Life And Death - Tumblr Posts

Everything extraordinary would initially seem outlandish and unreachable, which is what makes life so wired.

After you pass away, your life is merely another fantasy, enchantment, dream, and action-packed story.

Finally, you'll embark on a new adventure, and I hope that at least during that one, we'll find peace.

~Books I’ve read so far this year :)

I caught up with ‘Lords of the Underworld’ series & also catching up with ‘Elemental Assassin’ & the other books I’ve read for Bookclub ...

I don’t see why there should be an after-life.

Joey Batey in Not about Angels | ADC Theatre, 2011

I have no where else to post this.

you would think after watching a dog momma give birth to 10 little babies that ii would have had some philosophical revolution, like a deeper understanding on motherhood and life and death.

but all im thinking about is puppies lol

here's momma :)

You are dying. It is quiet and somewhat lonely in the comfort of your bedroom. You did not have an adventurous story and no fantastical dreams came true, but you still had a wish… Life and Death both stood by your bedside, and you smile tiredly. They ask you one last question.

You’ve died and wake up in some sort of theme park. You look at the ride attendant, with long white hair and a big beard, who says, “Wanna go again?”

concept: a death god that is actually surprisingly supportive and on the side of the good guys, supporting actions and promoting policies that will lead to the kingdom growing and thriving instead of being destroyed, because the more the kingdom grows, the more people there are, and the more people there are the more people will eventually  die, and when you’re an immortal god of death, you know there’s no need to rush. you’ll get them all in the end

Death

Today marks 17 years after the death of my young sister. I want to wish her soul eternal peace. Rest in power sunshine. Sis love you. Death took you away from me too soon even though I would have wanted to keep you as my handbag forever. Im sure we would have been besties.

I mean death has a way of messing things up especially when you least expect it. It comes silently and smoothly takes one away and leaves you hollow depressed and lonely. The pain it leaves in its wake nothing can ever replace and if it was a life well lived then an even bigger loss is felt.

I had taken a break from the internet a few weeks ago and came back 4 days ago and as i was easing my way back in i never thought of reading the news and catching up on what i missed until yesterday. Then i found out Chadwick Boseman had passed on.

This broke my heart tbh. I dissolved into tears and couldn't believe our black superhero was gone. As someone who grew up around death you would think I'm use to it by now. But i just thought if he battled cancer for 4 years what if my besties that i shall not name battle something similar and not tell us how will i handle that.

Then i thought back on all the people that i have lost and i just thought that life can sometimes be unfair but its something that can not be helped. I hate death but that is the only promise that i know is definite. Eversince i was born i know i am going to die one day and it maybe soon or later but it will happen. I hope my life will be worth living. I hope i will fulfill my passion like Black panther did, maybe not on his scale but even on a smaller scale.

My confession today is that i actually do not have a dream. I do not think i have a purpose either. I am just living blindly. Just taking one day a time waiting for the d day because no matter how i have tried to figure it out, i have no dreams. But i will never admit it of u ask me.

Until tomorrow i hope the sun shines brighter

Xoxo

on death with 1. lilies abounded, @petfurniture, twitter; 2. frances molina, “o’death”

“Range Life” by Jordan Bolton

Part of Scenes from Imagined Films Issue #1, available on Etsy

💜💀💜~Seeing off the last journey~💜💀💜

This art is one of my representations of the world between life and death

“Wuthering Heights is surely the most beautiful and most profoundly violent love story. For though Emily Brontë, despite her beauty, appears to have had no experience of love, she had an anguished knowledge of passion. She had the sort of knowledge which links love not only with clarity, but also with violence and death - because death seems to be the truth of love, just as love is the truth of death.

- georges bataille, literature and evil (1957, tr. alastair hamilton)

Death suddenly shook and tossed in sleep, and the dream vanished.

For a brief moment Death had fallen asleep and dreamt of life.

-Nikos Kazantzakis

Grief means we loved fiercely…and if that is all anyone ever has to say about either one of us in the end, I think we lived our best life.

