The Burmese Harp (1956) Dir. Kon Ichikawa.

* 𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐑 , 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 .

@epokhas ( kazuhira ) sent bitter love to the sis.

𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 , 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 : the act of peeling oranges for someone, the act of consideration for her, but the orange was not quite ripe, and its flavor, sour. this abstract and calloused kind of adoration, peppered with your passionate protection, wrapping around its embittered nexus, it grew with time. paradoxically. it reminded her of oceanic love, old and containing all its abominations, making room for more unlovable monsters. sulfur, gun-powder, the phlebotomy of oils and fossil fuels spilled into each tide promising its back and forth, machismo in its ebbs, the flow of empty-carved flatteries. pollution propped up each huff and puff from your pouting mouth. a pouting mouth that did not articulate what it meant. it just sighed for your false messiah and the heavens fell mute to his self-fulfilling prophecy. self-imposing, self-mongering, like any other repetitive promise delivered by fallacious prophets. ‘ but it is alright. ’ her musings withered to a whisper. the flutter of her lashes and lax shape of her brows brimmed with an exhausted patience. it was deathless almost, dead and undead, a worn anchor settled within a bottomless puddle of liquid tar. tar that oozed from the throat, choking on its nightmares, on the rot of eaten snakes, on the smoke sucked from another's lung.  ‘ i am just as crude inside ’ you were not blind to her ugly, unsalvageable interiors, the thing she carried within. the thing that dried all her tears, all her humanness twisting to a deformed organ. removable when dysfunctional. it was a thing not dissimilar from that which you stubbornly refused to extract. but with its festering could come collapse. she must not forget the frail ripples of the sea, how the slightest shake could make or break it.  “ i wish i could take your pain sometimes. your bitterness. i know you wouldn't forgive me if i did. but you have not forgiven me for other things, so it would make little difference. " her hand, emitting unwanted comfort, rested upon your clenched fist. cruel tenderness irritated upon the fuss. she did not mind how rough it was against her mellow touch. it was still old love. oceanic, salty and bitter. weathered smooth by its clashing waves. it was still the peeling of oranges. " i'm sorry. i always say something inappropriate, don't i ? " some shred of your bitterness must have rubbed off on me.

But where was my body? Where was I in these words? What of this belonged to me?

Jasminne Méndez, from Night-Blooming Jasmin(n)e: Personal Essays and Poetry (via lifeinpoetry)

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 / 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 ;    some sacred agonies were simply overbearing, over-gobbling, the cosmos eager to sunder and disassemble.  one side too real, the other too dead.  too holy, too eldritch.  they took root and vine as rotten artery-roads through a gilded body.  though your words rang true, your softness lied.  always, always were there lies. ( like hers, like anyone else's.  ) along with the ghosts you soothed you faded before her, and to this, she was regrettably blind.  oh, what feats she would undertake  ---  moving mountains, parting the seas, bending the skies for her twinkling asteria's happiness !  perhaps, this might have been the reason she shan’t know the hidden meaning. your ailment a secret by volition of cold light.    “ fear does even plague ghosts, it is unfortunate such inflicts those who have yet to meet their end, in turn.  ”   herein the irony manifested between two fleuret women and their empathic attributes, their shared compounds tempering sorrow like a balm to a bruise.  hers, a gift to the living    /    yours, to the unliving.  she did rather not admit her particular understanding of a ghost's reasoning for its lingering obstinacy, and that in her own dismays she would stir waters to tremendous dimensions.    “ even so —  i could not blame them.  the light of yonder is too bright and terrifying, too cryptic for them.  what else will it cleanse aside from memory ?  some may not be able to let go of their pain… ”    and their wailing may never be heard, in silence they must weep. 

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 for those whose eyes sees the unknown. the markings of a goddess, it’s plague clouding her vision towards a death-screamed spiral. it suffocates her. the desperation of fallen corpses clinging onto her soul : hungry for vengeance, craving for existence, and when they speak it was honey sung words reaped with veiled treachery. the chaos in her eyes is marred with blood stained tears, yet the night star no longer mourns for its injustice. instead, she carries on pretending she is unbothered / pretending she is above the terror which torments the earth. smile, play her role, she has always been good at acting and running away.  ❝  ——  hmm, what do you think they say ?  ❞  look how patiently the stars deflects their response. her dialect spoken with an air of spacious wonder, dancing on the cusp of religious taboo, with falsehood innocence to match.  ❝  the dead who remains... often feels very wronged.  ❞  there will always be some semblance of truth to her words, but because you are her holy sister, she offers you nothing less than sincerity.  ❝  they do not want to part with the living, so they choose to ignore the summoning of the light above. it hurts them too you see, so they hurt others. or at least some of them do. many of them simply hides. ❞

yep this was my contribution to it. good times.

  *  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂    :    feelings.

𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.    being unable to stop smiling. laughter. bear hugs. happy tears. waving arms around. dancing. contently sighing. eyes twinkling. laughter lines. childlike playfulness. skipping. talking more. affection. cracking more jokes than usual. gesturing more when talking. higher pitched voice. squealing. jumping around. clapping.

𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.    tearing up. self-hugging. one-arm cross. an aching chest. scratchy throat. a runny nose. turning away. deep breaths. quivery smiles. crying. infantile sobbing. hands gripping each other or an object. covering mouth. puffy eyes. eyes appear red. voice breaking. a distant or empty stare. monotone voice. asking for comfort. faking a smile. crumbling. shaking. whimpering. depression. abusing an unhealthy habit. withdrawing from others. big teary eyes. doing something even if it could hurt them.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑.    furrowed brows. baring teeth. passive-aggressive comments. avoiding eye contact. sarcasm. headache. sore muscles. hiding clenched fists. irritability. jumping to conclusions. raising voice. going silent. demanding immediate action. keeping it all in until exploding. body tensing. making risky decisions. middle finger.

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑.    wanting to flee or hide. what-ifs. images of what-could-be flashing in mind. uncontrollable trembling. rapid breathing. screaming. a skewed sense of time. irritability. keeping silent. denying fear. turning away from the cause. pretending to be brave. nail-biting. lip-biting. scratching skin. a joking tone but a voice that cracks. fainting. insomnia. panic attacks. exhaustion. substance abuse. tics. rushing adrenaline. face draining of color. hair lifting on the back of the neck. feeling rooted to the spot. making body as small as possible. staring but not seeing. crying. a shrill voice. whispering. gripping something or someone. stuttering. flinching at noises. pleading.

𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.    constantly yawning. blurring words together. dark circles or lines under eyes. mood swings. hallucinations. calling people by the wrong name. dizziness. denying they’re tired. slow blinking. trouble concentrating. stumbling. leaning on a doorframe for support. sluggish movements. falling asleep someplace that isn’t a bed. becoming irritated by the smallest things. “I’m awake, I’m fine.”. shaking so bad they spill their drink. fall asleep in their clothes. lay their head on the table because they’re so tired. passing out.

Tagged by :    @reginrokkr​ Tagging :  @asterites  /  @asteriskheart  ( aera uwu )  /  @entropyes​ /  @battleshot​  + anyone who wants to and has the time

Insp.

Happy birthday to this sweetheart, ravuxnoxfleurett ~

Like for a short starter if you dare

Luna → Light

I was like that: visible invisible visible invisible. There’s no material as variable as moonlight. I was climbing, clinging to the underneath of my bones,—

Alice Oswald, excerpt of Full Moon (via antigonick)