#poetic nonsense | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

touch-starved-lurker · 4 months

Text

first draft of a thing for my creative writing class- the prompt: a memory of a colour without mentioning the colour

Shadows darting between neon lights, spilling onto a face for a moment and no more. A circle of souls, hands linked for the night ahead. A gaping void, eyes pinning every movement.

The pristine shine of paint, begging for a touch to paper. Smooth lines from shaky hands, shape and form appearing from nothing. Catching the light like glass, then drying to matte indifference.

A crushing weight, searing and scarring like acid. Seeping poison whispering harsh truths, sweet and seductive and cruel. Shame burning quick and unforgiving, a hell-hot iron choker.

Falling stars and floating dreams, easing into whispering quiet. Stolen time away from the alluring call of a warm bed, eyes kept open with siren-song screens. Silhouettes and shadows in half-light, spiralling peace into rock-bottom exhaustion.

The soft grit of charcoal, scratching quick and light across an empty plane. Chalky white appearing in sharp contrast, something beautiful taking form. Frigid water running through messy hands, whirling away colours that aren’t quite colours.

@pteren, since you asked to see it :3

#writing #creative writing #writing stuff #poetic nonsense #<333 #poetry #prose #idk what this counts as so #long post

17 notes · View notes

thereddahliasworld · 2 months

Text

purple and lace

it crawls up and up and up, and then disappears

#lgbtq #aesthetic #purple aesthetic #lace underwear #enby nsft #nsft pics #art #queer artist #soft tummy #photography #artistic photography #poetic nonsense

5 notes · View notes

samuelortezbignaturals · 4 months

Text

There’s something really poetic to me about the death of the gavle goat via birds. The cycle of life and death goes on and on and you are reborn over and over. You are burned and consumed by flames time and time again and you try to stop it you do everything in your power. But it doesn’t make a difference does it? The world around you screams for your destruction, man and beast united in violence. And so the birds consume you slowly, no creature that stalks the earth on gravity-bound legs having access.

There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing you can do. You die you are dead you will die over and over every year until we forget you.

#gavle goat #gavlebocken #gavleböcken #straw goat #momento mori #poetic nonsense #sorry to the three people who read my posts

5 notes · View notes

zoof-katt · 1 year

Text

This goes out to the hyperfixations I don’t know a damn thing about anymore. This goes out to all the forgotten little stupid facts I memorized to make friends in middle school. This goes out to the songs I hummed as I rode in a car probably sitting in a junkyard by now. This goes out to all those pieces of me washed away by the dropping sand.

This goes out to the way I laugh like my childhood best friend used to before his voice dropped. This goes out to the way I make a specific face when I’m pissed at someone, a mirror of how me and brother used to glare at each other when we couldn’t quite control all those little muscles. This goes out to the way my mom taught me to hug so tight. This goes out to all those pieces of me I picked up off the sidewalk.

This goes out to all those pieces of me I trained myself into, all those pieces of me no one notices, all those pieces of me I hate and despise. Because this goes out to me. To all my weird, messily glued art project, have to tilt your head to recognize, pieces. This goes out to a hyperactive 5 year old trying adderall for the first time and crying at all the bugs they suddenly noticed. This goes out to a frustrated 10 year old who feels ignored. This goes out to a 15 year old getting a massive scar from the new skateboard they got on Christmas.

So I say again, cheers to being pieces, cheers to being more than a whole, cheers to being broken and wicked and guilty and remorseful, cheers to being lovable and hopeful and curious and kind. Cheers, cheers, cheers

#text post #yarn talks #original post #free form poetry #poetic nonsense #yarn talks about yarn #self growth #self love #growth #positive mental attitude #I am imperfect and I am ever hanging and nothing about me has ever been pointless #changing*#new years eve

2 notes · View notes

dolly-macabre · 2 years

Text

The smell in the air on this late summer night is so gripping. I've been here before. Not just physically. But spiritually. The only difference that keeps me grounded is the sweet smell of burning tobacco.

