cosmic disturbance

is this me or was this Armani privé F23 look (on the right) clearly quoting 1993 fall Vivienne Westwood (left)? since VW is the fall icon and it's been 20yrs since the show and they might have wanted to pay homage and commemorate Vivienne?

is this me or was this Armani privé F23 look (on the right) clearly quoting 1993 fall Vivienne Westwood (left)? since VW is the fall icon and it's been 20yrs since the show and they might have wanted to pay homage and commemorate Vivienne?

I ask myself who I can give your eyes to. Not to the captain, I could never. The hand he's missing is stained with not yet spilled blood - that soon he will spill himself. The metal hand which will replace it, stiff and useless, just lets the blood slip off. What does it matter? A soldier with no right hand cannot wield a weapon, then he is a soldier no more, then he is a man no more, then he is useful no more. He can only lock himself up in temples of gods he does not believe in. He can only live halfway narratives while knowing time is ticking quick and anxious towards the day of the final reveal. They made the innocent guilty, so the innocent made the sin his own and used it as payback. Since the day he arrived in town everyone was always staring. Glued to his skin. He scrubs seawater all over himself and hopes the salt can fight the poison in their eyes, although the poison was already inside him to begin with, and he was never innocent after all. This is what rage leads to. He was just waiting for a chance.

The night streets smell like mud and the sweat of the men washing dishes in the back. Artemis does not want to go home or perhaps she's just wasting time. How could I ever give anyone your eyes? There's too much beauty and too much suffering in them and I fear I might lead your bloodied purity into a world of things that are dirty and rotten.

Grey sky of eternal summer - always about to burst into a storm that will never come. Was this the future of the legendary Berenice? What did her eyes see before she died? What did her eyes see, through the foggy curtain of the afterlife, through the stone grave? The luxury of a burial which the brother of the lake will never be granted. The luxury of having already passed the veil, before the earth's walls cave in and lock around your throat and cut off all oxygen and sever your trachea like scissors ridding the garden of weeds. Is this not the way it goes? What would it otherwise be, the meaning of the end?

Who, if not mankind, if not Artemis, The Unfit, if not the captain with unloyal blood, if not a mad and forgotten soul - who, if not them, is the poison to get rid of to let the world breathe? The road to a long and peaceful future is ignorance. Questions, doubts, even the silent rebellion of those who are unable to fit in, these are all sharp rocks on the road to a happy ending.

Drawers, printed sheets. I can touch death with the tips of my fingers. It's a dark, sticky feeling. The same way you imagine quicksand as a kid.

It never stops raining.

Two hours laying on one side, two hours on the other. What did I dream about? Forgive me. They spit their own original sin all over you and try to convince you the mud and blood they're sinking into was your making.

I can't think. Tomorrow. In two months. Next year. There's nothing to prove my existence. Is this the kind of permission I have been waiting for?

I can't sleep. The sky is making me short-circuit. Too many conflicting faces live in the corners and once the house is empty we're all shouting into space.

I can't, not tonight. I'm busy watching the world go on without me.

I hope the rotting things inside my veins never come out. I hope he never sees them. I pray he sees everything and loves me anyway. It's not an easy thing to feel. I love you, I'm scared. What am I supposed to do with this? It was so much easier when others didn't matter to me.