Hi yall idk if anyone remembers me but im back a little bit. This was such a huge part of my life for like three years and im totally not looking back on old convos and profiles and such and am DEFINITELY not tearing up AT ALL. I miss you guys, you all were so important to me and such big parts of my life, certain people especially. yeah ok rant over just a small announcement thanks
Paraboilc
Tsk tsk tried to abandon me, for shame
on January 08, 2018
on January 07, 2018
Sorry yall ive completely forgotten about this account tbh... Hope yall are doing good! I went to SF again the other day and wrote a poem, ive heard you guys like them.. enjoy (Part 1)
San Francisco
To others it is the city of hope, of new beginning, of slanting streets with tilted houses that people tumble out of in wild ecstasy, of grinning docks with pristine white sailboats for teeth, of strings of glittering lights on coffee shop windows late at night that sprinkle moonlight See More onto the sidewalk in a dusty powder.
To me it is the city of waiting and cold and death.
To me it is the city of not being loud enough, of waking up with a bad taste in the back of your throat, of pitch black hotel rooms early in the morning where you see a hunched outline in the corner, crying, crying, crying.
To me it is the city of graffiti-
graffiti of a giant blue bird spitting neon tendrils onto the street below, graffiti of an unblinking eye with its pupil constricted in fear, graffiti of a skull and crossbones hanging over a woman's head as she sits at the bus stop and waits.
Is she marked for death?
Everyone here is marked for death.
The minute you enter the city and see the skyscrapers that go up and go nowhere, tall thin castles sucking in their gut to all squeeze together on the narrow streets, the minute you hurl down the steep one-way road without a seatbelt, that is when you start to wonder how any of these buildings can be castles if all of them are castles.
It is the city of a dull headache you are too late to understand, the city of nausea and grimy white security cameras pointing at lacquered wooden doors.
It is the city of fog, but not the kind that blankets a city in a soft shallow glow, but the kind that scratches at your throat and fills your eyes as you look out over a swallowed-up ocean.
It is the city of rain, of a hollow tapping like impatient fingers, fingers that are tired of waiting and waiting and waiting and no one knows what for. Of toxic petrichor that fills your lungs and makes you wrinkle your nose in disgust, the dull clicking of heels on a pavement where no puddles form, so the pooled up thoughts in your head and the wet mush of leaves on the ground switch places instead.
It is the stale air of a room encased in marble, a two-headed eagle and the relentless ticking of a clock that's nowhere to be seen.
Tick tock tick tock.
Flavorless gum and tear-stained documents.
Three red zeroes on the wall.
0 patience, 0 time, 0 smiles in the room.
It's a city drowning in black umbrellas and rusted fire escapes and mumbled apologies, pensive faces staring down at soggy shoes that squeak in distress.
It's a city of yelling that echoes, of blurry pictures and slammed brakes, of cold amber streetlights and empty baskets.
The city is the hollow feeling of anxious despair you get when you realize that you forgot something, someone, somewhere.
San Francisco
To others it is the city of hope, of new beginning, of slanting streets with tilted houses that people tumble out of in wild ecstasy, of grinning docks with pristine white sailboats for teeth, of strings of glittering lights on coffee shop windows late at night that sprinkle moonlight See More onto the sidewalk in a dusty powder.
To me it is the city of waiting and cold and death.
To me it is the city of not being loud enough, of waking up with a bad taste in the back of your throat, of pitch black hotel rooms early in the morning where you see a hunched outline in the corner, crying, crying, crying.
To me it is the city of graffiti-
graffiti of a giant blue bird spitting neon tendrils onto the street below, graffiti of an unblinking eye with its pupil constricted in fear, graffiti of a skull and crossbones hanging over a woman's head as she sits at the bus stop and waits.
Is she marked for death?
Everyone here is marked for death.
The minute you enter the city and see the skyscrapers that go up and go nowhere, tall thin castles sucking in their gut to all squeeze together on the narrow streets, the minute you hurl down the steep one-way road without a seatbelt, that is when you start to wonder how any of these buildings can be castles if all of them are castles.
It is the city of a dull headache you are too late to understand, the city of nausea and grimy white security cameras pointing at lacquered wooden doors.
It is the city of fog, but not the kind that blankets a city in a soft shallow glow, but the kind that scratches at your throat and fills your eyes as you look out over a swallowed-up ocean.
It is the city of rain, of a hollow tapping like impatient fingers, fingers that are tired of waiting and waiting and waiting and no one knows what for. Of toxic petrichor that fills your lungs and makes you wrinkle your nose in disgust, the dull clicking of heels on a pavement where no puddles form, so the pooled up thoughts in your head and the wet mush of leaves on the ground switch places instead.
It is the stale air of a room encased in marble, a two-headed eagle and the relentless ticking of a clock that's nowhere to be seen.
Tick tock tick tock.
Flavorless gum and tear-stained documents.
Three red zeroes on the wall.
0 patience, 0 time, 0 smiles in the room.
It's a city drowning in black umbrellas and rusted fire escapes and mumbled apologies, pensive faces staring down at soggy shoes that squeak in distress.
It's a city of yelling that echoes, of blurry pictures and slammed brakes, of cold amber streetlights and empty baskets.
The city is the hollow feeling of anxious despair you get when you realize that you forgot something, someone, somewhere.
(Part 2)
But what did you forget? Did you forget an ocean that isn't milky white? Did you forget sound of birds and sirens and a delicious cocktail of voices, the sound of anything but metallic clicks and whirs of rain?
No, you have forgotten the feeling of being full, of not having red stripes of light across your hands when you look up, of gelid windows that See More aren't blurred by the slightest hint of warm breath.
All you can do is sit and watch and wait and look at the graffiti, bold scrawled lettering that reads "Some things never change."
The graffiti is right.
Listen to the lonely artist that threw up the colors she swallowed to be happy.
The city doesn't want you here.
But you can't ever really leave.
But what did you forget? Did you forget an ocean that isn't milky white? Did you forget sound of birds and sirens and a delicious cocktail of voices, the sound of anything but metallic clicks and whirs of rain?
No, you have forgotten the feeling of being full, of not having red stripes of light across your hands when you look up, of gelid windows that See More aren't blurred by the slightest hint of warm breath.
All you can do is sit and watch and wait and look at the graffiti, bold scrawled lettering that reads "Some things never change."
The graffiti is right.
Listen to the lonely artist that threw up the colors she swallowed to be happy.
The city doesn't want you here.
But you can't ever really leave.
on February 11, 2017
on February 11, 2017
Hello please look at my friend's blog thank you : ) http://judyscornerforwriting.weebly.com
on February 01, 2017
Me: Ok man youre waking up at 5 tomorrow go to bed at a decent hour
Also me, at 4:30 am: Oh dear
Also me, at 4:30 am: Oh dear
on January 17, 2017
Any of yall get some cool stuff for the holidays??
I got a wacom but I returned it because it didn't go well as I thought so now I'm waiting to get a computer so I can animate and draw :'(
on December 26, 2016
on December 26, 2016
on December 26, 2016
i cant fuccking get over that video where the guy confronts his little brother about his roblox girlfriends
on December 25, 2016
Ive been stuck inside the house for five straight days : )
on December 25, 2016
on December 08, 2016
on December 06, 2016
idk at this point what you guys think "aesthetic" is but aesthetic means, crudely put, something you think is pretty or pleasing. Its not just edgy tumblr posts of dismembered hands covered in glitter. It CAN be, if thats your thing as an individual, but that is not specifically what aesthetic IS. So let people enjoy their personal interpretation of aesthetic and stop slamming them for it. cool? cool.
on December 04, 2016
on December 04, 2016