#rambles #poetic nonsense #personal #in my brain

4 notes · View notes

enjoying-the-act-of-dying · 5 months

Text

I am no more then Sisyphus staring at his boulder when I look at the life in front of me

#writing #spilled words #spilled thoughts #poetic nonsense

0 notes

astrowarr · 5 months

Text

i just watched scott's session 7 and noticed a pattern: every single person forgot about grian.

grian hasn't been caught yet, cleo and scott establish. barely a minute later, scott is leading cleo and bigb by the hands to his secret spot and saying "i think we're the last three." like the name has slipped right out of his hands.

as etho tells the other zombies that no, actually, he doesn't want to kill cleo, it occurs to him suddenly. "actually, i kind of want grian to succeed on this, don't i? he's my teammate," he says, not like he doesn't care for grian, but like he's shocked he even forgot in the first place. (seconds later, he lifts his gaze to the sky, and he sees where grian is hiding. he's the only one who sees. he carries this secret with him as he watches grian run, an apology of sorts; sorry I forgot. I hope this makes it better.)

but it got me thinking: this is what grian does, isn't it? even since 3rd life, where he hid in the shadow of scar, whose face was always, always in the light, as he burrowed under doorways, covered in redstone and days-old blood. no one thinks of him as scar sells them the coffins grian will put them in.

grian has mastered the art of becoming nothing. he's so nothing, in fact, that his presence glances off the skin of even his friends. his name slips away from them. he disappears time and time again, falling through their fingers like sand. there are brief moments: "where's grian?" someone asks, but their blood is boiling and their fingers are itching. the image is a mirage and the sand crumbles at their fingertips. it's gone as soon as it comes; back to cleo, green cleo, uninfected cleo.

a reminder, perhaps from the universe itself. he is nothing but a ghost of a memory, a whisper of a promise. this is by design. the universe is telling him this, as it strings grian up limb by limb: you were only ever meant to watch.

#poeticism is lost to me im half asleep is this nonsensical #i dont care let me sum this up #watcher grian #thats all #grian #secret life #secret life spoilers #desert duo #trafficblr #ethoslab #zombiecleo #scott smajor #roomies #watchers #scarian #kinda?#3rd life #third life #watercolor words

6K notes · View notes

bootlegatem · 1 year

Text

Life Definition

Life

It means nothing, but at the same time says something

It's experiencing everything, but at the same time nothing Experiencing life through the perspective of those that kill and those that don't Those that LIVE and those that DON'T, those that are different and those that believe that they aren't,

Life is a beautiful thing and it beckons you and all others to do and be the same thing

BUT

At the same time, it beckons us to recognise the cruel and ugly things, both in others and in ourselves.

#poetic nonsense #created by me #society = death

1 note · View note

bpdlivingdiary · 2 years

Text

a new morning, a new day. it's always so nice to be able to advocate in a public space for people who have been disenfranchised the same ways as me. ever since i was a child, i felt my wordiness was too much, stifled my speech to the "normal" kind because i had more solace in studying the minute rules of grammar books and reading encyclopedias and almanacs and great novels... than any children my age.

it's a bit sad to think about. i never found it useful. but if all the pain ive been through can help me make even one person feel better, its worth it. to help even one person stand taller, and work forward instead of falling into hating themselves. there's too much information everywhere, it's a cloud. ive been through terrible pain trying to navigate what is "real", what is "normal", what is "doing things right". but to see someone light up from just me being able to explain what they feel? to see the relief of being defended, being seen and known, it's different. it brings me light and i want to give more to others. this sounds so cultish but the light in my life is so sparing. comorbid mental illness and neurodivergency can make you feel wholly broken, like so many pieces are wrong no one can fix any given one. finally, after so many horribly low moments, after so much fighting, im in a place to be happy. i must share my joy with a world i see so bleakly as much as i can.

will I do anything? likely no. but ive already made one person feel better. and i'm making me feel better. and that's so much more valuable than many know.

0 notes

y-rhywbeth2 · 4 months

Text

I lack a full plot (and also am 10 years out of practice) but I kind of want to write my own take on the Cania Heist just because there's a scene in my head where Gortash is doing something and Durge, who was behind him, holding off the locals while he works - walks in dripping with fiendish ichor, covered in black feathers and dragging a dissolving pit fiend's wing behind him, grinning from ear-to-ear; "This is the best fun I've had in over a century!"

