Sad - Blog Posts
Мультфильм “Грустная Капустка”
История о том, как одна Капустка ждала Птицу Счастья...и дождалась)))
Музыка: В.А.Моцарт, @Uma2rman "Птица Счастья", Има Сумак "Gopher Mamba" Материал: бумага, линеры
Currently mourning the one follower that unfollowed me on tumblr, farewell solider :(
When you told me "I love you" for the first few times I was scared and confused because I didn't know what it meant for you. After some time I also started saying it, hoping your's was as deep and honest as mine. But now I know, you never saw love the way I do and your "I love you" was just a small shadow of mine.
Thanks, I’m crying now Q_Q
Another of Lea nightmares… Sorry it’s such a mess and really inconsistent. Couple of things to clarify just in case: 1. Saïx is snapping Lea’s wrist, which wakes him up from his nightmare. That’s why he also checks it. I didn’t do a very good job conveying he was gripping it very hard. 2. I’m imagining Sora comes to Yen Sid’s tower every once in a while to check on the Keyblade boot camp party, so he’s just sleeping over in the same room (not the same bed, I was too lazy to draw Sora getting out of his own bed) as Lea because I wanted that. 3. Idk why Lea has bed hair and Sora doesn’t.
maybe he wanted to live out the perfect tragic story he had created for them
Short stories #3
. 3 Above and Beyond
Trudging through the woods, I try to place the majority of my weight on my makeshift cane. Squinting my eyes, I try to keep sight of my path. The moon is of barely any help. If I had known it would be dark I would've snuck out a torch. Pulling my coat tighter around myself and wishing, not for the first time, that I should've worn something warmer above my hospital gown. I buried my nose in my scarf and yet, the crisp air still burned down my lungs. If my cigarettes don't kill me first, the cold certainly will. 'You shouldn't be here', the guilty part of my brain whispered. I squashed that thought down just like the leaves under my feet. Silly Linda, I scoff. She thought she could keep me in the ward by locking the door. Well look now, I jumped out the window. Well the pangs in my leg are almost making me regret. Almost. Oh whatever. To hell with Linda and her false pretenses. She can act sweet and coy all she likes but I know she wants me dead. Not more than I do but it is a mutual sentiment that is reciprocated. She's far too young anyway. A bit naive and very gullible. Very overconfident too but she is under the assumption that she's being 'smart' and 'sharp' and that an old, miserable midget like me won't be able to see right through her. An absolute fool. I despise it here.
I hobble my way to my usual spot, a clearing somewhere in the middle of the woods. The crescent moon stares down at me, as if judging. Sitting down on a tree stump while catching my breath, I pull out a pack of cigarettes that Linda missed and a lighter from my coat pocket. A cold draft rushed and rustled the trees and I held my coat tighter, shivering badly. With numb hands I light a cigarette and hold the lighter close, the tiny flame giving me a semblance of warmth. Sigh. I wouldn't want the fluid to run out. I pocketed it, closed my eyes and enjoyed my cigarette. Deep inhale and then exhale. Inhale and exhale. Finally, some peace and quiet….
…. Which did not last longer than twenty minutes. A sharp, whip like crack sobered me up and I opened my eyes to a terrifying sight. A creature with four faces, more than a hundred wings, taller than the trees, so huge that I can't distinguish the sky from its body. The moon is nowhere in sight. His whole body consists of uncountable eyes and tongues. What on God's green earth is this!? I can't move. Why am I not moving? Its hellish eyes stared me down. The cigarette I was holding had long fallen. I am a stone, glued to one place. I can't tear my eyes off this- this creature. All too soon, it descends and shifts into a shape more recognizable. A man. Dressed in a pure white robe, inky hair curled in every direction, skin the color of rich soil and piercing charcoal eyes, this man would stand out among any crowd. I must be hallucinating. Are cigarettes supposed to make you hallucinate?
"What kind of alien are you?" I asked in a quivering voice.
The man blinked. Then blinked again. Then stared at me long enough to make me wish I hadn't spoken.
"What kind do you think I am?" he smoothly replies, evading my question.
"A shape-shifting one."
He folds his hands neatly behind his back and doesn't reply.
"And who would you introduce yourself as?" he asks. I have a distinct feeling that he's humouring me. Like a cat who caught a canary.
"I, well, I-uhm-I fancy myself a student." I stuttered out. He doesn't need to know where I am from.
"A student of?"
"Life."
The alien smirked. An uncomfortable silence surrounds us, uncomfortable for me atleast. I feel weaker. Sweat beads at my eyebrows. This alien's presence has a weight that is taking a toll on me.
With nothing to do, I whip out another cigarette. I finished smoking it. Then I pull out a second, then a third, then a fourth.
"How long have you been smoking?" the alien asks suddenly.
"A few decades." I say, lighting another cigarette. A hush falls again.
"How do you speak our language?" I inquired, anything to keep the oppressive silence at bay.
"I've been here before."
"Oh?" I ask, hoping for an elaboration.
"Yes."
None came.
"What is it like?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Your planet. What is it like?"
