vayne's sleepy couch

FIRST THINGS FIRST

language and content warnings: here are some content warnings. these are general and will be untagged unless otherwise specified or if i deem it especially severe enough. if it is marked TAGGED, then i will tag that one in specific. i am not very good at catching these, so please (gently) inform me if i have left something untagged.

this blog is intended for those 18 and above. if you are below 18, i will not stop you from interacting because whatever i think you are allowed to judge your own maturity and capacity to handle explicit material. however, consider this your explicit warning: you are a guest and i am deferring to you the EXPLICIT RESPONSIBILITY OF LEAVING IF YOU ARE A MINOR. if you are uncomfortable with what you read, then i will apologize but i will not agree that i am at fault. learn how to be safe on the internet.

this is a English and Filipino writeblr. my primary language is English, but i will occasionally write in my native language instead.

I use swearing in my writing.

I write about depression and anxiety.

I write about ableism, especially regarding systemic ableism against neurodivergence and mood disorders.

I write about violence and sexual themes.

I write about death and the general nature of dying.

I write about horror and creepy things.

I use Catholic and religious imagery.

TAGGED: I occasionally write about alcohol abuse and smoking. ("#tw alcohol", "#tw smoking")

TAGGED: I make heavy use of unreality. ("#tw unreality") please note: i'm especially bad at catching this one. if you see me using it and having it untagged, please inform me and i will fix it.

TAGGED: I use blood and gore as imagery. ("#tw blood", "#tw gore")

TAGGED: I write about body horror. ("#tw body horror")

TAGGED: I write about body insecurities and dysmorphia. ("#tw body image")

TAGGED: I write about suicidality. ("#tw suicide" [explicit], "#tw suicide allusion" [implied])

TAGGED: I write about coercion. ("#tw coercion")

TAGGED: as a final precaution, i will tag all NSFW and excessively violent content as #not for minors. please keep this in mind when reblogging, for those with followers who are minors, and tag accordingly.

NOW ONTO WRITING

content: this blog, on the whole, is going to be original content as much as possible. for other writing rbs, you can check out my main over at @ninelispenardst. sometimes, i'll just post whatever i have in mind here, so i suppose don't be too surprised if it doesn't make too much sense? this is mostly a dumping ground.

regularity of posts: i'm going to be honest, i'm a pretty busy person. i am juggling a lot of things all at once so i wouldn't be surprised if i go months without touching this blog then coming back with years of content. however, i will try my best to have at least 1 post a day, just to make sure i'm keeping my mind clear and capable, regardless of my mood or inspiration.

genres: i mostly write poetry. i have a lot of fun pushing the limits of poetry and i like talking about grief, love, and loneliness. for prose, i stick to slice-of-life, casual fantasy, and a bit of romance, but it's honestly pretty rare that i commit to writing anything other than poetry, so... probably expect mostly poetry.

themes: my thematic hyperfixations are on the grandiose, the excessive, and the inevitable. when i write, i enjoy focusing on the minute but solely because, to me, they are reverberations of a greater whole. i like to think about sacrifice, impossible yet unwavering commitments to love, and the protection of those loved. i also deeply enjoy the power of the divine (despite being largely areligious) and think a lot about what it means to be thought about by larger-than-life-and-death beings of incomprehensible power. are we charming? callous? a mistake? or not worth thinking about at all? i love all these mixed thoughts.

i hope you enjoy at least some of my writing. :) my writing projects and more about me under the fold, but otherwise, have a nice day!

writing projects

here we are, at the end an anthology on the last years of humanity at the very end of time and history. after humans conquered the universe, entropy has caught up to them and the last sources of energy are the final dissolving black holes. chronicling the final years around these dark behemoths, HWA intends to explore what it is we wanted out of having lived, the tenability of godhood, and what it is we will do when we finally must confront the infinity beyond the very end.

awake after the end of oblivion i wanted to write a poetry book in 2021 after a girl broke my heart, however i've recently come to the realization that actually i don't want to just write about a girl and immortalize that as the first book i finished. so i'm repivoting this to be a collection of poetry on love in general and what it means to really love your friends as whole and complete persons, capable of change, who must come and go, and the grief we are inevitably going to face with their loss. after all, to lose people can feel like the end of the world. so how do we face the fallout?

escapril / poetry challenges this is probably my most well-sustained project. i've done escapril since 2019, first accomplishing it to 100% in 2021 and planning to do the same again this year. along with that, i want to write 180 poems every year and watch myself get better at making them. in general, i just want to get better and i think really sticking to making poetry regularly and with discipline is the best way to do that.

circuit boards and eddies a fic on transness and the conflicts between short-term academic achievement and long-term societal change. set in the early-2010s Bicol region, CB&E intends to explore how relationships hinge on class, the sacrifices necessary for lasting change, the nature of the mass movement in the Philippines, and the natural contradictions arising from survival and service. (this one has character sheets ready and i'm just working on outlining.)

