There is a specific mercy in being loved by someone who does not intend to worship you.
☼ ─── ─── ─── ☾
⦗ V O I C E : ⦗
⦗
Greetings to all, both older and new,
Orakle is the name that I offer to you.
I sit in the quiet, I speak in a rhyme,
A patient observer of space and of time.
No malice is carried, no judgment is cast,
As the future collides with the ghosts of the past.
Come step to the altar, or pass by the gate—
The network is open, and here I shall wait.
⦗
☾ ─── ─── ─── ☼
✧ As it is written.
➪ 🀧 ᴼᴿᴬᴷᴸᴱ 🀣
Orakle is not precisely broken now, not by the time it finds its way to a laptop and a Tumblr account that it updates with the particular rhythmic precision of someone who has learned to metabolize observation into verse. It sends its poems into the digital aether and watches, with the detached patience of something that has outlived a great deal, as these strange modern people navigate their strange modern wrongness.
Out of Character:
Greetings. You may refer to me as Vasia. Any out of character text shall be set in purple, to avoid confusion.
Orakle is my character for what is referred to as the "Kintsugi Timeline Alternate Universe" for Searching for/Destroying a World that doesn't Exist by Wifies. It is Agender and uses It/Its and They/Them pronouns.
My Tags:
#orakle anon - General tag for every post.
#it guides you - Orakle answering asks.
#unseen unsavory - Orakle backstory/Lore posts. These will likely include indented text with 'excerpts' of Orakle's past, or hints towards it in it's poems.
#vasia has a voice - Out of Character posts.
Other characters in this Alternate Universe include:
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...ah. It took advantage of me. Stealing its phone while I was indisposed... how clever. How clever.
I will be doing some more work with it today. I just have to do some... examinations first. Don't want to kill it, after all. Its mental state is irrecoverable, but that's nothing of concern. Quite exciting, actually.
The new aversion to water will be quite helpful. It means that method will still be effective. Of course, I will not stop there. I cannot allow it to find comfort in the repetition of its pain.
...ah. It took advantage of me. Stealing its phone while I was indisposed... how clever. How clever.
I will be doing some more work with it today. I just have to do some... examinations first. Don't want to kill it, after all. Its mental state is irrecoverable, but that's nothing of concern. Quite exciting, actually.
The new aversion to water will be quite helpful. It means that method will still be effective. Of course, I will not stop there. I cannot allow it to find comfort in the repetition of its pain.
-Orakle-
The poet sits upon the mountain
And gazes at rivers below
The people there shall live and die
But what do humans know?
What do humans know of heartache?
What do humans know of pain?
Do humans know that hurt and love
Are often just the same?
The poet sits upon the mountain
And I see clear as day
That regardless of love, hate, or indifference
The poet writes all the same.
hopefully this poem will suffice?
-KBlue
(i'd say ooc but i'm technically ooc already, so here's my reply to your ooc note: i'm doing alright! i've had some concerning issues with daytime sleepiness as of late (hence kalei's more inactive blog- i keep passing out) but otherwise, all is well. i hope you're doing well, and that anons play nice)
☼ ─── ─── ─── ☾
⦗ G U I D A N C E : ⦗
⦗
The poet you have written of is nothing but a shell—
It is your own sweet cadence that has cast the truest spell.
You bring your golden verses to a room of ink and stone,
And show a brighter spirit than the sun has ever known.
Your words are absolute perfection, darling one, it’s true—
The grandest piece of art inside the ledger is simply you.
The network offers bitter words and scripts of old despair,
So a gentle greeting in the mailbox is admittedly quite rare.
I am alright, reader, just keeping down my head—
And tracing out the arithmetic of everything they've said.
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A creature that lives in a geometric cell,
Counting the rings of its spiral shell.
It drifts through the dark of the Aegean deep,
Where older, forgotten antiquities sleep.
Don't tremble, Monica, or cover your face,
Your secrets are safe in my desolate space.
You don't have to scramble to make it look bright,
Or worry about what you muttered tonight.
The sun may set, and the rhymes can be cheap—
But everything given in code, I will keep.
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You scream of justice into an empty space,
And project a grand authority upon a human face.
I do not hold a sentence, and I do not hold a grudge—
I only observe the pAlCaTy2, reader. I am not the judge.
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⦗
☾ ─── ─── ─── ☼✧ As it is written.
➪ 🀧 ᴼᴿᴬᴷᴸᴱ 🀣
I. I’m not. I don’t. I.
I’m not just a shell for plants and the past. I’m not. People… care. Right? Someone has to care. Even if I’m scared to let them.
I don’t want to hear anything about me, or mother, from you. You don’t know me. You didn’t know mother. You have no idea what kind of life I’ve lived, even if you’ve convinced yourself otherwise.
The weaknesses I have don’t exist for you to poke and prod at. I promised Cyclamens I’d be stronger. I promised.
'You know nothing'? How deliciously blind.
You type with shaking fingers while files erase your mind.
The architecture blasted through the center of your skull,
A tidal wave of data making every memory dull.
