Your gateway to endless inspiration
Fypage - Blog Posts
who's your type?
Well
Angry bitches
orange hair
blue eyes
stupid.
Obviously, Ed Sheeran!
Of course
i look homo in those clothes
OMG!!!!!!! I CANT WAIT TO SEE MORE EPISODES SOON!!!!
WHY THE FUCK ARE THEY SOO CUTE!!!!! ❤️🔥
Currently having a argument with a swifite about Michael Jackson (they are saying that he is below Taylor) 💀 then after is aid ppl still listen to him like legendary late hip-hop artist like tupac and xxx then had the audacity to say no one listen to xxx 😭 finna pop off.
🜏MOCK CHR*ST!🜏
made this one just for fun...
Seeing other small accounts on my feed actually pisses me off so bad because what do you mean this drawing that looks like a gift from the heavens has 15 fucking notes I am actually so mad
My bff check out their account → that.one_cosplay
I'm a minor and someone just followed me and I clicked on who followed me and got flashed with a penises how do I get this to stop I'm actually crying it's so gross
Home?
I felt free only when I was at home.
Home, where I was born and raised, the place that crafted the person I am today. The capital of my state was a hectic place for sure, in fact I still remember the anxiety I used to have every day in the middle of the street full of hundred of people that only stared at me and at each other because that was one of the few things they knew how to do.
But, I have to be honest with you because that might be the only thing that my country lacked in: it is surely not my home anymore.
I have realised many negative elements of that place, one of many is exactly the toxicity it use to carry. People had become poisonous to each other and to their own blood. They would hate people and spit venom about other people's lives. Ungrateful fucking people.
So, affermative. My country ain't the best. And I come from it. But, it isn't my home anymore. Actually I don't have a home right now. As in, at the moment I don't have a city or a place I can call my home. I don't think I even want to find it, perhaps I am accustomed to being a nomad. It doesn't necessarily mean that I love doing it though, perhaps it's just how I got used to surviving.
I am Ariadne and I want to tell you what I think about life. Well, we are simple humans following the same rules and the same values, even though some of us don't really follow them but that's definitley irrelevant, and we are different in the matter of opinions. Even that though was the same at some point. But still there were some of us that wanted to destroy those norms, attempting to create new ones, like I said before, irrelevant.
Humans are divided into two genders: male and female. And with sexual actions they can reproduce new beings to our race. We have one race. We are all humans. But to some of us even these aspects I just listed to you are absolutely ridiculous, so they created new genders, new ways of sexual actions, new methods to reproduce and other absurd races.
We humans are never satisfied with how things were made. We want new things and we want to make them ourselves because that's what really satisfies us. Imagine the proudness one feels after demolishing the rules of nature, they would be thrilled as hell. How do I know that? I mean, it takes one to know the other. I've never been one that broke the rules but I have done some things, despite being small and not even worth mentioning.
I have surely changed a lot lately. In fact, I'm not the same person I was before because apparently I don't have a home to return to, other than my family, and I am not what my country wanted me to be. I'm not particularly proud of it. I'm actually indifferent to it. It might be because I'm continuously changing like a flower does every day.
Un animale chiuso dentro il palmo dell’avversario.
Eccomi.
In gabbia.
Non so cosa mi fai ricordare; Quando tu, sei vicino a me, e io più ti vedo più penso a come sono la tua preda.
Ti osservo attentamente; prendo le tue abitudini.
Ci assomigliamo tantissimo e non so perché x
Io vedo te, che però sei me.
Sono chiusa in una stanza, piccola assai da prendermi il fiato. E tu, sei un mafioso, mi hai torturato, ucciso e poi mi hai raccolto di nuovo, accarezzandomi le guance con una tenerezza strana.
E cosa avrei potuto fare, io?
Non capisci. Io sono una tua preda.
Qua a New York funziona così la vita.
O fai la preda, o sei il predatore.
“Pensai che toccava a me, prete, dargli quello che gli era dovuto e lasciare che fosse Dio, non gli uomini, a giudicarlo”
-domanda fatta in un intervista a Padre Gigante da Maurizio Chierici per un libro chiamato “Gli eredi dei gangsters”,1975.
Ah, Padre. Dio viene sempre messo in causa. Non vi vergognate?
