaking Earth. Neptune is not that, Neptune is the rivers rising, the wells life giving, the ocean’s swirling currents. He is not the thundering storm and shaking Earth and unmitigated chaos of this child.
No, he's not impressed. There is none of the Roman ideal in this child, there is none of Neptune's origins in this child. And he will ensure this child knows.
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i look at you and you're like a mystery
a difficult puzzle to solve
you're like a great scent i love but, can't seem to remember the name of
marvelous—yet, frustrating
those butterfly feelings
confusing—yet, tempting
who are you?
why do you make me feel this way?
stop being my mystery
-ez
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Vamos celebrar
Vamos gritar até falhar a voz
Vamos dançar salsa e sorrir
Vamos chutar o balde de sangue ou leite derramado
Pule! Pule no abismo sem precisar ter alguém lá, pule no raso!
Se deixe ir,
seja choro, gemidos, carne real, quente seja o pulsar
Deixe a brisa chegar
A neblina aos poucos molhar
Se deixe sentir os detalhes
VOCÊ ESTÁ AQUI.
—@srtamg
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A quiet mind is like a blank canvas, with each stroke, a thought forms from the void of nothingness through the fluidly infinite spark of creativity, bringing forth the light which separates the darkness, allowing us to see art and all the adoring splendor of a sunset over the ocean. The quietness of the mind moves the water, and the wind finds its home.
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Living Roots Farm,
My month of June was consumed by you. A period of highs and lows, commitments and reevaluations. I expected strange and I try to go in with few expectations. I wanted structure and in a sense I got that. But so much else was falsely advertised. You were not an arts space, intentional community, healing arts center, or even a farm school. Was I naïve to believe such claims from skimming a website and a single conversation with a man. A man whose business depends on the free labor of well meaning 20 somethings. I love farming. I love the satisfaction of growing one’s own food, getting my hands in the dirt. Feeling the stings and aches of hard work. That’s what I wanted to return to. But that’s not what I felt here. I saw a place built on conflicting principles. Values of intentional community and social change clashing with a corporate structure. I felt the confusion of my fellow apprentices who all in their own way wanted to leave, felt duped, exploited, frustrated. The division of labor was far from equitable. One man’s ego, under the guise of experience, trumping anyone else’s input. The support this community of apprentices and workers had for each other was astounding. I wanted to be a part of that. Who wouldn’t? I was so ready to commit. I said goodbye to the comfort of my transient home life. I was ready to commit to long distance with my partner. Ready to make the hard choice. But in two weeks I realized I didn’t want to. Not a matter of “could I” anymore, I knew I could. But so much had changed in the time between the plans being made and their fruition. So I made the other hard choice: to quit. And I told myself I value that. Knowing when to quit. Knowing when you’re boundaries are not being respected. But maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself. Who knows? One can’t expect to embrace situations the same way year to year. In the end I feel vindicated in my values. In the reasons I love farming and good food. Producing for my own self sufficiency and sharing with those I care about. In the reasons and ways I care about my community. I believe that change happens locally. That backyard farms and community gardens do more to challenge food scarcity and how people think about food than production farming in the sticks ever could. You are a conundrum, Living Roots. So much potential but so much wrong fundamentally. I am glad I tried you and I do not regret leaving.
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A living document
So, what is it that I'm doing here, sitting on the periphery of things, the edge of ideologies?
This is a special and, honestly, difficult day. It is a reminder of someone whom I loved very much. I know too much about grief and loss for someone who hasn't seen as much literal death as many people have; particularly, in this moment.
Many feelings and experiences seem to lie at the heart of the cult escapee's experience, including this familiar feeling of severing - of losing people who are very much living, who occupy space and time in a manner that is intimately acquainted to you, or that you're used to being very familiar with. Knowing you'll never see several people again, that your paths will diverge now, that like a coin flip you're eventually an enemy... In a way, it's a lot of break ups happening all at once. So much love lost - what can be done with this love? Possibly similar to experiencing a string of deaths in one's family (an experience that is, in fact, known to me), but with the added injury of having self-inflicted this pain with an eye to healing.
