❢ Pinned Post

2025.06.04

You've not seen the murky blue of the water simply because of color-blindness; or so thought one who sees every color. The rainbow tightens a bow around the world, clasping it a little tighter but those beady little eyes cannot grasp it's hue. Simply put the world is filled with such beau through and through, however the makeup of one's body limits its perception. If one were to see every beauty there is, that body would know pain like no other, and is the only real pain that is in the world. I do not hate you; because I do not wish to leave it so. No one does hate you so much to tear you into pieces, if we all were aware of this pain. A classmate of mine once said they saw beauty in the decay of this and such is nature; but withholding beauty, one is all so aware of the beauty that lies there and defies it. If not knowing beauty, one will no defy this. A paradox of precious time and perception plays tricks on the stature that is us. You will see me combing the beach for physical beauty, not knowing the cry beneath that prays for the everlasting beauty that this meat body cannot expirence; so I love you gust, I love you gaze, and I so do love you garon; even in your hatred that projected itself that late-summers day on the rusty roofs of the barracks. And do not carry any room for any hatred, and will promise to leave you a tome of my beauty that will long-after roam the horizon beyond your perished body. And you will know it, with your precious sensers that presevered itself with immortal beauty and never hid from the pirecing pain that you held dear in the womb.

2025.06.23

Simply there lacks libido in which the movie stands on, or simply there is too much of it to make the act of story telling sacred. Last week I went to see a movie which I was utterly and completely disapointed of, because I quite enjoyed the last one in the series. It felt too verbose, and the director lacked the heat in which they told their last lore. It may be because it lacked libido in which all creative impetus relies on, and with the last film being a successful, the need to control or the longing of life and death simply must have been put out. I'm not the one to care much if anything is not as expected, but it had some effect on me and I felt quite betrayed. Three days after that, I went to see Megalopolis by Coppola and I undestand what evoked them to make the story, however felt far too personal beyond the film's true intention; which is completely fine as a film. Having the drive to build things such as Megalopolis is to be praised upon; it felt much put together than the unnamed film I saw earlier in the week. It still wasn't enough to hoist me up from the confusing disapointment I had been feeling. It all changed when I stumbled upon this on youtube.The endless sadness of mankind and I cry at the dim light that shines dark hues upon your silhouette. Its a horrid thing and its all so beautiful. I've been watching/reading HunterHunter and its horrifying beyond anything I've read ( maybe a little more than Berserk because the contrast between the light and the dark is sharper in Hunter Hunter, whereas Berkserk feels like complete darkness.) Remember that loneliness, remember that darkplace in our town that the mind braced to trouble through. Feeling as if there still was light and this light crushed you because of that dark dark place. It feels like that era. I wish to emanate this light that shines onto the sadness of mankind, so we will accept this instead of feeling the need to tear out of ourselves.Does the shadow embrace you still?

2025.05.18/27

Dead porpoise (or a baby dolphin?) The rostrum was covered and I do not know enough to make a statement. Found sundial shell. Buried after a while by the tide; the wounds only seen by some.

In the lightest of blues, have you seen the light-weight bird chirping chirping chirping, gust of wind pushing its little hollow body up until you can see it no more but can still hear it's chirp? The never-ending chirp it is; it tries to defy nature but never can with it's stature.

Today at the beach there were dozens of dead birds. It lay in every form, some already eaten by it's own kind. It had been beaten with strong wind and possibly some illness only know to aviators.

Realize this; fall when we all fall, ah that is nature. It is sublime and too strong for any steel will.

Yes. Do not go gentle into that good night, yes. But also, it is not your fault when we all fall. It was nature and nature is that wind that killed all of those birds today; It was the stature of the wind and hollow bone that no will could have beaten.

2025.04/23.26

Pale blue kind of night it was, I don't remember what I was doing in school;but it was late going home. As I walked I heard a sudden shriek from behind me and turned to see people gathering and panicking whilst one collapsed in the middle. Seemingly, someone was dead. It was a quiet panick that would eat you up for hundred years to come.I turned back for I realized I had come here with a bike, however a guard stopped me and told me to hurry home. So I walked slowly home.

The day after, there had been a seating change and I got the seat next to the window. A dull kind of girl sat next to me, whom I had great empathy for; for I was quite dull myself. I looked on through the open window displaying a gray tall building with red antennae on top. The mountain and the pale blue looming over us.

