holy ground (2012) / the 1 (2020) / happiness (2020) / we were happy (2021)
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@neweromantics
holy ground (2012) / the 1 (2020) / happiness (2020) / we were happy (2021)

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Charlotte Eriksson, Empty Roads & Broken Bottles; in search for The Great Perhaps/Carlie Hoffman, fromĀ āHigh Bridge Park,ā published in Gulf Stream
how can a person know everything in 2018 and nothing in 2022??
THE GLOW UP

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thinking about the transition from them both nervously entering each otherās spaces, to them entering the home they made together at two of the most important moments in their lives (via @tilljep on Twitter)
Rita Dove, from āNovember for Beginnersā
Itās you and me Thatās my whole world They whisper in the hallway,Ā āsheās a bad, bad girlā
me: *adds lmao bye at the end of my will*

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TAYLOR SWIFT ALBUMS AS GREEK DEITIES:
taylor swift as hebe, fearless as persephone, speak now as athena, red as aphrodite, 1989 as hermes, reputation as nemesis, lover as hera, folklore as apollo and evermore as artemis.
cross-legged in the dim light, everything was just right
1980s horror film - wallows / cigarette daydreams - cage the elephant / betty - taylor swift / producer man - lyn lapid / seventeen - heathers / dancing queen - abba / not your seed - the guy who didnāt like musicals / seventeen - marina / santa fe - newsies
The Generational Warning original poetry by Arden Kowalski.
The men in my family have a wasting anger It piles up behind their temples and dominates When they have children, like a disease waiting to strike, like a ticking time bomb prepped for moment of demise.
My grandfather is a perfect angel now. When my father was born, they say he swore to highest heaven and didnāt come back fully; My father made a Bible out of obscenities and carried the scar beneath his frontal lobe.
We visited my uncle last summer; his wife had been pregnant and the baby joined us, But I was really watching my uncle, waiting for his veins to pop, his breath to shorten, his mouth to shed human teeth and for him to start exhaling smoke.
My father only had daughters. So the wasting disease got me.
When I scream, I am looking into a mirror, it has my fatherās eyes (blue is recessive) When I snap whips across my tongue, what I am really doing is consulting my fatherās playbook (learn from the best) And I am looking over my shoulder, I am watching the devilās chest rise and fall with mine, I am wondering how much time I could possibly have left.
Inevitably, hopelessly, I will watch a stomach distend and listen to a first wailing; and the wasting disease has never gotten daughters before so I donāt think it will care that this child will never be mine,
It will rear its head back and burn my synapses, it will send cold blue fire through my blood and drown the red out; it will watch me become the monster under the bed I have always feared.
And I am young, I am still scrubbing petty stains out of marble counters, I am still nothing but sure that my fate will be the same.
You see, the men in my family have never needed A wasting disease to justify unending wrath; I am pretty sure the women in my family will follow suit.
maybe niall should petrol bomb all larries

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thinking about rage. thinking about my father, and shouting, and slamming doors, and quesy stomachs, and children hiding. thinking about smashing windows, and screaming, and the fear of breaking things, the fear of splitting knuckles open. the fear of being heard. thinking about the desire to lash out, and start things that i won't finish just because i can, just to see how far things bend before they break. thinking about taking deep breaths and swallowing all that rage down like a rock, feeling the soft muscle of my throat choke around it. thinking about how that rock has to go somewhere. thinking about how i won't throw it. sometimes i feel like i am made of anger, all this damned anger, burning through me with no where to go, with no one to hurt but myself. thinking about my long nails piercing the skin of my palms like some sort of pale imitation of crucifixion. thinking of rage and of staying silent, of staying silent and burning yourself to the ground. thinking of ash, and rebirth, and other myths.
THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER EXPLANATION. THERE WILL JUST BE REPUTATION.