In some ways, leaving a cult, particularly for someone raised in it, is as radical an experience as the act of entering one for someone who wasn't raised in it. There is a symmetry to these things: the parent, grandparent, or ancestor completely leaves their understanding of reality and gains a lease on life, a sense of purpose, a community by adopting a new set of beliefs and leaving their old lifestyle behind. Similarly, their child or grandchild abandons the set of beliefs they are raised with to experience life in a completely different way - to completely rewrite their understanding of normal. Both child and ancestor are engaging in acts of curiosity and hope: they are rewriting how they transact with the world, how they relate to others, and so, in a lacunary fashion, leaving a cult or movement actually brings the younger generation closer to the parents who entered it even if proximity is removed or attachment is severed by leaving.
Interestingly, then, these multi-generational churches and movements, are stuck becoming a duopoly: they have to, of course, continue their current recruitment efforts, and they have to cater to an audience that has never been initiated from any other reality - that has never experienced the intensity, clarity, certainty, or euphoria around entering this space. There is no door for the latter audience to walk through, except out. How can they be kept sated - how can they be convinced that they have it so good that they never want to leave, or how can they be fed such despair about ordinary reality that it seems discolored and lacking any allure?
There are reasons why I wonder all this; reasons having to do with someone I've loved a lot, who is no longer accessible to me. It has been my choice to pull away from her, and now it seems that there is no going back - she was deeply hurt. Knowing her past breakups, she adheres to No Contact no matter what. Leave it to someone raised in a cult to understand how to go cold turkey serially, no matter the history or the true emotional cost.
I am living that 20s theme where some of us find ourselves consecutively severing relationships, becoming increasingly untethered, as the gaps in our lives and hearts are left unfilled. I find comfort in the memory of movies like Sleeping Beauty by Julia Leigh, even if I don't rewatch them because of the shame, the degradation.
Some of these losses feel like a gain: I am porous, elastic, like a sponge full of blood vessels and with eyes, free to stretch, bend, breathe in ways that weren't possible when I had fixed myself to accommodate things that didn't totally fit, and I couldn't admit it, thinking sometimes that I was just the worse for wear or unrested... Why is it, anyway, that sometimes a little bit of rest, a little bit of love, can make us anew?
And then there are times when the losses just leave this emptiness... Like a white noise machine at the top of its lungs, sucking us into the void with its O-gape scream. In times like those, I'm moving towards a siren barefoot, too saturated with dread to register the metallic chill of the rocks in this hypothermic air. So magnetized by the moment, I lose sight of the future and of myself.
This is the act of intentionally numbing yourself - something we never quite realize is taking a lot of effort and investment... How cycles or spiraling trick us into thinking they're effortless just because they have aced the short circuit. I brought you to a checkout line so quick and you do not remember how you got here instead of on that social media page for the ex you were initially planning to cyberstalk. "This doesn't exhaust you", the Devil always manages to say, unearthing some supernatural energy that cannot be found in routine.
(If Facebook were a family of functions, it would be mapping every human feeling or experience to an array of products, based on location, class, etc too of course. Any feelings you have, any connections you have, can be redirected towards shopping. Sometimes, I do wonder if cults work kind of the same: sublimate/repress what isn't useful for the cult's self preservation or proliferation, and the rest of feeling and connection can be subsumed to things within the cult. How much more of ourselves, of life, we can experience by metaphorically amputating some parts of ourselves. And, who knows, maybe sometimes it actually is a reasonable deal for some people: I'm sure some gain more than they lose.)
Anyhow, the promise of access to these hidden reserves of supernatural energy is part of what's, well, exhilarating about alternative lifestyles and religions. There is something about the humdrum of life, of routine, that makes us feel like we're not enough. Somebody or something seems to want more of us than we feel like we have, more of us than we can reasonably manage - at least not without some tailoring of our fundamental realities.
In America, our jobs are very good at this; frankly, in any economy that isn't developed it is common to break your back, but in America it's continually surprising because things will always be like this, no matter how developed or wealthy America gets to be.
There are too many ways to feel deficient, fractured, especially once you're already closely acquainted with this feeling because of the gift of history, of a continu: things were broken at the root, and don't people who know me, don't past memories, all love to remind me of this? Rites of passage swirl with all the bad stuff, so how can you forget? They are embedded in the reference points of your existence.