"Wonder what that gray building is. I've wondered this for almost two years since I've been coming here. (I fear, and pray not to learn of any death, and wonder what those gray concrete brick walls hold. I wonder what the antennae is for, I wonder of the unique lightness of being we share, sitting by this window. I will go home on a bicycle tonight, and there will always be that awful shriek in the back of my wheel. But I will forget, once small free souls round up around the bonfire and dance, and I will watch from the roadside with burnt grass penetrating my nostils.)"

Riso.

33.If it weren't for that green light

2025.04/19

Riding late afternoon through dust, I recall having strong fascination towards the prince in snow white; not attraction, I barely remember what he looks like; I just remember him looking quite fake and I hated that, so no. Not that kind of fascination, but it was when he cut through those roses; the sound of blade slashing through tough vines and roses being cut. Also, all I can remember now in aladdin is him drowning to the depth with weight tied around his leg. I remember having funerals for my dolls as well. Its the same fascination I have toward towns and time; a strange fascination and a very strong fear toward death. The idea makes everything so beautiful, but I fear it and hope not for all to perish for I love that beauty. Such paradox; but paradox make one beautiful as weakness does not look beautiful but makes you beautiful. So be lid not of the weakness of the physical form; the uglyness of the physical makes one so beautiful in idea.

My disinterest in gore and erotica has made me an outcast from society; not an outcast of human but perhaps from the mass. I feel quite human and alike to many other human in this world, but the mass I quite feel apart from; I have found the study of life to be somewhat important nowadays. Not because it is estoric in any way, being a human, bone structures and innards that compose of life and its decay does look intriguing in away as gentle soft shape of humanity does as well. But it is far too loud and far too naive to give in to the tangible things in life for the reality exist in the quiet idea of the worldly components. Think not of the touch; if achievable, flying too close to the sun does not hold any beauty. In the renaissance era of humanity, the unknown brought the idea, the most beautiful state of mind, to us and thus made us curious and estoric. I ride to see the quiet beauty and it is everywhere and I feel hurt because of time; but they stood slouched on the fence next to a combini on the outskirts of middle sized town in the haze of the afternoon light, lighting a tabacco in their hands and ashes fall. The ashes fall. Falls through the grate to the running subway underneath. And the ashes fall.

As you'll know, I would stare forever at the river that flows neither up nor down if it weren't for the green light waiting to change.

Alice chases the white tamed hare; I'll chase the bloody path of a injured stingy stray cat.

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2025.03.14/17

I love bonnet shells and cowries; I collect them and cherish them.( but did you hear? they are disinterested in both genders of its own kind. How peculiar.)

There is a calm violance in those with most creativity. A violence of the natural kind; not of ego. Spirituality in shapes and colors; how peculiar. Vice versa, how so common of you! It happens in trusting your peculiar way. A difficult theater; that I've awoke from and never allowed to hear myself sing. (But those marble horses and high gardens know the song.)

It's all fine, I wish for the simplest thing that many others have forgotten about. I wish for the simplest thing, dear god.

The photos shade your shadows a dark shade of hue and the lights are colorful yet shyly saturated, and my dear god; it should be so forever.

Carry a scoop to the ocean...

2025.02.18

"But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin."

2025.01.25

I would like to write to you about the corn soup crossing,where the birds chirp out of no where.

Cars are always parked on top of those roofs, and it takes an hour to climb to the designated spot.

I would like to take you to the corn soup crossing, but I never can.

But when I am able to, you will dress in black; only but a pink tiara perched on your head and shout "Don't you take beauty away from me!"

And I would be ever so happy.

2025.01.15

2025.01.10

In the annex towers, little shadows follow you everywhere, down the winding descent. It pokes you, a harsh but brisk pain, which was the only lively thing that were in these grey basements.

Come to think of it, we were just now catching small shell-like butterflys for our boss. Now here in the dark, thinking about Stephenson 8-12, greeted by the end, where a large figurine of odd humanoid sculptures sat in a line. Red, orange and perhaps turquoise. It is I, who can make this or, them; who the ego hates the most. A waft of cigar from generations ago, plastered on these walls.

2024.12.21

Freddie's "darlings" aren't adressed at anybody. And I find that attractive. Don't ever find someone to address your "darlings" to. ( But he still loves you. )