"It is a human's dream come true. You can have whatever your heart desires. Food, clothing, land, companions. It is eternal peace-"
"Sounds like heaven." I interrupted.
The alien's lips quirked.
"Something of that sort. It can be very beautiful or very terrible depending on the person."
"Why so?"
"Would you wish for good things to happen to evil people?"
"No. Not at all."
"My point exactly."
"What is evil anyway? Is evil caused by a difficult life?You know, I've always wondered."
The alien calmly looks back at me.
"Have you had a sorrowful life?" he asks, a curious gleam in his eyes.
"Sorrowful?" I scoff. "I can barely recognize myself in the mirror anymore. A saying goes 'Let a man walk the halls of sorrow. Whatever comes out, can it be called a man anymore?' " I asked.
"Sorrow is either growth or wasted potential if you have not learned. Power on the other hand, man cannot be trusted with power. It is too corrupting." the alien argues.
"I'll have to politely disagree. Power in itself is not corrupt. Power attracts those who are corruptible. Those who took the wrong lessons from their sorrows."
"And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"You have become a cynic only because you felt your life was difficult. Your cigarette is proof enough. It kills you, yet, you stick to it. Doesn't that make you just like them?"
"You are not a human. You don't, and maybe, will never, understand the delicate intricacy of addiction. I am not defending myself. I am ashamed but leaving it is no easy task."
The alien hummed," If you believe so. You are quite a melancholic person." he says, matter of fact.
"So I've been told." I smiled self deprecatingly, "Look at me, debating about ideologies with an alien."
The alien smirked, as if he was in on a joke I wasn't. Strange.
I cleared my throat. It felt itchy. Must've been the cigarettes.
"Anyway,how does your planet deal with 'evil' people."
"You need not worry your head over it. Our, ah, justice system is very fair."
"Oh. Where is it located? Your planet that is."
"Not here. It is somewhere above all the galaxies."
That most certainly piqued my interest. I have wished for death on my worst days but on my best days, I've always been a curious bug, too curious for my own good. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"Why are you here?" I finally cave in to my curiosity.
The alien side eyes me and replies, "I'm here to take one person home with me. Forever."
A thrill raced up my spine and anticipation settled in my bones. I licked my frozen, chapped lips. Perhaps I am being selfish. I spent my entire life looking for an escape, an escape from everything, my depression, my poverty, my disease, that hospital and its disinfectant smelling wards, Linda, this wretched world. That is an artist's curse. Escapism, they say, is an art too and I am anything but unacquainted to art. I always wondered about what was beyond, a place where no man had stepped. The golden threads of time, weaved into the fine fabric of the universe, permitted this opportunity to occur in front of me. I will take it even if my hands bleed.
I have no family that left, nobody who loves me. I'm bitter and alone. I deserve to be selfish for once in my life. To take a big leap, a risk. Yes, I will.
"Take me with you." I begged. "Please."
"Why should I?" the alien replied, staring right in my soul.
"You came for me. I know. If you didn't you wouldn't have landed here." I say, hopefully.
"And if I say that is false? What else would you offer?“
"I can offer you beauty and art. I can create for you."
"We have many of those."
"There will ever only be one like me. Just like there is only one artist like them. Themselves only."
Silence enveloped us again while rejection stung my chest again.
"Allow me to prove myself." I plead.
The alien looked at me, questioning.
"Look in my mind, see all that there is." I say determinedly. And I let him in my mind, let him see the world through my eyes and feel what I felt. I let him see my arts, my music, my poetry, my paintings that I crafted lovingly with my aged hands. I let him see what a human sees, something I know that he had never witnessed. Then I revealed my sorrows. Hopefully humanity would appeal to it.
With a pull he left my head. My eyes burned and I felt a blood vessel burst. I dry heaved on the dead ground but the nausea still lingered. I am glad I was seated or my knees would've buckled and I would've been an undignified heap on the floor. All the while the alien just stared and stared. I am getting sick of his staring too.
Once again, I broke the silence.
"I will paint your skies," I continue, hesitantly, "and your buildings and walls. I will write for the children and even for the old. Just please, take me. I'm exhausted ."
My eyes burned again, unshed tears waiting for release. I avert my eyes and let out a sigh. I feel heavy and my shoulders slump. Unexplainable exhaustion overcomes me and my temperature keeps rising, beads of sweat rolling down my face.
"If," he began,then stopped. It was the first time in our entire conversation that I saw him hesitate.
"If," he continued, "if I were to ask you to scream your wish at me, what would you fear more; your echo or my answer? “
"My echo", I reply instantaneously.
"Why?"
"Because it would mean you have declined."
"Hmm. Recite a poem for me."
I gave a shaky, hopeful smiled and offered him my words:
My river by the oak tree
has turned molten gold again,
as the glowing orb of light and life surrenders to the sapphire sky.
The cotton clouds float in shy, pink circles
While the rush of the river awakens a memory I had long forgotten,
When this same tree once bore luscious flowers,
Their scent wafting lazily into the cool breeze,
While I sat and reminisced about the possibility of other lives in the universe,
Under the wrinkled, silver moon.
Silence hugged us again while the impact of my weakened voice lingered in the air.