Personally, I could never be enough for my parents' egos - how could I possibly compensate for their insecurities, their proclaimed losses from choosing to birth, raise, and abuse me? And still, I haven't fallen into a single cult or movement, but chronically find myself in close proximity to cult members or recent/budding escapees. Where does this repeat proximity come from? Why are both parties magnetized by each other?
In any case, when it comes to her (the one whom I am recalling today), whether it be a kindness or a laziness, goodbye it is.
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No hay nadie ahí
frente al espejo encendiendo
un último cigarro
con lo que queda de otro
los fragmentos del vidrio
reflejan ancensores varados
entre pisos de insomes
los apagones hacen
de nosotros sombras
atravesadas por el polvo
que a veces los animales
nocturnos confunden
con las suyas
o hacen suyo el rumor
de la hiedra y las olas
al retroceder hacia
noches en la antípodas
pero no hay ojos tras el humo
solo palabras borradas
de piedras nombres dados
a las cosas como
si llamándolas volvieran
cada una a su lugar
manteniendo esa distancia
que hace habitable su silencio.
Por Erick Marti
Instagram : @erikmart1
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It's so important to me to keep notes of my life. Thoughts I have, ideas, random quotes, song lyrics etc.
Going back through them, I have predicted events in my life more times than not.
It reminds me of Death Note sometimes.
Except I'm not in the business of death and destruction.
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a piece of self-reflect.
Looking back, I realized there are many things I've said and done that I'm not particularly proud of. Mostly, I'd rely on people for support whenever I need their words of advice from a different perspective than mine because mine is sometimes right and sometimes imperfect. I thought seeking advice or reassurance from others would be better, but I guess all I want is an external validation of my own thoughts and emotions.
Not only that, but I realized that I have toxic traits as well, such as seeking validation from others, taking trivial things personally, comparing myself to others, self-sabotage, overthinking, insecurity, and being dramatic despite previously telling people that I disliked getting involved in dramas (ironic, isn't it?), and others.
This realization occurred to me as I was reflecting in my room. Those were my embarrassing moments, I have to admit. But I have to accept that those are the flaws that I need to work on to be a better me and avoid making the same mistakes as I did previously. Such things are supposed to be acknowledged, accepted, learned from, and grown from.
Does telling people your stories now matter to you? or more like, do people's opinions on your stories matter to you? or, to put it this way, does it matter to you?
This is a series of questions I frequently ask myself when I am tempted to talk to someone about any of my problems.
To me now, none of it matters, even when it comes to telling people my own stories. I now keep them all to myself. I'd prefer to keep everything private. For myself alone and for my own burden to bear. But when I really need a shoulder to lean on, I'd go to the best and most trusted friends I have.
And when I do have stories to tell, they will be stories that inspire people to keep going. The same stories would also humble me in some ways, that says 'all humans are just humans with flaws and imperfections that make us human.' Some people would also lose people in their path, but that's okay because people come and go, life goes on, and the world is a big place.
One must continue walking and thriving, and one might meet more new people along the way who share the same values and views as the new you because the newer version of you is not the same as you were back then. With the new people we meet, the viewpoint of our friendship will improve as you have improved yourself. And as you progress through life, so does your love life; your relationship with your loved one.
Life will not become stagnant anymore, but you will become more alive as you grow older and wiser, living through so many moments.
And you'll realize that none of it matters in life, but it only matters when you focus on yourself and the moments you share with your loved ones, such as family and friends; and also with a partner if you have one because they are the ones who light up your life the most.
So live life to the fullest, be selfish if you must in a good way, it's our life, and throw other people's opinions out the window. Remember, each one of us is amazing; also, remember to be yourself, hear yourself, and be proud of your own journey.
There may be some challenges along the way; however, stay strong, make wise decisions in a calm manner, and surrender everything to the universe to find yourself in a peaceful state.
I wish us all the best as we embark on our respective journeys.
(This is a piece of self-reflect and self-care inspiration for myself and anyone else who is looking for it).
