Free Writing - Tumblr Posts

DO NOT DO THIS!!!

If a website has a paywall, like New York Times, DO NOT use the ctrl+A shortcut then the ctrl+c shortcut as fast as you can because then you may accidentally copy the entire article before the paywall comes up. And definitely don't do ctrl+v into the next google doc or whatever you open because then you will accidentally paste the entire article into a google doc or something!!!! I repeat DO NOT do this because it is piracy which is absolutely totally wrong!!!

We're together but each one of us is pulled back by the dogs of isolation. The desperation for touch, for speech is crisp but the silence is conquering. We sit disconnected, we sense our words and phrases falling short of dare and of significance. We look at each other but our eyes are clouded, blinded by the black mist of misunderstanding. I look at you and you at me, we are mere discoloured postcards, ripped love letters, both of us are clinging on something that's driving us astray. We're together but we're so lonely. Your eyes have their unfinished passion and mine are brim of affection. But none of us dares to come closer or to set the tongue free. We sit: silent, self-centred, singular, and sinuous, as we let these small misunderstandings, grouping, winning, and seizing vain victory. You look at me again and I at you, our wrong silence is bleeding for speech, for liberation, for communication.

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

(Artwork by Joseph Lorusso.)

One year cannot

measure your pain as well as your joy for you are immeasurable. You neither wasted time nor missed anything else. You lived, you loved, you tried, you lost, you gained, you fell, you stood up for yourself. You do not know what comes next but you have, in your guts, what it takes to survive the immeasurableness of life, because you are more than what you think of yourself and more than what people perceive of you. You are immeasurable. You are not lost. You shall be be found is due time.

Happy New Year Tumblr.

Groping lovers:

You look at me

And I at you,

Your eyes wear an incomprehensible language

And mine are devoid of all language.

I do not understand you

But I feel you.

You do not feel me

But you understand me.

We look further, farther into each other

We unearth moments, details and memories,

It's hopeless, we taste the dust that remains.

And still the wall of silence between us

Is mightier than ever,

Yet our hunger for communication

For connection is mightier for ever.

Perhaps we cannot read each other

Perhaps the silence and all language

Is not enough to contain the way of love

We birthed for each other.

Perhaps we should part ways

And look somewhere else

into someone else

And there maybe we might find each other

Again.

But we must promise to cling into each other,

Mustn't we!

Or perhaps, let's be honest for once and ever,

That there's no perhaps for is in this life.

Let's turn back, hunch our backs in sorrow,

Look away.

Although we are meant to grope somewhere else,

I will always look for you

Anywhere

Anytime

For you are my someone and I am yours

And the way of love we birthed for each other

Is as otherworldly as ever.

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

(Artwork by Carmackart.)

If their presence does not heal you or support you, then their absence will neither hurt you, nor drag you down.

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

"It happens that when I think of you I sway, I prance, I am carried away like a leaf in the wind until I lose the notion of who I am. And I realize that loving you wants more silence, more breath than speech and words. But then the wind stops. The leaf falls. I am still. I am firm. Statuesque. And I feel metaphorically heartbroken, then I realize that keeping you needs more speech, more words than silence and breath. But would the wind listen to the leaf, I wonder..."

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

(Artwork by Anne Magill.)

You, I and Us:

You mistake my mouth for a

Trap or a reeking graveyard,

And I take take yours for a

Phenomenon,

And a pleasant flowerbed.

You see in me what you escape in

Yourself,

And I see in you what I want in

Myself.

There's a you in I

And there's an I in you,

But what we need is to work on Us.

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

You become so afraid

That you are willing

To surrender your desires

And crawl back into

A sheer safety amid your fears.

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

(Artwork by Anne Magill.)

"I am constantly made and remade then sent back to black by the thought of you. I'm speech, I'm silence, I'm burning fire, I'm dying ash, I'm a nested bird, I'm a migrant bird. I'm home, I'm exiled. You build me, you destruct me. I'm whole, I'm half, I'm bits, I'm naught."

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

(Artworks by Adam Lupton.)

