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I didn’t knew that my background for this art looked like something that someone would be tripping on…
"Music ain't a sound, it's a feeling…” - @canmking
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Mustard's Debut ❤
Just a quick phone recording for now, but in honor of her VA screaming at me, have some Mustard!
going to uni while listening to music and suddenly "i want you to love me" by fiona apple starts playing. now im thinking of how this song works so well as a love letter from misty to nat #theyreeverywhere
”Thank you… for loving someone like me..”
The poll hath spoken!! Get ready to escape reality and wander into Lofi-Land with yours truly, Escape-P!
If I were to post a link to my SoundCloud music account, would that be chill, or would y'all, like, hunt me for sport??
If I were to post a link to my SoundCloud music account, would that be chill, or would y'all, like, hunt me for sport??
Eldritch being.
As Jim Morrison says "Nobody remembers your name, when you're strange." it reminds me of the times I felt strange.
Now, let me explain; it wasn't because I was alone or felt lonely, I was gorwing up. I was a rider on a storm; specifically experiencing "youth". But, why did I feel strange? And, was I the only one who felt strange?
No, there was a plethora of children playing, feeling strange and fighting for freedom not knowing what was waiting for them at the end of the day.
Why we felt that way, I'm not certain, but I will clarify. Investigating this case is quite arduous. There's a storm following my every single step. I move to the right, it is there, behind my head, staring into my soul and haunting my mind. I go to the left, it is there, beside my ear, making me deaf to every other noise in the background and my thoughts are silenced.
And, I feel strange. Because, we all are strange. Men are wicked; they abandon you at the weirdest situations of your life, stabbing you in the heart and leaving a dirty smell to the point of your nose, significantly abusing your sensitive parts.
Now, was I really strange? Certainly, yes. Because, like I mentioned before, we are all strange. Rain falls on top of our heads, water engulfs our very being, flooding into our eyes and hardening our eyelashes. But, we still embrace it. We claim that we love it. Aren't we strange?
Bizarre, abnormal. People, in fact never wanted to talk to me; I apparently seemed "unfamiliar" (an elegant way to say to a person who is strange). Even my name comes from a word in Greek "xeno" = strange.
It's interesting how these people who dared to think of me as someone abnormal, were all some ignorant things, useless and with no talents. They were all jealous little worms, that liked to act dominant in front of a person who knew how to value time.
Matter of fact, I valued time. I still do. But, I had a façade; I was an innocent, docile and quite girl who always nodded and never raised her voice. I was hiding the real me. The strange version of me.
I embrace fear. I'm attached to danger; the one that makes you feel light and free. The adrenaline that you feel when you trespass the limits. What limits you might say? Every single thing that even comes to your mind.
I feel it in my bones; the rage and the fear combined together crafting chaos around me. And it all grasps. It all stongly tightens around my neck, making me gasp for air. I prefer being strange. I want to value time to pass my entire life into oblivion. I don't really have to worry about having a boring, office life; I'm addicted to thrill.
So, am I a stranger?
Well, if I were with a gorup of "normal" people then yes I would be a stranger; they are all the smame: dark and lizards. They crave for a bit of dominance and money. Time for them doesn't exist, instead they embrace impulsiveness. Aren't they monsters?
I'm alluding to a realm full of masks that hide in their inside an excess of hate and evil personalities, and try guessing what surrounds these outrageous beings? Other masks, but strange ones.
Voilà! WE ARE ALL STRANGE!
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.
Songs I think fit demon slayer characters
Based on their backstory and end
*Manga Spoilers*
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Kamaboku squad: C'mon
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Giyuu: Body Terror Song
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Obani + kanjiro: A Wistful Waltz
Their death was so bitter sweet🥲
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Sanemi + genya: Evelyn Evelyn and 4:00 A.M.
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Akaza: Heat Waves
Doma: putting a spin on never ever getting rid of me and I can't decide
Enmu: The silent Tragic Trantrum
Kokushibo: Putting a spin on fly me to the moon
PLEASE THIS IS HUSKERDUST INCARNATE. STOP WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING AND LISTEN.
⠀ °. ✿ * · — #𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐂 : 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗸𝗮 𝗶𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀 !! ♡ ⋅.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 ⠀. ₊˚ ໑ ɞ
ʚ ₊˚ ᥀ 🗯 + ʜɪɢʜ Qᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ
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"Flames so hot that they turn blue" - Lana Del Rey
(Redraw)
Youre not that guy pal 😒