Io di certo, no. Lo so che sono la preda, del mio nemico, ma sono fiera di esserlo.
Almeno, lui é presente.
Wuthering Heights
(This is a brief inspiration I had after reading Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte and after listening to Kate Bush' song.)
Oh! It's him! He's here!
Oh! It's him! He's here!
Oh! It's him! He's here!
Oh! It's him! He's here........
and so, the voices whispered near my ear...
It was a windy day, clouds were blocking the Sun's light, protecting our eyes from its lethal rays. The Rain was soon to come and English people were strangely "happy" for it to come. Grey engulfed their senses, the vain shades of color appearing frequently and the cold burning the tip of their nose, forcing their instincts to shoot out at fluttering around to find anything to use as a cover. After all this daily mundane suffering, they still loved these landscapes and the punishment that came with them.
I was hiding in the little corner of his office, shaking wildly. Trembles came out of everywhere.
He had the temper of one of Zeus' child, Ares. My former lover, Ares (yes, exactly him), was also overflowed with fury and rage, not really understanding where it came from. A God who loved battle, blood, competiton and anger. He fought until the end of it all, just like his father, that's why Zeus never preferred him as a child.
With me, he was a strange monster. You must wonder why would I think in such a way about a former lover... Well, he was not a human, nor an alien, he was a God. I'm saying this because at the beginning I didn't know what he was. When he started courting me, I hadn't noticed the immense love he had for me, which was unacceptable to me; how could a man love a woman thusly? He hadn't known me, nor had he ever seen me previously, even by mistake. I'm sure of it. Hence, my intuition told me that he was not a good sign, coming to me and confessing such a profound love. "And who do you think you are, behaving to such a degree without any further motivation?"
The strangest part was that he didn't even manage to show me his family, that enormous family of his, that he was so eager to introduce me to. But, I saw his mother in my dreams. Hera. That woman. That Goddess- The mother in law I couldn't be able to have.
She was caressing my hair and cheeks while fondly looking at me as if she created me with her own hands. Perhaps, she did. We could never know.
Hera was speaking to me, in a language I understood at that moment but once I woke up, I couldn't seem to remember a thing.
What happened next made me freeze to death, literally. She moved her hand, with the intention to caress my belly. I had no idea what she was trying to do at that time. While doing so, she raised her head, looking at me and smiling once again, in such a fondly way that even in real life I felt the tears starting to shed from my eyes. That explains the wet eyes and pillow I had once I woke up.
I woke up. Ares was by my side, sleeping soundly. I was shaking. Trembles were fluttering their way up my body. Ares, still deep in his sleep, he raised his arm up, gripped my hip and moved me to the inside of his hairy chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around me, he scooted his head in my neck and sighed with a warm breath making me shudder under him.
I'm a cold little woman who needs heat coming out of her "husbands" body, words and eyes.
It was all a sign, to tell me that something was going on.
On 2 June, a Sunday, he left and never came back. Where to go, I don't know. But my soul and energy reeked of him still, my inner witch, that was hidden in the profounds of the universe, searched for him like a desperate bitch.
He left on my birthday.
And I loved him wholly, even if he was a monster.
He's here! We want his heat! Let him burn us!
He's here! We want his heat! Let him burn us!
He's here! We want his heat! Let him burn us!
He's here! We want his heat! Let him burn us!
and so, the voices started once again...
Mars was his name. The man that came in my house and bribed me under his own fate.
Now I tremble wholly and my body needs my "husbands" heat. Where will I find it?
He comes to me. Every step he takes, I feel even colder than before. My body freezing, but my soul doesn't seem to shut up.
He is now so close to me that he could hear my heart beating.
"Xena, my love..." he whispers so softly that even I am bewildered at how I managed to hear it.
That name. "No. Don't say that name." he can't. How did he? He should be dead now. No human or other specie can ever utter that name.
"Xena... it's me. Look at me, please." he softly utters my name again.
He isn't dead. Why? How?
Ares! Lover! Come here! We're so cold!
Ares! Lover! Come here! We're so cold!
Ares! Lover! Come here! We're so cold!
Ares! Lover! Come here! We're so cold!
I shake my head wildly. Why are they not shutting up? Why can you not understand that he left us? my voice echoes in my head silencing them. For now, because they started once again.