I lost a good friend and a sister. Here we are in happier moments. Tough loss. Her husband and her lived in Mary Pickford’s Hollywood cottage.

I told her that every time Leon Russell’s music plays I’ll think of her just before she passed. . 💔

Graveyards are so peaceful. I love to walk and meditate there.

Two different graveyards, different countries (left one - in Russia, right one - in England),

Such a different soul state and different pain.

But always longing for peace.

And to be able to hear the voice of the Spirit.

Beyond the threshold.

Moving to Forks

January 17, 2005

My mum drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. Though it was January everywhere else, it was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, and the sky was bright blue. I had on my favourite t-shirt—the Monty Python one with the swallows and the coconut that Mum got me two christmases ago. It didn't quite fit anymore, but that didn't matter. I wouldn't be needing t-shirts again soon.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington Stat, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this insignificant town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its depressing gloom that my mom escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been forced to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally started making ultimatums; these past three summers, my dad, Nick, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

Yet somehow, I now found myself exiled to Forks for the rest of my high school education. A year and a half. Eighteen months. It felt like a prison sentence. Eighteen months, hard time. When I slammed the car door behind me, it made a sound like the clang of iron bars locking into place.

Okay, just a tad melodramatic there. I have an overactive imagination, as my mom was fond of telling me. And, of course, this was my choice. Self-imposed exile.

Didn't make it any easier.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the dry heat and the big, sprawling city. And I loved living with my mum, where I was needed.

"You don't have to do this," my mum said to me—the last of a hundred times—just before I got to the TSA post.

People think we look so much alike that we're mistaken as twins. It's not entirely true, though I don't look much like my dad at all. Her chin is pointy and her lips full, which is not like me, but we do have exactly the same eyes. On her they're childlike which makes her look like my sister rather than my mum, and although she pretends not to she loves it.

Staring at those wide, worried eyes so much like my own, I felt panicked. I'd been taking care of my mum for my whole life. I mean, I'm sure there must have been a time, probably when I was still in in diapers, that I wasn't in charge of the bills and paperwork and cooking and general live-headedness, but I couldn't remember it.

Was leaving my mum to fend for herself really the right to do? It had seemed like it was, during the months I'd struggled toward this decision. But it felt all kinds of wrong now. Of course she had Bruce these days, so the bills would probably get paid on time, there would be food in the fridge, gas in the car, and someone to call when she got lost........She didn't need me as much anymore.

"I want to go," I lied. I'd never been a good liar, but I'd been saying this lie so much lately that it almost sounded convincing now.

"Tell Nick I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she promised. "You can come home whenever you want—I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I knew what it would cost her to do that.

"Dont worry about me," I insisted. "it'll be great. I love you, Mum."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I walked through the metal detectors, and she was gone.

It's a three hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and the an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying's never bothered me; the hour in the car with Nick, though, I was a little worried about.

Nick had really been pretty decent about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him sort of permanently for the first time. He'd already gotten me registered for high school, and was going to help me get a car.

But it would be awkward. Neither of us was what you'd call extroverted—probably a necessary thing for living with my mother. But aside from that, what was there to say? It wasn't like I'd kept the way I felt about Forks a secret.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. It wasn't an omen, just inevitable. I'd said my goodbyes to the sun.

Nick was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Nick is Police Chief Fury to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite my serious lack of funds, was that I hated driving around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

I stumbled off the plane in Nick's awkward, one-armed hug.

"It's good to see you, Y/n," he said, smiling as he automatically steadied me. We patted each other's shoulders, embarrassed, and then stepped back. "You haven't changed much. How's Y/M/N?"

"Mum's great. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't supposed to call him Nick to his face.

"You really feel okay about leaving her?"

We both understood that this question wasn't about my own personal happiness. It was whether I was shirking my responsibility to look after her. This was the reason Nick'd never fought Mum about custody; he knew she needed me.

"Yeah. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure."

"Fair enough."

I only had two big duffel bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for the Washington climate. My Mum and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it still wasn't much . I couldn't handle both of them, but Nick insisted on taking one.