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poem #4
something's not right written 8 dec 2022
Focus!
and the clock is ticking loudly.
the time must be wrong,
i've been sitting for so long
and the teacher wants me to
Focus!
something silly in the big picture,
and i'm sure that they were
all thinking the same as me, the class,
but somehow i'm the one
called out and told that i need to
Focus!
put your pen between your fingers,
put some thoughts in your head,
sit up! your desk is not your bed.
can you say that again?
i'm sorry, i didn't hear what you said.
too bad, you should have been listening,
you need to learn how to
Focus!
i'm sorry, i didn't get much sleep,
your work had me up 'till half past three.
what do you mean? that work was easy,
it only needed 30 minutes.
i'm so sorry, miss. i couldn't—
Focus!
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So, I'm writing the fics for the SeaFam event starting October 1. It's gonna be so fun :P Here's a list of the titles!
Shatter Me (Blood Stained Glass)
Little Prince, Little Love
A Soul's Fate
Oil Spill, Entrails Spill (An Iridescent Tide)
What is Fate to a Sister's Love? (Fated)
Good God, Oh God, Our God
Little Brother (Most Valued Treasure)
Your Father's Eyes (but which father is the question)
One-Tail, Two-Tail (red fish, blue fish)
You're Me but I'm Me (Oops, Mistaken Identity)
Find Your Home (On Ocean Foam)
Give Me All Your Gold Or You'll Never Get Your Sea Prince Back Alive!
Rain, Rain, Go Away (Pegasus says you cannot stay)
The Ocean's Rage (The Tide's Hug)
:P The event is technically only 7 prompts but I'm doing the bonus prompts too! I'm very exited for them all.
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Death Wonders
By Wolfe Marvin
————
“Sometimes I think about the first conscious being. The first being to recognize curiosity. To recognize joy, and every emotion that makes them. Despite popular belief, I’m sure they had emotion. What a cruel thing for someone to assume a non-human being can’t feel emotion.”
“I wonder what it must have felt like for them to first discover fear. I wonder how confused it must have been in that moment. To realize that there were things to be afraid of. That they were experiencing a negative emotion for the first time. Because of course fear comes before everything else. You don’t feel anger before you feel fear. You don’t feel frustrated before fear. None of that comes first.”
“And sometimes I wonder how they felt when they first experienced death. The first conscious being to experience death. I wonder, did they feared it? Did they know that their life was coming to an end? Or changing at the very least, depending on what you believe in.”
“I wonder if they begged, for just a moment, that they get to stay just a little longer. Or if they smiled in the face of this new experience, no matter how painful- How frustrating their end came to be.”
“I wonder if the alterity of what was to come made them tremble in the face of it. When the end of life reared it’s ugly head, I hope they looked to it with bravery in their hearts.”
“I hope they took it with grace.”
“I hope they were not apprehensive. For death is a natural thing in every sense. Every living thing destined for it no matter the cause.”
“I hope they did not fear death.”
“I hope they did not fear me when I was forced to come for them.”
“Life’s creations with an inevitable ending. I hope you understand that I love you as much as Life does.”
“For I do not exist without you and Life. Nor does Life and you exist without I.”
“A sad sort of existence, but a necessary one.”
“A cycle destined to repeat itself.”
“A cycle in which you will exist again and again for eternity. And I suppose where I gain your presence for a short time, Life gets to love you forever. You will always return to Life inevitably. So allow me, death, to love you for this ephemeral time. While you fleet from this death to life, know that you are loved eternally.”
A soft sigh and a caress of the spirit.
“Be reborn, dear love. I await your return with bated breaths. You will not remember me when you wake. Not as I am. Return to me one day, and you will remember perhaps.”
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the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again
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The best piece of advice I ever got was not meant as advice, but as an edict. If I was going to threaten people as a joke, it had to be so far out of proportion with what happened that it would be obvious I was joking. This changed how I expressed frustration with others. It then changed how I expressed frustration with myself.
Not “I’m going to hit you” but “I am going to buy a tuna sub from the gas station and hide it under the seat of your car”
Not “I’m going to kill myself” but “I am going to walk into the desert and let the scarabs take me”
The other side then happened. When I mess something up, instead of saying it’s bad and perpetuating negative thoughts, swing hard the other way.
Not “this art is terrible” but “this shall be framed and mounted on the wall in my museum exhibition as testament to the suffering I had to overcome”
Have been doing this since high school. It was my drama teacher who asked me to please stop scaring the actors. The other half of the edict was that I had to say it in a polite tone, and end it with either please or thank you.
Life changing. 10/10 Mr Muëller. Highly reccomend.
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