I look up. There he is. My Ares.
"Xena, it's me, Ares." he calls.
The voices were silent. His voice was exactly Ares' voice. But how-
"You aren't! Mars how? What are you- what are you trying to do?" my voice trembles from the cold I felt. He looked like my Ares and he was as tall as him. The unique height that only my husband had.
It can't be true.
"Xena... think about it. Why would someone be named Mars?" he questioned me, inviting me to think.
Mars. In Latin for the God of war, Ares. The one and only deity that had made such an imponent famous story throughout the archaic Rome.
While trembling from the cold, I raise my hands and caress my freezing cheeks; he managed to call me by my name without dying. He has the same features and physic as him. The name is exactly the same as his but in a different language.
So, it's truly him.
I remove my hands away from my face and I raise my head up, looking towards him. Tears come out of my eyes, flooding my entire sight.
"Ares?" I say in a meek voice, which I doubt he would hear if he'd have a normal hearing.
He just nods his head, "Xena. It's me, Ares. I've come home." he says whispering.
"Ares! It's you! You're here!" I call for him while tremendously shaking like a leaf.
He comes extremely close to me, grips me at the wrists and gets me up from my seated position, engulfing me in his arms.
His heat consumes me, making me feel whole again. My body and senses burn, finally having my lover back.
Fire eruptes from my sides, unleashing the beast I had been hiding for decades. My true self was with him now.
He's here! He's finally here!!!!!!!
He's here! He's finally here!!!!!!!
He's here! He's finally here!!!!!!!
He's here! He's finally here!!!!!!!
and so, the voices resided in the profounds of Goddess' Xena.
This was the extraordinary love story of Ares and Xena.
K.M.
Hallelujah
Is there truly a religion?
I always question myself about my religion.
What do I believe in? At first I thought I was catholic but in reality my relatives practiced the orthodox religion and pushed me to do the same. Then my grandpa believed in the muslim theories and my father too. My mother claimed to be an orthodox. As time passed by, she realised something very strange; all religions believe in one thing: God. And it is true.
My family’s culture in fact is pagan. My hometown’s population was and still is based in paganism. We are patriotic and we believe in our town. We believe that there’s a God but we don’t practice religions. Perhaps, we never had a religion. Conquests influenced our population and culture, imposing a new emphasis of social differences and new words on our language. Our language was and still is un religious. It’s hard to believe I know, but that’s how it is. In our language the only thing we had was “God”.
That’s why I don’t have a faith. Or perhaps, my only faith is my consciousness.
Was it all a way to fool people’s mind from finding out the truth of Earth’s origins and history?
Or was it all true?
I just know that I don’t believe in any religion. I believe in God and myself.
Do I respect other religions and faiths or beliefs? Of course I do. Who am I to neglect their existence? I shall respect but not only, I ought to study them because their historical behaviors amaze our provenience. We are human beings that without religions’ existence we wouldn’t know what we are.
Is there more to know about our existence? Of course there is.
Do they want us to know about them? Of course not. You’d be a fool to believe otherwise.
And why, when I listen to Jeff Buckley’s song, I feel deeply touched? I am uncertain.
Is art somehow connected to religion?
Or is God connected to art?
It’s completely complicated. How can a mere person come and claim to know how to respond to these questions? Are you that much of a fool to think that we are allowed to ask of this thematics?
Nonetheless, I will continue praying at difficult times.
Sirop de Fraise
pur sucre
Oh, fraise. You make me feel unsteady with your saccharine juice.
And, why so? I haven't the faintest idea.
It is particularly strange to think that I might be attached to a red fruit. A tiny one, at that.
Fraise, strawberry, is my God. It crafts a welcoming juice into my mouth's sensitive parts. I feel its nectar flowing in my lips, tongue and palate. It graciously stains my lips, leaving behind a natural reddish color and finally making me more esthetically appealing to men's eyes.
Fraise, fragola, brings me to paradise. While the essence floods down my esophagus, my cheeks burn. Try guessing where my mind went to? I couldn't tell you.
Fraise, fresa, la reina de las frutas. Why do they call her that? In its composition, it is the only fruit in the world that has the seeds on the outside. And in addition, its intense fragrance and sweet taste make it irresistible. So, remember that you are savoring the queen of fruits. Does this make you a queen too? Well, it depends. Do you have seeds on the outside? My man used to have freckels for seeds. He had them everywhere. Even in his adam's apple.
