Diary - Tumblr Posts
It is strange feeling, starting from a scratch, on a blank page, new chapter. exciting and stressful at the same time. not sure, if the path i chose is the right one, but only time will show me that.
i decided to start new blog, where i can be 100 % honest and open about things i wouldn't dare to talk about on my old blog. i really need place to vent, diary in a language, that might understand people with similar experiences.
and not just a diary. i'd like to share my old stories, things i lived through, as a form of therapy, caharsis, whatever you want to call it. there is so many things i need to talk about, that have been swelling under my skin and in my brain fibers for over decade.
really important disclaimer: as i am about to be very honest, i might share stuff that could be potentially triggering for some. (especially sh, ed, bullying, family issues, etc.) my aim is not trigger anyone, but possibly find people that went through similar stuff and need someone to talk, to understand.
so, be my guest and maybe you will find comfort and familiarity in those words i am about to share.
05/09/2024
toda vez que eu quero me distanciar de uma tarefa importante, escolho substituí-la por pensamentos escritos. paro para pensar em nada e sinto o mesmo cansaço mental de sempre. penso que devia acordar mais cedo, aumentar meu campo de visão, no qual seria utilizar mais das 24 horas de um dia. lembro do que eu costumava fazer há alguns anos atrás, desenhar, estudar novas línguas, ouvir sempre as mesmas músicas. lembro como meu quarto mudou tantas vezes, e ao longo do tempo foi se tornando menos espaçoso e sucinto demais para armazenar todas as minhas tralhas.
I'd let him use my eyeliner
My journal spread back in June when I went for a church camp.
There's more here 😊 👇
Nov. 2022 - New York #lately #nyc #shotoniphone #diary (di New York, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmISOJ3yCgW/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
21 Dec. 2022
Singapore > NYC > Denver Just a couple more weeks in the year.
13 January 2023
🏢📈Congrats @roberthickerson 🧛🏼♂️
—Indulgent.
I: A captivating technique that achieves no progress at all. That maybe the evildoer in our world should be nothing less than...everything. Disappearing and rediscovering the pleasure in life would be an incredible experience.
II: Everyone aspires to be the most outstanding, but it's not necessary. Dirty, condescending, and unmotivated wants. Treating oneself to nothing while expecting it to be something. Could this be an unresolved issue? Maybe it's the core of what's always been within all along?
III: There is meaning in decaying flowers; they convey the past. On the other hand, what if the actuality of things wasn't what they ought to have been? Unwanted assumptions about things that aren't there are caused by lengthy explanations.
IV: Caught between the forbidding existence. Entangled, as if a book had an old rose in it. Commonplace, unwritten musings that impede thought. It would be lovely to be able to start again every once in a while. To have a spiritual rebirth and to put one's service beyond any consideration for the outside world.
V:When life is thrust upon us, there are no rules. Here we are, living in the shadow cast by the precarious specter of mortality. Knowing that this is all a mirage should bring true peace to our hearts. To wallow in self-pity and shut off all signs of life while one sits and mopes. Perhaps we try that? To what end does it aspire? Caught up in the trap of excessive perfection. Everything that makes up this enormous hub of life—tears, wounds, scars, and pounding hearts—is interconnected. To be captivated, inspired—but by everything in life.
𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥~
Our home galaxy is very alluring. The universe's planetary bodies, stellar systems, and Milky Way would be too much for one's hands to handle. Maybe it's designed for us to be naive, distant, and perplexing. But here we are, back at the taboo subject of "what makes us?" How much do we rely on the ropes that life provides? Is it possible to run away from the unknown, or does it just define us? Think of it as the domain of our knowledge, the freedom we yearn for, and the hostility that develops—in the absence of it. Are we being followed by the cosmic space in our thoughts? Say we reach out and touch the stars. Were we trying to hit them, or did they come running after us? I don't understand how our lives fade into the annals of time but the stars stay eternally. For all time, the sky will be all we can see. Even with all the nebulous uncertainty, humans continue to seek ways to marvel about the cosmos. In a childish sense, it's almost absurd to constantly inquire. However, we just presume without examination. If we really believe that our galaxy is far larger than humanity, only then will the actual third eye be able to initiate such cosmic explosions. To remain nonplussed is to remain optimistic, bewildered, unknown, and wanting.
Impertinence
What is the limit of mental brevity? Perhaps too muted at the its conclusion, yet too loud in the initial stages. Only through thorns, through a vague feeling of anything and nothing. We are prepared to gather acceptance, and our spirits will first gather dust.
With what audacity does time pass? Is it inherent or crazy to want to start this life all over? For those who are scared of death, is reincarnation only a means to pass the time?
Maybe we will get back up and try again when we wilt under the weight of the daring, the liberation, the desired, the complex, and the fray. For all 365 days are just points in the beginning. To begin again, to put an end to the beginning, and to face the seemingly endless darkness with courage. As an obtrusive matter, life has only just started. All of human history—the rise and fall of empires, the annihilation of species, and so on—is only a cycle of beginnings and endings. Yes, we can, and will succeed if we are brave and give it another go.
Beleaguer & Beshrew
I can feel it. There are those subtle fears. Embracing me, with the fervor of scornful gazes. Awful babbling in contorted discourse.
There is sound. Its inner workings are audible. To my internal beliefs, it was like a frigid winter slap. I am emotionally dragged down by the loud whimpering undertones.
