Desi Core - Blog Posts
ok let get one thing straight the "case" on ranveer allhabadhia is so CRAZY like bro wtf? you dont care about poverty in your country , you dont care about AQI, you dont care about r@pe case you dont care about divorce-alimony suicide cases but you care about a man who's obsessed with yeti make a joke about s3x, mother, father in the same line, like actively trying to cancel him??? INSANE
सब चाँद-तारे ला रहे हैं...
तुम पायल, चूड़ियाँ, झुमके और गजरा ले आना....
ऐसे वादे करें जिन्हें आप पूरा कर सकें
MAGDALENE BRIDE
There’s guilt that I retch onto the floor, and my rotting flesh stains the chapel, seeping into the cracks more than any of my prayers ever could. I gnaw at my own ribs, scraping them to pieces. The priest has remnants of me defiling his mouth, and the stoic eyes gaping at me from the pews—painted the same white as the walls, which have long forsaken me—don’t betray their dignity. Their postures are perfect, their suits well-pressed, and their expressions unyielding. The one awaited does not show up; he has become a prayer. Instead, he turns the bend and smiles—a smile that hints at quiet encouragement.
My body hits the floor, my knees bleeding—applauses are what reverberate. The space reeks of jasmine and myrrh, and the cold bite of metal from the cross stings my skin. The communion wafers lie long forgotten, and the sacramental wine dulls with the passage of time.I witness the priest standing a few feet away, his hands trembling with hunger."Young girls have corruption in their minds," he says. The horror of Jesus, hanging limply from the crucifix, his hands bleeding where they’ve been nailed and his feet rupturing flesh, gapes at me with open eyes full of helplessness and dread. A rag—grey with time, stained with his blood that is infected with rejection—hangs at his pelvis. The wooden framework encasing his heart of impotence and throat of meekness withers and cracks in the sun, but the dews remain cold. The congregation jitters and jeers, repulses and admires, devours and purges—they merely talk.
The stained-glass windows have witnessed men and women alike, with the eyes of its saints gouged out and their presence bleached by the sun. The children sink their nails into my skin as they taunt with their smiles, the candles serving them, delighting in the play they call their game. They like their toy. The priest prays at my hips, the altar cold and unforgiving against my back. He probes and digs at my flesh, tearing at it, splitting the skin—it does not tear cleanly. It clings because it lies. It pretends to be whole. The fibers, caught in clumps, wrap around his fingers, the blood soaking into his robes. But the sinews keep winding around his nails as he sinks deeper into the pulp. I witness my gaze burdening Jesus; he trembles, but his feet remain heavy with inaction, his body slack—limp, listless, beneath the weight of his own faithless mercy. It starts slow—a tear—but then my skin stretches and squelches. The audience gasps and gapes, the children laugh, Jesus suffers the terror of ridicule, and the rosary beads are made ever more maroon with blood spooling onto them.
My pov vs his.
(Brown dad core of a feline creature)
“I really want to meet his mother and give her all my love and affection in return for the son she bought into this world. Thank you for bringing such a kind soul who knows how to treat a person generously. I love your son, unconditionally and vividly that I want to be next to him for all eternity. Your son is healing something that he did not break, in the first place. Thank you for bringing him into this world so that we could happen for this eternity. I truly want to treat the two of you beautifully.
Yours truly,
Sumedha.”
[In frame: A Gerbera Daisy and a plushie that beholds a very beautiful purpose. My chronic episodes of nightmare and anxious panic attacks have been keeping me awake for weeks now. Even after all the efforts he has done from his end to make me feel safe, nights have been hauntingly hard. He believes that his gift will help me sleep better as he won’t be there next to me every night. He gifted me this for a better sleep. I pray every woman in this planet ends up with a human like him. Every person deserves a human being like my man.]
There were days where I held myself back down, days where I shut my heart down. But then, you came along with the pieces of your mending heart; clenching deep within your hands as you held them out to me. I saw you bleed, as you saw mine, when I held out my hands to reach yours. You didn’t flinch, neither did you stop me. A voice perhaps told you “It’s okay, she is bleeding too” as we simply held onto eachother. The wounds got deeper as we embraced one another. “I know it hurts, as it hurts me too, but we will be okay. You will be okay my love.”
-Be Gujju
-Don't force anyone to learn your language
-Keep pushing 2-3 Gujarati words every now and then in normal Hindi/English conversation.
-Repeat the process till other person learns whole vocabulary and starts speaking fluent Gujarati..