love you all it means the world anybody reads my stuff!!!!
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Latest Posts by moona-257 - Page 4
Different love languages:
Knowing someone's coffee/food order
"Saw this and thought of you" texts
Falling asleep on their shoulder
"Drive safe" and "text me when you get home"
Having nicknames for eachother
Rihanna arrives to the Guggenheim Museum to celebrate her new self-titled book in New York City (October 11, 2019)
Sweet and delicate
childhood trauma culture is constantly seeking validation because no matter how many times it is confirmed that you were abused, you can’t help but feel like a fake because others have had it “worse” than you or the abuse wasn’t “bad” enough
“but what if i’m faking it?”
traumatic memories, especially traumatic memories from when you were a child, are notoriously difficult to access in their entirety. there are a lot of reasons for this- dissociation, injury, and memory deteriorating over time to name a few- and this can present a challenging question to survivors: how do i know i’m not lying?
people who are faking trauma or mental illness in general know they’re faking it. if you didn’t wake up one day and plan out what a fake traumatic memory you were going to have, and all the triggers you wanted to have, then you’re not faking.
processing trauma memories is difficult and frightening and confusing, but you are not a liar or a faker.
“Nemesis inhabited a dark paradise of her own making. She never held back. I loved her for her frightful hatred, her frightful love. I admired her stunning passion for revenge; the mercilessness in her eyes.”
— Lola Ridge, from To the Many; Collected Poems of Lola Ridge; “Hellish,”
Beetlejuice (1988)
Artist Luo Li Rong
“You once told me that the human eye is god’s loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn’t even know there’s another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty.”
— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel
isnt he so hot people say and im like who and people say this guy and im like who and people keep saying oh this guy he kinda looks a little weird but hes so attractive and im like who well he played this character from this movie and hes so attractive and im like okay can i see a picture and the guy always looks like this
tag yourself: autumnal/halloween edition 🥀♡
ghost maiden~ ♡ a castle shrouded in mist, playing chopin’s nocturnes by candlelight, early morning walks across frosty meadows, a white victorian nightdress with a wilting lily of the valley bouquet, bewailing the day you were abandoned at the altar, the ‘giselle’ ballet, tear-stained love letters thrown from the tower or into the icy lake...
19th century vampire~ ♡ attending the opera in a moth-eaten velvet gown and lace gloves, a cursive-inscribed first edition of ‘carmilla’ from your first lover, hosting elaborate feasts for the local nobility but only drinking red wine, a dusty french boudoir of old treasures: vintage glass bottles of perfume and antique art, reminiscing with byron and wilde...
forest-born witch~ ♡ mushroom picking at night, a cat-shaped familiar composed of shadow (named circe), singing in latin to our lady the moon or hekate, velvet spell bags of herbs and tumbled smoky crystals, casting off one’s earthly form to step through the incense veil into the world of spirits, a cauldron of stewed apples and blackberries for teatime (guests include the grimm and medea)...
academic-turned-detective~ ♡ ancient ink-blotted manuscripts of homer’s odyssey, solving a century-old murder mystery, pearl buttoned blouses and shabby oxfords, wandering a cemetery with hot cider or cinnamon cocoa, haunting gloomy chapels on rainy afternoons, melting wax to seal a hand inked letter to an old friend...
angel of sweet death~ ♡ a lovely-hearted heartbreaker, worn out ballerina slippers and a black silk slip (with a cashmere cardigan for the evening), ‘girl’s night’: black and white horror films and devil’s food cake, tying a velvet ribbon to a tree branch as to not get lost in the enchanted forest, follower of lana del rey and stevie nicks, weeping tiny black pearls and coughing up dried rose petals...
types of people: film genres
film noir: wears a lot of black, has a constant air of mystery, effortlessly sultry, prefers to be alone, doesn’t even write down their secrets, probably the smartest person you know
screwball comedy: clumsy, quick-witted, has an infectious laugh, not afraid of being embarrassed, a lot of self-deprecating jokes, fit and energetic, some communication issues
science fiction: has a vast and varied collection of books, seeks out one-of-a-kind works of art, stays up late, keeps a lot of notes, openly talks about social issues, surprisingly existential
horror: wears jewel tones, constantly aching for october, reads gothic literature, prefers gloomy weather, not squeamish, intrigued by spooky stories, a night person
fantasy: decorates with fairy lights, puts flowers in their hair, has a sweet tooth, wears blankets as capes, spends way too much on scented candles, frequently watches disney movies, believes in magic/wishes it were real
musical: wears lots of different colors, sings in the shower, cheerful and friendly, twirls a lot, loves to be with people and play games, doesn’t mind being the center of attention, prefers being out of the house
period drama: a romantic soul, loves lace and satin, goes on picnics, enjoys the ritual of makeup and skincare, fascinated by old fashion trends, owns more than one book of poetry, goes antique shopping
Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel | The Shape of Water, dir. Guillero del Toro | F.K.A. Twigs, ‘Water Me’ | Alejandra Pizarnik, ‘To a Poem About Water, By Silvina Ocampo’ | Camille Mariet, Sharing a bubble bath on a rainy day | Ilya Kaminsky, ‘When the Child Sleeps, Sonya Undresses’
when richard siken said, “i hope it’s love. i’m trying really hard to make it love. i said no more severity”
“Don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me. My words in the dream are like Hamlet’s ghost, the prophecy spurts old blood, one hundred Ophelias of thought have died. Don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me.”
— Moikom Zeqo, from ‘Don’t Talk to Me’, I Don’t Believe in Ghosts: Poems from ‘Meduza’ (trans. Wayne Miller)
Kim Addonizio, from ‘Blues for Roberto’, What Is This Thing Called Love: Poems
Hozier, ‘Cherry Wine’
[Text ID: “I’m all but washed In the tide of her breathing.”]
Forough Farrokhzad, from Another Birth: Selected Poems of F. F.; “In The Dark,”
“Want”, Clementine von Radics // Duck Butter, dir. Miguel Arteta // “GPS”, Shauna Barbosa // “Ten Love Letters”, Clementine von Radics
you move & the wind moves with you, something honey, something bruised— in the way you chew on your bottom lip. nervous habit; delayed reaction. how in summer the world feels like a mirage of itself. hands that chain themselves to anything that refuses to let go: a leech, or brown muck. your teeth (grazing) the inside of my elbow. something damn frustrating about the way you give yourself up (to anything that’s foolish enough to take you) i.e the sea, the coast, where your shoulders meet, the leylines of your veins. & picture me humbly, please. picture me in evenings & earthly tones, only. & do not hold your breath when i go, slip. out the back door—silhouetted feline; precipitous, or better yet. picture (you), standing barefoot in the tall grass, picture the curve of your neck in malnourished light, & a puncture wound, in the now negative (space) you found me in: a flower bed emptied; the sun bleached out. — oh all i ever wanted / was a life in your shape // mitski
me, after going five days feeling good: maybe…I am… Recovered™…?
me, crashing down on a trigger the very next day: oh
you are like clockwork, like misguided irony that you can’t yet identify. I see you’re still chasing me though, even if its only subconsciously now. She doesn’t pull off what I am though, and never will. Happy hauntings.
