Late Night Thoughts - Blog Posts

no friend group is more interesting than a gay man and eight lesbians

“What is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don't know and I'm afraid.”

The Journals of Sylvia Plath, Sylvia Plath

“God, let me think clearly and brightly; let me live, love, and say it well in good sentences, let me someday see who I am.”

The Journals of Sylvia Plath, Sylvia Plath

“One morning this sadness will fossilize

And I will forget how to cry

I'll keep going to work and you won't see a change

Save perhaps a slight gray in my eye”

Painting: Automat by Edward Hopper, 1927

Song: Fireworks, Mitski

“I have never found anybody who could stand to accept the daily demonstrative love I feel in me, and give back as good as I give.”

Journals of Sylvia Plath, Sylvia Plath

go, and reach for the sky. hold the stars carefully in your grasp. fight for what you believe in. for you are young, and the world belongs to you.

“I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.”

Variation on the Word Sleep, Margaret Atwood

i blink and it is october and i have been alone for years

Resurrecting the Dolls’ House, Margaret Atwood

A poem on childhood

“What did she smell like?” - Jasmine Mans

I saw the tv glow and turned it’s brightness up.

I was happy to see that other people’s tv’s also glowed, but I noticed that my tv was a different shade than theirs. Soon after that, I noticed that my tv was a completely different colour. It was a deep green, turning into white, turning into grey, turning into black.

I turned the brightness of the tv down, but left it just enough to always play in the background, like a little song in the back of my brain that I can’t remember the words of.

I never saw a person whose tv had the same colour as mine and it made me feel like no one would appreciate it. It was quite an interesting colour; I did plenty of research on it, but the people who did have their tv that colour never really got to be a real part of society.

I turned the brightness up again this year—not by a lot, just a bit to make out the colours—and while looking at it, I realised something. If I were to let my tv glow, it would mean never truly feeling a part of this world.

Love was such a big part of a person’s life. So why didn’t I feel any of it? I loved my friends, I loved my family, I loved my pets. Why wasn’t I cable of loving on another level? Why didn’t romance strike me as this beautiful thing rather than this tedious chore? I wanted to rip my heart out—why wasn’t it feeling things like the other hearts felt them? Why didn’t it speed up at the sight of a pretty woman or handsome man? Why did it just pump my blood and not my feelings?

If I were to let my tv glow, it would mean embracing who I truly am. But I don’t know who I truly am. And I haven’t known for a really long time.

If you have trouble remembering all the beef two historical figures had for your exam, just start shipping them.

I am not joking.

They hated each other before their coalition? Enemies to lovers. One of them was assassinated? Right person wrong time. They have portraits/photos together? They must’ve fought the urge to hold hands.

You’ll be surprised by how easy their lore becomes to remember

With only the irregular rush of cars playing notes in the dark air, I think of how I've lived a thousand lives before and no experience of mine will ever be unique. Yes, it must be a curse to never know enough, but isn't it a greater burden, how with every try, memory brushes out of reach and I'm born anew, scribbling different patterns over the same black slate, mere Sisyphus rolling the stone back up, but not quite, yet again. In another lifetime perhaps my fingers bled more amply over the long gone green, but I shall never know, shall I? Soon, I too will fade again, like the stars burnt into my blood and at the edge of dawn, I'll become yet another familiar turn in someone's long forgone hometown. The same lover, hopeful yet and despite the ghost heartaches from previous lives. familiar aches of circling and continuing about birth and rebirth, like the tissues after tissues used to wipe my tears, discarded and never thought of once again. The familiar homesick sounds of the city lull me to a serene embrace and I think, how only the brightest flash across the night sky is when the endless stars touch something achingly mortal.

writing is just letting your wounds bleed on paper.

peace

peace is a wonderful thing

something so simple

yet so complicated

its the gentle winds blowing against your hair

the bright sun warming your face

its spending time with people you love and care for

but sometimes its a little more dark

a little more violent

its the feeling of getting reveng

of being the first to do it and taking others down

its fighting back against the bully

its the knife in that guys back

the one who tormented you to no end

but sometimes peace is also the quiet

or the load bickering, and laughter

peace is so complicated

but its something we all want

with its flaws and all

i had written this at 3am last night and i just thought that it was a nice description of sleep, so i’m deciding to post it here

sleep feels like a hug from a loving parent. and though sometimes you try to resist it, you fall into its embrace in the end. soft and dark, you feel all it’s harsh edges and it scares you a little, thinking of what it could do. but you know it will be alright, because sleep will always be there for you. and it will always greet you warmly. and no matter how hard you resist it, no matter how little you get. it’s always there, just waiting for you to come back to it. even if it is just to lightly graze it’s skin. it will be most thankful though, of when you embrace it fully, wrap both arms around it, squeeze gently, and hold onto it for a while. it will wrap an arm around your back, a hand placed gently on your head, it’s chin rested on your hair, gently nuzzled. sleep will always try and be gentle with you. because it needs you as much as you need it, you just don’t realise it. i need sleep. bad. i need it badly. and i’m ready to slip into it’s warm embrace. i love you sleep, thank you for being there. goodnight.

staying on tumblr after 12am? dumb move girl, dumb move.

My notes app is angrier than me.

I cast my sweet whispers into the wind,

Will they reach you?

Or will the wind answer me with a cold howl….?

Very random

But does anyone else have problems with socks that have a elastic band at the top (almost all of them) cuz they feel like they’re cutting off ur blood circulation or something idk

Cuz I favour the ones without the elastics as a result but u don’t really find them anywhere

Anyways would love some opinions

What is this? Why do I feel exactly like this person, holy shit, anyways PICKLE RICK!

What I've discovered about myself is that I'm attracted to particularly cruel and feral antagonists because wouldn't it be just lovely to be chosen by someone so powerful? To be caressed by someone as close to a god as it gets, since I'm an atheist who feels so forsaken by a higher being that I hunger for someone as cruel as I imagine God - and all the variations of them - to be, to love me. To show me that yes, though they can crumble the very foundations of what is morally sound beneath their finger tips they can also see the glimmer of something special in a little brunette man with so many dreams and too much anxiety. Is that what religion speaks of? Of feeling loved by someone so much more powerful than you, that being nothing but a speck of dust in their never ending gaze would be enough?

“The Strongest Of The Strange”

you won’t see them often

for wherever the crowd is

they are not.

those odd ones, not many

but from them come

the few good paintings

the few good symphonies

the few good books

and other works.

and from the best of

the strange ones perhaps

nothing.

they are their own

paintings

their own

books

their own

music

their own

work.

sometimes I think

I see them – say

a certain old

man sitting on a

certain bench

in a certain way

or

a quick face

going the other way

in a passing

automobile

or

there’s a certain motion

of the hands

of a bag-boy or a bag-girl

while packing supermarket groceries.

sometimes

it is even somebody

you have been

living with

for some time –

you will notice a

lightning quick

glance never seen

from them before.

sometimes

you will only note

their existance suddenly

in vivid recall

some months

some years

after they are

gone.

I remember

such a one –

he was about

20 years old

drunk at 10 a.m.

staring into a cracked

New Orleans mirror

facing dreaming

against the walls of

the world

where

did I

go?

~Charles Bukowski

Every time i'm reading "tma" i accidently read "trauma"

There are probably reasons for that *cough cough *

Sometimes I think about how in my presentation about France. I tried saying the population quit halfway then just said, “that big number.”

I got a 44/47 on it so I call it a win.

Does Steve’s kids have like 50% super soldier DNA?

Do they even know who their father really is?