I don't know what else to do. Embrace uncertainty or create my own path to confidence? The Clash's "Should I stay or should I go?" describes how I feel. Having no desire for anything other than self-satisfaction. But nonetheless, full and engulfed by... something.
I sense it. I perceive it. I don't like it. I can...
She—M'—Esoteric.
How does she appear amid ebbs and flows of all things, but only a chosen few have laid eyes on her? How can her soothing demeanor enchant everyone, but leave an impression on only a select few? Maybe she's a heavenly entity, rare and uncompromising, with a limited supply.
To the outside world, she is no different from the consumer of society opinion. Instead of looking away, her blue eyes lock onto the person staring back at her. The spirit of poetry that is living, darker, wicked tendril, kind, and light shall remain unbridled. Not a saint, barely a fallen angel.
How can the sum of her inhalations and exhalations be considered collective? There won't be enough available, and even fewer will have this access. Without holds, without maybes, and without forced intensity, she needs to be conquered, brought down, and loved to the utmost. She will adore, disassemble, and inflict the same on souls without preconceived beliefs.
𝑫𝒊𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒔—𝑮𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓; 𝑰𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒍𝒆.
It is said that the path one takes in life is very hazy. The vast majority of all hearts are alive. The clock is ticking until one's deepest, darkest secrets come to light. That there is no place for light except in the shadows. Ethics and morality are patterned by philosophical thought. That we do not even consider becoming something, much alone becoming anything. Experiencing illumination. Charming with radiant eyes, broken hearts, and spirits longing for something. when is the silver lining in a world when life is short and death is gloomy? How do you know when you've entered a hopeless, desolate wasteland of desire? How can we transform our lives from something we dread to something we look forward to? Pulling us in with its bare fangs. Holding us captive is the dread that tomorrow will not come. Today is the last day. The time is now. Until then, we will gaze upon the light. The complex shadows are twirling about us for the time being. We gently touch it with our extended hands and draw life in with our stripped mouths for the time being.
Placate.
Somewhere, in the depths, ties and drones crash into one another. Creating a barrier between those who drift and those who are drifted.
It calls and whines in low, eerie sounds. "Have I been here before?" it asks immediately. Has it?
Assuaging a sense of urgency is illegal. No matter the circumstances, one must experience all emotions.
Emotion, real and felt, is the lifeblood of the soul's twisting core. Anticipate that it would get easier with each effort.
The soul will be found in those gloomy, lonely corners of one's psyche. The space between them will shrink as the spirit finds its own rhythm.
Domate remains emotionless and icy until the appointed hour comes. Instead of appeasing, heat up and mend, reset and feel. In order to feel anything, you must not tame it.
—Amatory—
It is an intense, tense, and physically present amotory atmosphere. It wasn't a location, however; it was one individual. Yes, that was her. Like a storm brewing over the sea, her jet-black hair tumbles down her back. Her piercing blue eyes are overflowing with fiery, tearful, and dangerously passionate emotion. Almost feral feline zeal, dangerous passion, and fever. How can she contain, hold, and sustain this—vile evilness?
She may be a sin in and of herself, a rebel without a strong reason to stand up. However, it is the root cause of spiritual rebellion, leading people to ignore their intellect in favor of their physical selves. The forbidden is barely touched by her delicate, heavenly fingertips. Her lips want for nothing more than to harvest kisses like fresh cherries—desiring, longing, spurned in hope.
Passion on a superficial level is not what she desires. She has shifted her focus from films depicting glitzy romance to those depicting darker, more violent kind of love that end in bloodshed. This causes the heart to race, the skin to perspire in a desolate state, and the mind to awaken and act on its final impulse.
She asks to be dragged down because she needs it. Wants to be controlled, tamed—desires uninvited, unlawful, soul-bending, skin-weeping love. Because she knows it inside and out, she is able to provide it. From the beginnings of the black threaded roots of her hair, all the way to her toes.
This kind of love and longing is within her capabilities and will remain a secret wish of hers. No, she's not going to summon Cupid. Because of this, love is purposefully played over and over again like a broken record. Rather, she will squeal with pleasure, emitting a low, whimsical sound, and then wait for the reverberation. The reason being that someone must inevitably respond.
𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚜, 𝚂𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚍, 𝙸𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚎.
"I lost you, my friend. Everything from the summertime lush grass to the wintertime snowfall, to the wind. You are no longer with me."
"Fore' you never had me. Though I existed, it was just for a moment. A delicate, unpleasant one, which you were not interested in."
"But I, I do, want you now."
"Now?" Brows wrinkle, as if a satanic rustling were emanating from the dwindling soul. "You want me now? Since you no longer have any of me, it is impossible for you to crave more of me now."
"I am wiser now, my friend."
"And now, my friend, I'm gone. No longer will you ever see me."
We can't possibly know who we are going to become if we cling to our ideals of what we ought to be. Our eyes are not only looking for external sights, but also for internal ones. A sensation is present in every part of the body, just as there are eyes and a mouth in the soul and the heart. In our view, there are essentially two components to each of us: our minds and our hearts. There are so many different components—neurons, atoms, nerves, blood plates, hairs, fractions of hairs—how can we narrow it down to just two? Aren't we worth more? Is it not true that we are loved more than we know? Is it possible to develop de-self-worth in order to develop an internal sense of self-worth? Could our beating hearts decide anything? Do we no longer exist? Have we lost all of our humanity, our callings, our brilliance, and our faith? Before we ask for what's next, we lose what's not nourished, and we miss what never was.