Here’s my offering for this week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompts hosted by Ermilia Blog. I must admit this was was a half hearted attempt but I would truly appreciate your thoughts. Cheers!
via Ermila Blog
Another day has caught up with me. The night giving way to the morning, but not without a struggle, for I sensed the rain before I heard it pelting on the cold zinc roof. The chaotic many-tiny-fisted pounding echoed with the way I’ve took a habit of feeling these days. What am I doing staying up, reading books that only feed imagination? At this point Percy Jackson is having a ball finding his path on his way of becoming a hero. In what way was that helpful? When see people my age getting jobs and slowly becoming adults, it prods an uneasy spot in me that gives way to hopeless panic.
I can follow up on the AL biology texts I’d thrown in a corner. But it’s not like I get into that field. I haven’t a clue in which way direction to stumble towards. The wind howled past me, sending the closed window to my right into a fit of nervous shuddering. I fancy it was trying to make up its mind too, hearing my mental distress and was attempting to choose a proper cardinal point.
If I was honest with myself I would admit that I knew exactly what I wanted but I find that my sense of duty a somewhat reluctant obstacle. I mean, it’s not like I could pack up and go exploring. I’m almost broke and living with my aunt and her husband to whom both I already owe a lot.
I should probably find a profession that involves traveling and learning. Archeology was shot down pretty gently and I’m quite embarrassed for myself for submitting to that conclusion they’d drawn up so confidently; my “Indiana Jones” phase. There’s this restlessness inside me that stirs at the glimpse of the churning sea, or at the uneven horizon of mist shrouded mountain tops, the drifting scent of fresh dew and the far cry of a high flying bird.
Aunt Em says that I am pining for my parents. That I want to somehow go out in the big yonder in search for a long gone trail. How do I explain to her that I gave up on them? Continue reading
So I just received this from Tumblr:
I did just that there, on WP, on Amazon, Goodreads and Twitter. It looks pretty damn authentic to me. Did you get this too?
You see me on the train
Usually your gaze passed over me like a light drizzle
You noticed me, today’s eye of the storm
An innocuous fixture
In your dream-scape of blurry reality
You focus on me (dunno why, not that special)
On my sand brown skin and longish chestnut hair
Your eyes probe my prone form
I grow nervous, but I stare right back
I’m too tired to care this second, ginger boy
What do you see,
How sharp is the harpoon of your gaze,
Will it pin my soul in place, at your mercy?
You seem kind enough, black depth-less eyes glisten with curiosity
You might have been shy once, what makes you so bold now
Stranger mine, that you brazenly attempt to read me
Van Gogh inspired fanart. Via Pinterest, click to see the pin.
So I’ve finished Doctor Who and am where everyone else is at, awaiting the rein of Peter Capaldi. My body spasms in tears and the time in between them can extend for days. I cry in quiet little tremors and every tear is like an arrow that leaks through the cracks in my skin and strikes my singular human heart. It is finally sinking in that Matt is not The Doctor on screen anymore. I mean, and we all can agree, that he – like the other magnificent men – will always be The Doctor. Our Doctor.
It bites every time a face is lost to time, if you know what I mean. Matt, oh, Matt. Ugh. I can’t ever say anything proper. I love him unlike any other. The funny thing is that at the beginning, I acknowledged him as the enigmatic Time Lord before I realized he was an actor. I mean that in a good way, and there are some bad ways it could go because I understand that some actors don’t like to be stuck in our minds just as a particular character. Matt, nah. He seems to bathe in every second of it.
I … I just. Oh for the love of custard and fish bits! I’ll spit it out. His Doctor was one who was filled with the pain on the inside but tried to cover it up under this ever fresh coat of happy paint; fresh because he mostly means it. He was the optimist, the best friend (and the son-in-law, hehe), ever the fighter and believer in dreams and bow-ties and fezzes. Matt’s energy and well-spring of vitality always always makes me feel better about myself and this world, more than any of the previous two had. I haven’t emphasized enough on how much of a goof he was but it was so obvious to us Whovians. Continue reading
Stretched out on the back seat
I close my eyes and pretend,
My head rests on vibrant green grass
The edges beaded with dew
I see the stars above,
And they moved as we drove
Like feeling the earth spin
But yet these sparkling stones remain
Piercing my human eyes
With mysterious light of a familiar Sun
And I think about that,
That connection and the distance
Then in between the noise
Of my breath, The Proclaimers, and the breeze
A silence settled over me like a blanket
An inaudible click, felt
The stars seemed to smile brighter
As if they knew
I’d never feel the same way
Ever again as I did on this long ago drive
This night when I felt
Myself one with the universe
All at once sound rushed in my ears
But I never did un-click
Because … I belong
I was made of the stuff of stars
I hear it’s poetry month, so I’ll try to write once a day. I think it’s neat, poetry month, a poem can say much more than whole paragraphs could and there’s so many ways to write them!