It's not about love. It's about loving, the ability to be able to love constantly, frequently, regularly. It's about the quality you put into the action. I know you are capable of love, but are you able to loving? Love is primordial. It exits before you do, it is happening now as we read this, somewhere in many ways and colours. It's not about love, it's about how willing, how ready you are to act on loving. Think less of love as a noun and more as a verb and the answer will come to the tip of your tongue.

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

There is poetry in the silence

that ensues between two intimate souls, which either dies or is often misinterpreted by the needfulness for consistency of speech. Where love happens, silence is also a language of intimacy, but sadly, it's always a unwanted guest. Lovers tend to rely on, to depend on language, on speech more than ever so that they bring forth evidence for the love they bear for each other. And now that it's the age of social media, the era of over-communication, Lovers seem to lose gradually the notion of silence, of speechlessness, of muteness, of the quiet that roams between their bodies which every time it tries to outwin their speech to speak their minds louder in ways they cannot with language; it shrinks, it's beaten and defeated so almost exiled.

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

I cannot speak coherently. I cannot put up show to everyone. I am not sane. The truth is there's always blood in my mind, I have clogged pores inside my brain, but they're not strictly pores. They have pointy ends, like cutting edges, I am had in the sharp teeth of my thoughts. I cannot speak coherently but I care about you and I would listen to you through day and night.

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

Spring in my hometown! And poetry (read below).

__The Real Show__

In world where screens

Command our gaze,

Nature's beauty still

Deserves our praise.

Let's not forget,

In pixel's thrall,

Earth wonders are

The greatest of all.

Beyond the screen's glow,

Nature's chorus

Softly calls__

To preserve the real show.

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

Inevitable Dark and Certain Rapture.

You may let the darkness prevail

For out of the fracture

There comes a newer bloom.

Let patience, thy friend, avail

Your broken endeavours

To sugarcoat your gloom.

The dark may roil the dawn

But all will be pierced

By a certain rapture.

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

Imagine this:

You took the path by the lake as it was closest. Rocks stuck out of the ground and grass the most common color of lime-green decorated the ground flourishing crops. It smelled good, like nature should, earthy and wet. It could have even been nice if it wasn't for the fog laying claim to the dead trees that reached like hands to the top of the sky. At least it was still bright out...but time is running out...

I’ll become the Monster

warning: slight gore, blood mentioned, angst, war, medieval times

He stares out into the open field. The rain and thunder was the only thing he could hear. Millions of bodies were on on the ground with a puddle of their own blood.

He had to do it, he had no choice. It was him or it would her. So he made a monstrous choice. He used his men as sacrifices. His trusted soldiers, his friends, his family. He did it all for her.

His beloved wife, his safe space, his whole world, the love of his life. The rain grew harder and the sounds it made were louder. The thunder crackled over and over. He was no longer a man. He was no longer righteous or brave. He told himself over and over. That he did it, only because he had to.

Now, as he stands in the field. The enemy was defeated. But many lives were taken. Now, he will forever remember this moment. This tragic nightmare, he lost his best friend, his comrades, his army, and his family. They trusted him, they listened to all of his commands, they followed him to depths of all of their despair.

But at what cost? Surely they all had families to go home to. Friends they wanted to see again. Their wives who bared their children. Their freedom, surely each of them had something to live for. So why? Why did they follow him to the end of their lives?

It was because he was kind, merciful, righteous, brave, smart young man. He was the one who looked after everyone. Considered all of them as friends and family. He respected each of them. They laughed, they joked, they cried, they eat together, the shared stories and memories.

They fought together.

Why did it end this way? How could this have been the only outcome? Was there another way? Or was it fate that it ended this way? He, all alone. Standing in the middle of a bloody cold field, were thousands of his men. Sacrificed their lives, it was a win that the war is over. But it doesn’t feel like a win.

It was a lose, lose situation.

As reality hits him with each passing second. He falls onto his knees. He looks up into the sky. The rain drops glazed his face. His bloody beaten up face. His clothes soaked in blood and rain. His sword next to him after he had dropped it. He no longer felt human.

He was a monster, he knew the risk. He knew the cost of all of this. But to protect his love. He had to do it. If he was the same man he was before the war. His love would be left in a hands of a dark cruel man. A man that wasn’t him. He couldn’t let that happened. So he took a thousand men’s lives.