It threw my balance off a little—not that was ever really balanced, especially since the growth spurt. My foot caught on the lip of the exit door and the bag swung out and hit the guy trying to get in.

"Oh, sorry."

The guy wasn't much older than me, and he was a little bit shorter than me, he stepped up to my chest with his chin raised high. I could see tattoos on both sides of his neck. A small woman with hair dyed solid black stared menacingly at me from his other side.

"Sorry?" she repeated, like my apology had been offensive somehow.

"Er, yeah?"

And then the woman noticed Nick, who was in uniform. Nick didn't even have to say anything. He just looked at the guy, who backed up a half-step and suddenly seemed a lot younger, and then the girl, whose sticky red lips settled into a pout. Without another word, they ducked around me and headed into the tiny terminal.

Nick and I both shrugged at the same time. It was funny how we had some of the same mannerisms when we didn't spend much time together. Maybe it was genetic.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," Nick announced when we were strapped into the cruiser and on our way.

"What kind of car?" I asked, suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Odin Odinson down at La Push?" La Push is the small Indian reservation on the nearby coastline.

"No."

"Him and his wife used go fishing with us during the summer," Nick prompted.

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking painful things from my memory.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Nick continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and she offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from the change in his expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Odin's had a lot of work done on the engine—it's only a few years old, really."

Did he think I would give up that easily?

"When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new I the early sixties—or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Ni—Dad, I dont really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix anything that broke, and I couldn't afford a mechanic..."

"Really, Y/n, the things runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

The thing, I though to myself ... it had possibilities—as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that part was the deal killer.

"Well, kid, I kind of already bought it for you. As a home coming gift." Nick glanced sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Nick had never been comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. Another thing we had in common. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's amazing, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that he was talking about impossibilities. Wouldn't help anything for him to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth—or rather engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome." he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We changed a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows.

It was probably beautiful or something. Everything was green: the trees were covered in moss, both the trunks and the branches, the ground blanketed with ferns. Even the air had turned green by the time it filtered down through the leaves.

It was too green—an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Nick's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had—the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new—well, new to me—truck. It was faded red colour, with big, curvy fenders and a rounded cab.

And I loved it. I wasn't really a car type of girl, so I was kind of surprised by my own reaction. I mean, I didn't even know If it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron monsters that never gets damaged—the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had just destroyed.

"Wow, Dad, it's awesome! Thanks!" Serious enthusiasm this time. Not only was the truck strangely cool, but I now I wouldn't have to walk two miles in the rain to school in the morning. Or accept a ride in the cruiser, which was obviously worst-case scenario.

"I'm glad you like it," Nick said gruffly, embarrassed again. It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the faded blue-and-white checked curtains around the window—these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Nick had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a second-hand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was one of my mother's requirements, so that we could stay in touch. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Nick, but I'd had to share with my mum before, and that was definitely worse. She had a lot more stuff, and she doggedly resisted all my attempts to organise any of it.

One of the best things about Nick is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, which would have been totally impossible for my mum. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look comfortable; a relief to stare out the window at the sheeting rain and let my thoughts get dark.

Forks High School had just three hundred and fifty-seven—now fifty-eight—students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together—their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new kid from the big city, something to stare at and whisper about.

Maybe if I had been one of the cool kids, I could make this work for me. Come in all popular, homecoming queen, volleyball player or a cheerleader. But there was no hiding the fact that I was not that girl. Not the class president, not the bad girl on the motorcycle. I was the kid who looked like she should be good at basketball, until I started walking. The girl who got shoved into lockers until I'd suddenly shot up eight inches sophomore year. The girl who was too quiet and too pale, who didn't know anything about fashion or new makeup products or anything else I was supposed to be into as a seventeen year old girl.

Unlike other girls, I didn't have a ton of free time for hobbies. I had a check book to balance, a clogged drain to snake, and a week's groceries to shop for.

Or I used to.

So I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closest to of anyone on the planet, never understood me. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. :ole ,aunt what o saw as green was what everyone else saw as red. Maybe I smelled vinegar when they smelled coconut. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.