Good evening, folks ;)
(US and International suicide hotlines at the end)
Dear fellow humans,
If you made it past a really bad yesterday it means that you’re still here today, able to reach a computer, your eyes aren’t burning badly and too blurry from exhaustion. That’s a lot than what some people can say, the ones that collapse into an unconscious heap, sleep-starved. I don’t know what your life is like so I’m not going to pretend that I do but I have an idea of how it can knock a body down.
It’s extremely saddening to hear when someone gives up on the whole business of existing. Suicide isn’t the solution. If anything, it makes life even more terrible for those still alive. This is issue has been plaguing me off and on for the past few months; why is it so appealing? Oblivion? But what use is that? When so many people are fighting every second, grabbing with hands and feet onto the thread that still binds them to life.
“There’s no such thing as an ordinary human.”
~The (ninth) Doctor
To friends and family and co-workers and even strangers
I understand it’s difficult to spot when when someone is thinking about committing suicide but whenever you see a friend depressed or withdrawn, try to talk to them. A lot of people feel unloved and not cared for, that they’re so insignificant that their absence won’t even matter. Show them that you’re there whenever they need you.
I honestly can’t remember where I found this and I sincerely hope it’s not something I could be sued over.
To you, the suicidal
Don’t do it. Please please please don’t. You’re so much more than nothing. You can turn around if you try and you really have to try. If not for your sake now, think about the family and friends and the strangers you’ll never meet, because you can affect everyone of them. One man caused the holocaust, he made that difference. So what change can you, a good person, make?
“900 years of time and space and I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t important.”
- The (tenth) Doctor
You can be so much more. There might not be anyone else there for you but you. You are all that you have and you can be strong. I know, personally, someone who very nearly killed herself for the most stupid reason and today she see’s what a fool she was. Not all worries are stupid, or inconsequential but if you’re still breathing the next day, well, it means that it hasn’t destroyed you. If you can survive another day then you can do it again, again … and a thousand other days.
ANOTHER FANDOM JOINED! In other news … Haha, some of you will fail to be surprised. In all truth I began listening to this podcast since the beginning of the year and perhaps regular lurkers would guessed if they have noticed my background that’s been on for about a month and a half now. Have you ever heard of it? No? *gasps* Now, I’m am not one to aggressively attempt to induct the uninitiated … but, like, seriously Check This Out! Night Vale in a few words: weird, creepy, L-O-L hilarious especially if you’ve got a dark sense of humour, uplifting and philosophical.
I am incapable of conveying what WTNV is about so as per usual I will quote somebody.
That calm, soothing voice communicates everything you need to know about the weirdest little town in the middle of nowhere. The words greet listeners in the first episode Welcome to Night Vale, a bi-weekly podcast created by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor.
The podcast presents a fictional radio broadcast from the desert town of Night Vale, emceed by its most popular radio host, Cecil Baldwin. Cecil discusses the daily occurrences of the town: news from the forbidden dog park, a new revelation from Old Woman Josie and her angels, or the mayoral race between The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home (played by Mara Wilson) and the five-headed dragon fugitive Hiram McDaniels (played by Jackson Publick).
The show is currently second on iTunes’ list of top podcasts and has amassed a huge following on Tumblr.
- Sara Roncero-Menendez, Mashable.com
Smash the link to read more. I had no idea how weird I can be until listening to Cecil’s dulcet tones enunciating the impossible and the impossibility of existence (or his anyway).
A few reasons why I appreciate (a more mild alternative of wild adoration) WTNV in no particular order: Continue reading
I wrote this while I was listening to Adele’s ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me‘ but I feel that it read in the rhythm of her version of ‘Make You Feel My Love‘.
The night I’ve been cloaked under has lasted so long. The seasons come and go before my eyes, like watching the world go around from my bedroom window. I’ve driven people away yet I need them close. I … I am a tangled mess, like old hair stuck in the bristles of a brush.
A snowflake tentatively approaches me, as if knowing that I’m too hot to touch but still wants to feel the burn. That impulsive snowflake melts before landing on my face. I’m too hot even for me to bear.
And when the cool fall breeze breathes along my body, it chafes at my skin.
Who will love me when the morning nears? After the witnessed darkness of my nights? Who will love me with the sun decides to shine, illuminating the drying trail of tears? Your beautiful face comes to me shining in the pale moonlight.
Do you think I have anything left to give? Does that molten emotion still flow in the husk of me? It’s a question you’ll have to be brave enough to seek. But I’d swear it to you, your memory is what’s been keeping me alive. Come closer and let me gather you near. Come a little bit closer like you used to do. How else can I make you feel my love?
Currently watching Doctor Who ‘The Angels take Manhattan’ and I am freaking out. I watch this a year ago, the last bit, without knowing any of the back story of the show and now that I’m in the know it’s a hundred times devastating!
That is all, my friends, that is all.
Good night, and beware of the Angels.