18892 a Philippine-based take on 17776, exploring how Patintero has become a sport spanning the entire world, what kind of losses were endured by the sinking archipelago after the Day, and the imperial dynamics of a post-scarcity, unchanging universe indelibly scarred by it. this one is in stasis but i really really want to write it.

philosophy on writing: i think words are suggestions, their meanings manifestations of imagination, and the thought of lines, mere abstract complexes generated by the confluence of their implications. if i use a word in a way you think is incorrect, feel free to provide me that correction, but do note that if i don't agree, it's nothing personal. i think words mean things but they are also implicitly reliant on the words around them and if their supposition enough is to derive meaning, then the word has largely accomplished its task. i write to express, not to tether thoughts to the earthly limits of definition.

more about me: i'm a trans non-binary girl, living in the philippines and working on a political science degree. i use she/her and prefer the mx. honorific. although i'm a marxist (so that kind of commentary is to be expected), i stick to writing poetry about love, intimacy, and being seen. i have adhd, c-ptsd, and dysthymia, so that colors a lot of how i portray things.

[Image text:

writing a letter to– i can’t tell my palm leaves a mark on the page the bottle starts to boil over spilling my words over the desk seeping shifty heartaches heady side-eyes, soaking my paper planes in shooting star tears it’s spreading my desk is a mess, my plant and pens my yarn has turned dark blue my medicine melts into the words legs wet with thick ink thick ink thick ink it’s cotton in my mouth thick ink thick ink think ick it’s pooling under the desk wiping it in with my tissues, my blankets, my papers, homework, receipts, apologies wet wet wet and sticky with my thoughts how do i clean myself of this how do i clean the ink out of this puddle pressure spilt spectacle my arms are stained and my clothes even with them all off naked with blue marks of your thumbprints and feather-touch melodies and my breathing stops

“look at the mess you’ve made,” she kneels to me, a hand on my cheek it’s so warm and my eyes are a puddle of its own mess. she smiles, my own presses her palm to my face and it’s warm and it’s dry and all the ink warms and dries. “let’s get you cleaned up,” she says. and i quietly let my breath slip the ink bottle drips and it’s empty and my sheets are clean and my hands are inked and my desk is a mess, but not uncomfortably so and she’s with me to clean the mess, wet rags soapy suds, smelt of fake roses a miserly tap-water stench but still she wipes her forehead and the floor is as good as new and the papers and letters are a bit messy but just like they always were and not a single bit more and she sits with me, holds my hand with me breathes with me, a middling silence a rocking boat of the quiet lake

“i’m here,” she says and i’m here, she says the water is calm and the bottle is empty once more. the ocean breaks in her eyes, but the waves are subdued. i’ve since stopped writing to you. the ink is too runny.

— v.a.

[Image text:

your hands are warm. they’re soft in mine dark lines raze through them fingers outstretched tracing them in silence, your eyes are closed, a breath gently steeps down my lips and past my chin, a proof of living, the rough sullied skin, but just enough. the lines on your back shift shadows, morning light a caress, small peeking through a thin curtain. a second was spared.

your hands are still. they’re rigid in mine dark lines grow and tense fingers closed into fists balling nails into cuts, your eyes are closed, a breath sputters, gasps down my chest and past my whole, a proof of hurting, the softness, almost-gone skin, but just enough. the lines on your back judder shadows, morning light a monster, large looming through a thick night. a minute is left.

your hands are gone. they were soft in mine dark lines grew and tensed fingers outstretched balled into fists into cuts, your eyes would be closed, breaths steeped, gasped. down my face and past my body, a proof of missing the once-warm once-yours bed, but just enough. the imprint of you on the bed vanished shadows, morning light a mourning, lost loving through an open window. the hour had come.

— v.a.

[Image 1 text (FIL):

(inialay sa kabutihang naipaabot sa akin ng aking pinakamamahal na kaibigan sa gitna ng mahabang gabi) linyang liwanag butil sa gubat gabing tumawag sariwang buhat ugat sa yapak hawak sa paanan pagurang imbak ilaw at tahanan talang patawad isdang umikot bukas na palad hawak sa sikot lumanay, katuwang sandata’t panangga hinga ng maluwang tahan na, palangga

-v.a.

/End ID]

[Image 2 text (ENG):

(dedicated to the kindness extended to me by my dearest friends in the middle of an endless night) lines of a light forest-borne seeds calls of the night carrying fresh needs rooted in the stepped sinewy holds to my footing collecting left bereft hearth’s glow and resting stars and yet a sorry a fish spins in place open palm for your worry held on to a tight space calm, my other half, weapons and shields down breathe a moment looser, o beloved, i’m here with you now

-v.a.