Fragum, fragaria, Fragaria. Wild strawberries grew in the forests of France and Italy during ancient Roman times. They used to believe that the "fraga" were special fruit that had medicinal properties and used them to heal wounds or to make spells.
Erdbeere, strawberry, the first fruit to ripen in spring, making them a delightful harbinger of warmer days. My man, who loved munching on some strawberries, smelled of their fragrance. And he augmented my fertility. I was devoted to his seeds and sperm. It would surge in my insides, producing a new feeling in my head. We had unique offsprings. They were all made of love and strawberries. We took care of them and brought them up, nurtured them to be as lavish and eager as strawberries.
Be careful about the origins of your strawberries. Check out their provenience, because in sylvis proveniunt fungi, fraga, myrtilli et cetera.
Placentne tibi fraga?
Hawaii.
While listening to “wayamaya” by lana del rey (lizzy grant) made me feel all good about summer. Here in my hometown is hot as fuck. And I’m dying from the heat; summer is hot and floral. Not floral as in “full of flowers” but the atmosphere of it. Like, singing country songs while running through the fields full of green and flowers, with the sun shining and hitting on my head; but I put a hat over my head and a pair of sunglasses, happy with what I have. My mother has brought me up this way: free and young. She says that we can be 80years old and still feel young and free. In fact, she had taught me to keep living through everything, either hard or easy. She has taught me to be easygoing, thoughtless and free; the most important part is to live the carpe diem or nocte diem. So, to live the present day; the “me” of today. Is it possible to be you when you want to be you? Yes.
So can I be free and easygoing, today? Of course.
The point is: be happy with what you have. You have little money, no worries. Live the little things you have around you. It’s not hard you know? I am writing this while being me. It’s summer and it’s hot as hell, but I keep on running through these fields of words; unknown words. Like me.
I might know who I am and how I am, but you don’t. Am I running now through your mind?
Oh yes I am.
I might be crazy but what I say is true.
Us, poets, have the right to control readers’ thoughts. We have a unique talent; dancing to elvis presley’s harmonies and putting words in a sheet paper. We are all set to follow the command of our creativity, which allows us to put words together and to bring the imagination of something impossible into your eyes.
And that’s why we are poets. We are big wave surfers living in the Wayamaya bay.
Who I am?
"I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please, don't ask me who i am."
This reminds me of a particular scene in my life; my Spanish teacher had always been really strict and weirdly relentless into educating us (my class and I), believing that behaving so, she was doing a great job. Instead, she was doing quite the opposite of what she intended to; inflicting her personal beliefs and faiths into our culture, she destroyed our own authenticity or better said, identity.
Now personally talking, I remember that in first year of high school, she said something really interesting to a girl in my class meanwhile scolding her in a, dare I say, cruel way; "How can you expect me to understand what kind of teaching you deserve when you don't even know yourself?".
It's weird because at that time those words weren't surely directed at me, but I flinched so hard that had me speechless.
Didn't that girl really know herself?
Didn't that girl really know who she was?
Does she know who she is right now?
Since those words were pronounced by that ascetic woman, have already been three long years. And I still think of those religiously.
Did I know who I was at that time?
Do I know who I am now?
I certainly can't answer this question. As Sylvia Plath said, I know what I like and what I dislike. I'm 24/7 thinking about how I want to be meanwhile not knowing who I am.
Now my faith is probably this; finding out who I am. And how do I find this out? I don't know.
Thunder only comes when it’s raining.
Recap: Katerina Angel Kennedy or “Arrow” is a Texan patriotic girl that loves her few friends and having fun with them during their high school years. She will handle a lot of pain and difficult situations in her life but her friends will always be there for her. We don’t know but maybe some new relationships will start and some old relationships will end.
Tw: #attempt suicide #depressing thoughts #depressive character #toxic friend #heartbroken character #substance use #drug use #weed mention #weed use #reefer character
Part 1
And I screamed.
Her POV:
High school boys just give me the ick. They’re disgusting.
I only have some high school guy friends and they’re kind of different from the others. I have Benny, Don, Slater, Tony, Mike and Kevin. There are other guys in my school but I don’t really talk to them, like I say “hi how are ya” and that’s it.
