How does one sit
waiting for something different to happen?
How would you
when the days are on loop
How would you
see something new
in an ordinary day
where nothing is different
How would you break out of the infinite dance?
Above is my best attempt at doing art that represents how I feel when listening to AJR – orange is Weak, red is Netflix Trip/Turning Out, and blue is Three Thirty/I’m Ready.
If you have no idea what I’m talking about, I seriously recommend that you take a listen – they just released their new album on Youtube, so go have fun.
(PS. I’m not dead, just busy. Not that anybody actually cares if I post or not. Lol.)
Hi, my name is _________ .
Is that who I am?
Can it be contained within that noun?
Would I be the same person with a different name?
“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet”
Is my name an appropriate descriptor of who I am then?
Can that seemingly random combination of symbols somehow communicate something about who I am?
Is it able to tell anything about me?
What impression does it leave?
Why does it matter?
Sometimes, I don’t feel like what my name says.
I just feel…
There’s no name to my own consciousness.
It’s just there.
Sometimes, I can forget where I am.
I can forget who I am.
In that context, my name doesn’t matter.
I’m just a person.
In an unfamiliar ocean
with no buoy in sight
but I’m somehow fine
I can swim like this
I can float from place to place
I need not be tied to anything
I do not need a weight on my ankle
nothing to drag me down
and keep me stuck
I do not need a reminder of where land is
I know it by heart
I can always return
There are islands out here
I do not know where I belong
so I’ll stick to the in between
to the waves and the fishes
and the friends I can count on
to stay in one place
The sun warms the water
that drives the waves upon the shore
that break the delicate shells
until they are all grains of sand,
unknown as what they once were,
impossible to distinguish
from the rest of the pieces.
She was aware that the teacher was speaking, but didn’t really pay any attention. What would be the point since it was being taped anyways. Every single lecture that she went to was recorded. She hadn’t even ever seen any of these teachers.
Because she was blind of course.
She had been born that way and didn’t think she was missing out on anything. The way that everybody romanticized beauty, she didn’t really understand it. She wouldn’t ever, she supposed.
There was so much poetry to listen to on the subject; imagery that was completely lost on her obviously.
‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’; to her it didn’t really matter what the rose was called anyways because it smelled the same.
She hadn’t even seen her own face before. She had no knowledge of these ‘colors’; she navigated the world in the dark, in three dimensions built for a world that could see what they were in front of. She had a world of textures and sounds, not space and light.
So maybe she was a little jealous. But she knew that there wasn’t anything to be done. She would always exist in a separate world, a separate plane than the rest of her classmates.
She’d never even met another blind person before. She had nobody to relate to in that way, nobody at all. She had some superficial friends, but she felt like some people only spent time with her because they pitied her for something she that she never had in the first place.
They were always so helpful, so quick to try and assist.
Most of the time they would stop being interested and start to drift away. They somehow assumed that since her eyes didn’t work, her brain didn’t work either and she was dumb or something.
Of course they thought that.
The the soft jangle of her keys was the only sound as she took them off of the hook next to the front door.
Which was to be expected since it was the middle of the night.
There was nobody in the house other than her, nobody to wake up, but it didn’t feel right to be loud leaving the silent.
She had nobody to leave, and nobody to go to. She’d long since made sure of that.
Not that it was her own fault. She couldn’t help it. There was just no longer anybody to sneak out with her in the middle of the night.
Why was she doing this again?
Just to take a nice drive. A simple drive, in the middle of the night. When the city was silent and nobody else was around. When the street lights were on but there was nobody beneath them. When the cars were but ants left sitting still in their driveways and on curbs. When the birds stopped their incessant chattering. When it was as though all of them had all vanished, and she was the only person left in the world,
and she wouldn’t have been bothered by it.
via Daily Prompt: Jangle
Melody and drums and bass and guitar, and techno sounds and all that makes you a masterpiece. The harmony that makes sense, the riff that’s random but perfect. The combinations that are one in a million, the voices that meld and mix. The notes that aren’t notes and need to be.
The lyrics that make one feel, that bring happiness when you want to be cheered up and bring sadness when you need to cry.
Music: you are perfect, and I will always need you.
Stickers on walls
and dancing in the halls;
the swing swaying the wind.
The walnut tree that’s good for climbing
and the ever so delicious dining;
the garden path waiting to be ran upon.
The trampoline that’s never used
and the sky all shades of blues;
the carpets on old parquet wooden floors.
The crumbling facade and the rose arch;
the hope that I’ll never have to leave.
So few symbols. And somehow I try to make some meaning out of them.
Endless combinations. So many words. And yet it will never be enough.
Some things are just indescribable.
One should know better than to meddle in issues over which they should have no say and have no stake in other than that they want to feel important.
via Daily Prompt: Meddle