Freedom is the earth’s only natural satellite
Freedom always shows the same face
But knows that its spherical whole hides a darker past.
The forgotten side of the unfree, those who were never released.
And so they look to it and light lanterns and fireworks, reminding us of it’s luminous surface.
But the burning hot incised moon is both freedom and forgetfulness.
They drown as i wait for a dribble to suck from a broken tap.
They sink their heads under and surface spluttering,
while my fingers crisp into flaky skin as I rake in the dirt to find a deeper source.
They clip their necks back desperately treading water,
as my desert lobotomy is broken only by spotting mirages, like blood vessel visions.
They are swollen masses of rotting unforgottenness and i am a shrunken gourd invisible under the cracking gulley of the earth.
I wake to the gunshot fireworks
The eternal celebration of war;
It rattles me.
There is a bus that takes me,
I cannot move for the quash of sunken faces amid doll-like beauty,
And the yellowy teeth baring through the bars,
Outside the window, blossom continues
even in the scant dirt of crouching children’s piss.
Even as i walk buildings seem to rise around me,
great monstrosities for the ant-like workers;
And the hunched backed elderly wrinkle in the sun to sweep the roads.
And yet the blossom continues.
In the school, where ant-like children march and bow;
who scramble apart and yell and laugh when given the chance
and are knocked apart for it.
I hear Christmas music still as the blossom grows
and I think of hope and meaning.
For meaning is a sort of remembrance;
And my blossom is the remembrance of light in darkness
and beauty to shade the ants
as they scuttle to make a world for themselves,
in the desert sands given to plant their lives.
loosely based around the film ‘Soul Surfer’
prompted by coolgleekazoid
Chapter 6/15 + Epilogue
Will eventually be linked to both AO3 and Live-journal
“All that glitters is not gold,
often have you heard that told”
Mine is all the glittering sea,
waves of gold engulfing me,
in the depths all shadows dark,
they do not offer a warning bark,
Have you ever sung to the ocean?
and walked waters with a board?
For the tide’s ears are always open,
as long as it’s pits are clawed.
a/n ok so it’s literally has been an age, I moved countries and all sorts of other bullshit, so if you’re still reading congratulations. Hopefully all the links work above if you want to start from the beginning and I promise i’m sorting out the other locations.
The misted mountains unmist my conscience,
As the rippling wonder of my imagination
Is as the tumbling brook,
Scrambling through the breathing green
Of unlonely mountain trees;
And little lanterns of thought
Like budding blossom on the seldom tree;
And i am crumbling rockfaces and sweeping valleys;
Until i am above them all,
Wisping out the misting
Through chattering tongues.
I am misted clarity,
Fresh in pearly raindrops.
Who wrote this drivel?
Shit, it was me. It was me.
This thing reads like a fucking VCR repair manual. Is this even English? It’s got all the grace and elegance of a drunk girl puking in a potted plant at a frat party. It’s got all the speed and potency of an old man with a colostomy bag…
"I’m studying to be a librarian."
"What’s the sexiest part about being a librarian?"
"I’d say the width of our knowledge. The rest of academia seems to have a rather specific focal point, whereas librarians need to know enough to serve as a guide for researchers of every discipline."
why would you ask her that