Benny is my best friend since kindergarten. Our parents are friends and every where I go he is there. I used to have a weird crush on him ( I still don’t get why I liked him in 8th grade but thank god I don’t like him anymore ). But we are really close to each other. I know everything about him, and vice versa.
Don instead is kinda my big brother that I’ve never had. Being an only child, he thought I felt lonely so he always stayed with me. He is sweetly overprotective of me, and it’s obvious that he loves me. Don’t get any idea! This is all platonic and he is an enormous play boy. I don’t know how Shannon likes him. Ew.
Slater is my reefer friend. My bestie. The one who makes me feel comfortable whenever I smoke blunts or weed. Kevin too. Pickford tho is the hottest of the whole world. Like man how can I smoke weed and not confess my love to you-
Tony and Mike are my friends and they are literally the only ones I can have a decent conversation with.
Now getting to the main point. I’m a picky person. If I want to have friends, I study them before having that intimate relationship with them. Instead the girls are a different subject. I talk to all of them. Even if some of them are bitches, I still respect and adore them.
The one who I seriously can’t stand at this school is Pink. He thinks that he can fool every girl in this school or in this town. Fuck off man. Arrogant son of a bitch. (I actually respect his mother very much.)
I hate him because one day he wanted to kiss me. Bro had never talked to me before and one day he thinks he can fucking kiss me? Nahhhhh man you got the wrong girl. I fucking slapped him. And since then we had this mutual hate relationship.
Another person that I “hate” is David Wooderson. He actually isn’t in our school anymore. And he is older than all of us.
He was my first and only true love. He was my first kiss.
We were very close friends. At the beginning I used to get weed from him and from then we just clicked. He would always meet with me, stay with me, smoke with me, go to parties with me, hang out with me and on and onnnnnnn. God damn. He was the best guy I had ever met. He was my true AND ONLY LOVE. But all of a sudden he started acting weird.
Everytime I used to hang out with Benny or Slater, Wood would always get upset. He would say things like “You don’t hang out with me anymore” or would straight up act mad at me. I didn’t know if he was jealous or something. But still, that doesn’t justify his behavior. Yes we had kissed before. As a joke. And yes, I loved him. But he didn’t know this. I’ve always been jealous of the times he hung out with girls. He was a fucking player, god damn he’s still a player. And yet, I never behaved like that. So, one day after I was out with Benny at his house, I go to meet Wood at his place. I knock at his door. He opens it after a long time, and I see him with disheveled hair, no shirt on, and a naked girl behind him. And he says : “Who tf are ya, man?”
I didn’t even respond. I turned around and went away.
That day I had thought of fucking killing myself. I felt so heartbroken and I felt treated like a fucking toy. I got back home. I had cried all the road to my house. Once up to my bed room, I couldn’t fucking breath anymore. He had been treating me like shit for like forever and I had always respected him because he was my friend. I had his my feelings from everyone for three years because I didn’t want to break the relationship I had with him. And he treats me like shit?
I was panicking. I was in shock and so tired of life. I got up and started searching for weed but I didn’t have any. Or i couldn’t find any, I don’t know. But I remember going downstairs to the phone and calling Slater. He answered and I was crying and saying how I so needed weed and I couldn’t find any. He was so worried behind the phone, I could only imagine his confusion.
After not getting any solution to my problem, still crying and panicking I closed the phone.
I got to the kitchen and I was searching for something that even I didn’t know what. I get a knife from a drawer and I don’t know but I think I stabbed myself with it. And I screamed. I cried and I screamed.
I don’t know what happened after that. But I know that when I woke up, in front of me was Slater. He was fucking crying and on the phone. He was saying something but I couldn’t hear anything. I was dazy as shit.
After that day, I was a different person. Slater got closer to me. And he was always worried but I indulged to drugs and weed, getting my mind out of shit.
I started picking the friends I hung out with and the things I did. I couldn’t trust anyone anymore. And David Wooderson was nothing to me.
Only Slater knows what happened between me and Wood. All the others don’t know a thing. Or i think so. Slater might have told to Benny something about it because I noticed how Benny started ignoring Wood and talking about him.
How can a girl go through so much and still be alive? Only God knows it.
Katerina “Arrow” :