"Do you believe in other lives? Aliens and such?" he questioned.
"Yes I do, I mean you are here so that confirms it too."
"You are a funny one. No one has ever mistaken me for an alien." it grinned, crooked, as if a gesture it wasn't familiar with.
My body went cold and tremors shook it to its feeble core, my breath coming out in shallow pants. My eyes shut down of their own accord. The entity then spoke with a voice that might have held the weight of a thousand suns,
"Beyond the stars we go."
"The Sparrow in my Head"
There is a little sparrow in my head that likes to cause a mess.
It distracts me with its shrill screeching
that bounces against and vibrates my skull.
It flaps its tiny wings and causes a flurry in my head, like a feral hurricane.
It drills against my brain and causes pulsing migraines
and sometimes it nips at my eyeballs.
There is a little sparrow in my head
Shackled and caged behind bars of steel.
It is bruised,broken and battered
And its wings are clipped.
To set it free somebody will have to crack open my skull.
"It's not fair", cries the sparrow.
"Oh but it is fair", I reply,
"Just like, a head for a head,
a tail for a tail,
an eye for an eye,
and your freedom for mine."
The little sparrow gives a sad chirp and droops its wee head.
"Do not despair, little bird", I consol,
"One day you'll be able to fly,
high above, higher than the sky.
For just like in the circle of life,
the day your life begins,
is the day mine ends.
So chin up and wait some more,
just a little more time."
There is a little sparrow in my head that weeps tears of patience.
There is nothing else it can do.
~Me
*Inspired by Bluebird by Charles Bukowski*
“The Strongest Of The Strange”
you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they are not.
those odd ones, not many
but from them come
the few good paintings
the few good symphonies
the few good books
and other works.
and from the best of
the strange ones perhaps
nothing.
they are their own
paintings
their own
books
their own
music
their own
work.
sometimes I think
I see them – say
a certain old
man sitting on a
certain bench
in a certain way
or
a quick face
going the other way
in a passing
automobile
or
there’s a certain motion
of the hands
of a bag-boy or a bag-girl
while packing supermarket groceries.
sometimes
it is even somebody
you have been
living with
for some time –
you will notice a
lightning quick
glance never seen
from them before.
sometimes
you will only note
their existance suddenly
in vivid recall
some months
some years
after they are
gone.
I remember
such a one –
he was about
20 years old
drunk at 10 a.m.
staring into a cracked
New Orleans mirror
facing dreaming
against the walls of
the world
where
did I
go?
~Charles Bukowski
Depression may be invisible, but your absence is not.
"My dear, I have become so familiar with the loss of loved ones that death now seems like family and my grave feels like home."
"If you could see yourself through my eyes ,mom, you'd think that you embedded the diamond stars in the ink stained universe with your bare, calloused hands."
He said, with wise, young eyes, a single tear almost cascading down his cheek, "Ya ukhti, I cannot sleep. I had to bury my father, then my mother, then my sister." He swallowed hard, "Ya ukhti", his voice trembling, he continues, "Ya ukhti, my toys they bleed, I'm scared I'll have to bury them too."
Molte volte ci aspettiamo troppo dalle persone, solo perché noi saremmo disposti a fare molto di più per loro.
Literally me after watching episode 5
Goodbye y’all, I’ll remember u in therapy
We all know this dance.
People rushing, always rushing, towards something that they're afraid to miss out on. Nevermind the elbows to the eyes and the toes to be stepped on. If they stop pushing others around and instead made way for the their neighbors, maybe the ones who actually are in need - if they start stepping back, saying, "Oh hey... you go on ahead. I can wait," - we, all of us, may never get what we really want, but at least the line to get there wouldn't be so uncomfortable. We might actually find that it's quite pleasant, waiting in line, if we're all in it together.
One of Remus' teachers had to look the sweet boy in the eye and tell him about werewolves and how dangerous they are.
and now imma cry myself to sleep. Feel free to join me
Lord Byron — To the Countess of Blessington
Felt this. Way too much.
when Charles Bukowski said "and when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. what do you call it, freedom or loneliness?"
Anaïs Nin, Fire: From “A Journal of Love”: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1934–1937
I remember when I found out Art Garfunkel’s name wasn’t really Art, it was Arthur….
Some years ago before finding out I had said to my mum “If your name is Art, it’s kind of predestined for you to be an artist”
BUT HE WAS CALLED ARTHURRR. NO.
I was so disappointed. Ruined my life (lmao don’t even listen to his music :/ apart from The Graduate soundtrack)
i want to just be with someone.
to just hold hands in silence and feel each others presence.
to just stare into each others eyes and understand what the others saying without having to say a word.
to be comfortable in the silence.
simply just because we dont need to fill it.
to just be beings by ourselves with each other.
to just be us.
~ s.c.
I know I've said this before, but I really nEED TO STOP WRITING SAD BOOKS AND LISTENING TO FALSETTOS BECAUSE I'M GOING TO CRY BUT MY FAMILY IS IN THE SAME ROOM AND I CAN'T CRY
I found Mr Dinkles in a crane machine. Sadly impossible to get.😭