As he watches the clouds as if the rain was trying to wash away his sins. He sobs, a weeping sound streamed out of his mouth. A scream was heard, it was his own. Filled with rage, despair, and pain. He wept for his men. He, had became

The Monster.

———————————————————

(Edited)

Hehe, just some free writing. I’m trying to break through this writer’s block. So I was told to free write. Tell me what you guys think! Which character do you think this is?

Also this isn’t Tokyo debunker original kinda is setting. I thought I changed it for a bit.

DO NOT DO THIS!!!

If a website has a paywall, like New York Times, DO NOT use the ctrl+A shortcut then the ctrl+c shortcut as fast as you can because then you may accidentally copy the entire article before the paywall comes up. And definitely don't do ctrl+v into the next google doc or whatever you open because then you will accidentally paste the entire article into a google doc or something!!!! I repeat DO NOT do this because it is piracy which is absolutely totally wrong!!!

There was once a little girl. She dreamed of the world through the stories she read. She dreamed of deep oceans, stags and horses running through the fields, magic cast in deep valleys, castles on top of the hills, airlands where flying lizards were gliding through clouds, brave people on quests to discover new horizons, ordinary and simple people enjoying little details in life...Her mind was infested with many thoughts and feelings - rumbling through and planting seeds of curiosity, imagination and wonder. In time, they were chased away by grey people led by mr. responsibility and mr. fear. However, the thoughts always find their way back, through all the mud and the weeds. Hope is still there, to grasp the good feelings again, but also to learn to see the real world and real people with their hearts beating for true expression.

Graphic designer and illustrator: Melpomeni Chatzipanagiotou

There was once a bird, a black bird with a blue streak over its head. It flew often high in the sky, fluttering with its wings like a demon in disguise. It flew through the cold, the warmth of the summer sky, the staggering raindrops and white lightning. It didn’t want to stop, there wasn't any time for that. Everything was about the movement of the wings and going on and on.. she eventually forgot that she needed to eat or drink. She forgot what the body needs and just continued with her weird survival mode that has gone too far.

She got away from other birds - birds that attacked her, birds that admired her passion, nice friendly birds, but no one who shared her passion. Nobody shared her zeal for flying high up in the sky and wanting to reach the ruins of the blue feathers. The ruins that promised each passenger a key to another world, a world full of wonder and excitement. Nobody told the black bird that flying alone was not a good idea and that trying to outrun time is silly. Her strong feelings became the only fuel that was moving her forward..and losing strength more and more. She didn't truly ask for help or wondered what would happen if the ruins are there no more.

The bird is still flying, though is it a bird anymore? the body burst into flames - the ashes and the soul are wiggling along through the air.. the bird is no more as it once was. However, could she possibly acknowledge her mistakes and rise again from the ashes? The question remains unanswered.

A little house on a hill in the middle of the desert.. Is it a mirage or is it a real house? I am staring intently, but I can't say for sure. I have been walking in the sun almost all day and my mind might be playing tricks on me. All the light is too much, I need to close my eyes and I can only hope my lizard will somehow find me. I am resting my sight in the darkness and thinking about all the exotic plants I have seen. Light green, round plants that can flutter in the sky and spray the air with purple mist, thousands of little, blue branches that gather together to form one plant with deep roots, the tall cactus-like forms that can't be moved by any means, orange and red flowers that light up during the night and show the way to the selkvias - old trees with vertical branches whose humming can scare away the nightly predators. And there are so many more interesting ones. The desert climate is not for me, but because of them it is worth the visit.

I decided to run towards the house with my eyes closed, as crazy as that may be. I sensed the shade when I came nearby so I stopped at front of the door. I opened my eyes and realised the house was real, but there wasn't actually a door in front of me. It was above me. Almost at the same time I noticed my friend and my heart skipped with joy. The lizard was blinking at me from a distance.. he is my 'steed' in the desert. He is slower than the horses, but more fun to be around with, and he also knows the routes I am travelling. I wish I could travel with him in other places as well. I whistled so he would come closer to me and he moved through the sand like he was swimming. I knocked on the wall in front of me (couldn't reach the door), and then I actually heard a knocking sound coming from inside the house. A hoarse and quiet voice said - come through the window..