#mine old

keith loves ketchup, he will put it on everything 

Hunk: “alright so i made some icecrea- keith no” Keith, who is already smearing ketchup all over the top: “keith yes”

he will also steal just about everyones food even though he has his own

Lance: “who the hell ate all of my luck charms?!” keith: *starts chewing slower”

keith: “how was i supposed to know he was going to bleed?” Pidge: “you stabbed him”

keith tends to take small arguments to the extreme

Lance: It's a white flag, and you better start waving it now, Keith! Keith: The only thing I'll be waving is your decapitated head on a stick in front of your weeping mother! Lance: ...Good Lord.

keith cannot fold clothes. like, at all. his drawers are full of balled up clothing stuffed away in heaps

he wears mismatched socks all the time since he can never find the matching pairs in his mess

he also wears boots with built in platforms to make himself taller

sometimes when he’s bored, he’ll doodle on his arms and legs with pen

he also writes notes on his hand in order to not forget things

Shiro: “why dont you just get a notepad like a normal person?” keith: “because id lose it! my hand is stuck to my body, I see it all the time! If I write on it, I wont be able to forget”

he forgets

keith spent a majority of his nights watching friends on nick@nite to the point where he has all the lines memorized

he also watched Full House but that was mostly because of his crush on uncle Jesse

Keith sometimes hides by the corner of the castle’s hallways in order to jump out and scare the other paladins

Keith: “you have to be prepared for any attack at all times” Lance, shrieking: “the only attack im getting is a heart attack!”

keith is pretty awkward when it comes to comforting others

it’s sort of just hesitant pats on the shoulder while he says “uh, there, there....”

Veneer blue & I am no curator

tutorial to life

somewhere what’s forsaken is

hushed

washing hands

from the blood stains

adorned souvenirs

hanged cape , torn limbs

what shakes

what gives

unlabelled , unlevelled

cursing remorse

culling regrets

soon is nowhere

no second coming

redeemer , I am waiting

to unhook the life

Support of which

I nevertheless wish

to keep sobbing

for its expiration days

who is to say

I must stop singing coronach

even when saudade is long buried —

D C de Oliveira | October 27 2021 | Wednesday , 10.20am

Deranged & deflowered / petals of violence / speak without remorse / how I utter too much / how too much was sanctioned like a birth of a new cruelty / damning the wall that was cursed by this lament / entangled to the cord of the past / have we really met before? / was it Sahara at first sight? / is that why I was so fond of the desert & the language of the Arabian tongue? / have we met again? in times when all was forbidden even the love that was bore with kindness? / in the era of which only death can truly do us part / even then , alas! to be in the third life with you / how the world took so much from me / refine with the corset of longing / a soldiered body yet who was I then to come home to the invasion of a new wolf in a sheep skin? / how love changes , even when you loved from time to time that forevermore was said more than once / but this again , in the hand of what's abusive , corrosive existence of a bad fruit can alter itself but its true colours will always come out / & our fourth lives wasn't enough proof? / have we met before , I repent not with this repetitive incantation? / how to cascade again into the fault of a malignant's tale of many stars colliding like to be a female ravisher is almost acceptable that / in turn to another life , none of it changes / only the bodies , only the somas / swapping places to experience the menace of this shameless wolf / call for it: maybe all it was worth the lies if it was never the truth / to bring forth what was / not , for I have suffered enough / & still you took from me even when I gave five lives away / such is a plea of what may seem coming from one who is dejected but alas! at least / not I the rapist for she will always be that.

I would very much like to see myself in a year or two retiring , own a retro coffee shop with plenty of vintage books that is only a stroll away from my lakeside cottage -- nothing more nothing less & this is perhaps the only gift I can finally give myself (if fate & destiny permits it)

(Cafe Book, Goulburn | September 19 2021 . 4pm Sunday)

My dilemma is always incomprehensible , to easily be loved by many yet the length , the depth , the height & width of wanting her to love me without an effort was the most difficult part I can fathom / endurance or tragedy? such is conundrum or perhaps as simply as defining it as pathetic will suffice -

(NSW - September 19 2021 | 10.12am . Sunday)

Some place where I was known once (Bali — 2015)

Spring & the warmth of: [...] supernova heat

I walked back to our refugee tent

Mama was sitting on the bed [...]

She was not herself

We realised amidst the horror of escaping the war that

we had forgotten the only one day that mattered to us:

Her Birthday -