tell me, Akira

May the beam reach you

We're going hunting... and it's bastard season

What'd you need from me? Someone to tear apart?

I will be posting R🔞 stuff on Twitter soon so please consider following me there as Tumblr is sadly dead in that sense and all my n s f w old stuff has been obscured urgh. I'll also likely do l3wd commissions so stay tuned eeeeee

Yes that's my lunch

Before falling in love, we knew nothing of the laws of gravity and the galactic void it takes to stay attached while it all spins at the speed of light; how light itself comes to us elusive and ghostly and often dead, before we even know it all for an excuse to wish for something to call our own.  — Atomism (2020) 🖼️ Allegory of love (Klimt, 1895)

From fairies to godmothers the moment destiny decides playtime is up, here’s the blood, here are the knights and their duels and having to be crowned their princess unless it’s a witch, which must be burnt so the sisters will be afraid of enchanting mankind with their might, with the smoke of their pyre making clouds in their mind longing to be told they look like dragons and pirate ships more than nymphs to play with.   — Rosarium (2020) 🖼️ Medusa (Rubens, 1618)

The geography of it, gone but the memory, sharp focus of the flickering fireflies in their correct formation still, twenty years after. It was over a wooden bridge up in the mountains, my first ideation of the end of it all with the waterfall spraying my life, unperturbed by it. The simplicity of hydraulics and the black around the glows taught me a lesson in calmness: if the eye of the spiral is near then so is the tail of the next.     — Helicosophy (2020) 🖼️ Spring scattering stars (Blashfield, 1927)

Nightly curtains rising off the stage of our eyes three days later, like a god after a depression nap. Burnt flesh breathing dust in and dreams out, orange back-lit in complete desolation, except for those arrows sticking out and the hands that shot them. Dawn chorus signals the end of the war in our heads, but our bodies remember the smell of gunpowder.   — Resurrection (2020) 🖼️ War (Adam, 1915)

A heart wrapped in gold foil inside a lovely cardboard box stencilled with sunflowers for a mourning bouquet. Years of entwined pinkies summarised on tissue paper to wipe your mouth clean with at the end of the banquet. Badly summarised sentiments inside the first envelope at hand inside the scary flying metal aircraft inside the black lacquered mailbox. All of this handwritten vocabulary and this strained metacarpal tunnel they don’t take up half as much space as they did inside our heads. — Desacralise (2020) 🖼️ Portrait of Sarah Harrop as a muse (Kauffman, 1780)

On the cobblestone the heart, gushing livid for the crowd to fester on. — Eldritch (2020) 🖼️ Johanna Sacco as Medea (Hickel, 1786)

When they created me it was in a clay jar half full of dirt already. The other half was part city pollution part saline solution and part thunder full of wonder. For the love of all things mortal I kept on flying low to brush the head of my beloved Earth, For the love of all things invisible I soared and soared and soared till Sky turned into Universe. The elation I feel in between tells me I can’t give up either, I want both the dirt in my lungs and the wind under my feet. When they created me they forgot to close the lid, so everything escaped and I had to invent it one prayer at a time. — Aeolist (2020) 🖼️ The wedding dress (Elwell, 1911)

I lost you in summer. In my best nightmares it’s always dead sunny with a chance of storms. — Heliograph (2020) 🖼️ Portrait of a young lady (Barocci, 1600)

🖼️ Plavovláska (Hynais, 1900)

Through the trenches, pulverous and dorment as the inner earth in wait for a germinating seed, the nightingale. Its song a mother’s song unjudging of tribulations or jubilations of humanity, wings made not for freedom but to shelter. Small nest built on a spear lodged at the side of the oak which sits on the battlefield; A home made a cemetery, ultimately. Another mine detonates a bird family of five to splinters. A soldier’s eye filmy from beauty, his heart igniting in revenge. — Eschatology (2020) 🖼️ Motherless (Longstaff, 1886)