And this is the first time Gortash has seen strong positive emotion on the otherwise flat and unemotive Dark Urge and it's... not unattractive (also the numerous dead fiends everywhere. That's very much "not unnatractive." The vestiges fo Young Enver - who was terrified and alone and would've loved having his own monster to defend him from these monsters -is suddenly developing a massive crush somewhere in the back of his mind. He thought it before, but now he definitely wants to have this divine horror at his beck and call.)

Also might incorporate that little quirk Bhaalspawn sometimes have where the divine essence in their blood becomes a homing beacon to all fiends. That's a wonderful trait to have while you're trying to go incognito in the Eighth Hell, in Mephistopheles' own house.

#“Why would I help you with this heist Enver Gortash?”#“There'll be lots of interesting new things to kill.”#“...continue.”#the garbage men #<- that's my working tag for durgetash for now #maybe I'll get them something poetic maybe not #/durgetash #/durge #/gortash #Vel #Ocs #babbling #villainous nonsense

74 notes · View notes

cbk1000 · 5 months

Text

I'm all for people using creative language in their writing, but remember that your metaphors and descriptive language have to make sense. They need to evoke something specific to create a clear image in the reader's head, not just be a jumble of fancy-sounding words you threw together because you thought they seemed neat or profound.

#if i read one more nonsensical sentence i am going to scream #poetry or poetic prose are not mystical arcane things #that are not for mortals to understand #your imagery has to actually conjure an image in the reader's head #not just lie about exuding mysterious pretension #writing

104 notes · View notes

fromtheseventhhell · 5 days

Note

hi! I’m a new fan of asoiaf (and Arya obvi lol) and I love ur blog <3 there’s a popularish post on this site that basically talks abt how the comparison between Arya and Lyanna is meant to convey that they were both tomboys and not that Arya is actually really pretty and I generally agree bc obviously yeah but it seemed kinda weird that like so many of the ppl reblogging that post were like either huge Sansa stans or were hellbent on telling others that Arya is NOT pretty which… I feel like is also missing the point?? Idk if you know which post I’m referring to, but either way I was wondering if that’s like a general fandom opinion that Arya is meant to be this conventionally unattractive person that doesn’t have looks really tied to their stories (kinda like Brienne)? Or if this is just something you’d see on tumblr cause I’ve heard the fandom here is a bit different than on like Reddit or twitter

I can take a guess at which post you're referencing and yes, it is a generally accepted idea that Arya isn't meant to be pretty. I don't think that's specific to Tumblr either, I've seen people on tiktok/reddit/twitter/etc. argue the same. While I do think there's a point to be made about Lyanna's memory being romanticized, I disagree that the conclusion should be that Lyanna and Arya aren't meant to be pretty. The idea that personality and looks aren't dependent on each other seems to be a difficult one for this fandom to grasp, so they treat Lyanna being pretty and her being a tomboy as mutually exclusive when they can (and do) coexist. There would be no point in Arya and Lyanna being referenced as pretty as many times as they are (several times for each of them) if that wasn't the case. "Missing the point" is a great way of describing it because this take is dependent on ignoring what's written in the books. As usual, I think this links back to fandom's inability to comprehend female characters that don't neatly fit into flat archetypes and their placing value on beauty and not wanting said value associated with the wrong "type" of characters. Arya and Lyanna being pretty and wild/non-conforming seems to be a little bit beyond fandom's processing capabilities.

#ask #anon #arya stark #lyanna stark #asoiaf #fandom nonsense #it is generally accepted that Arya is the ugly /masculine/ counterpart to her sister and that's somehow poetic cause /opposites~/ 🙄#people think Arya being ugly /fits/ her character because she's non-conforming and that's basically it #if we point out that she's called pretty multiple times then we get called creepy and accused of wanting her to be a supermodel #which just shows how shallow and nonsensical this fandom is #like yes! Lyanna is a wild tomboy and that should be acknowledged more because this fandom loves softening her #this is a woman who dressed up in a suit of armor and fought in a tourney to defend someone! she wasn't secretly uber trad-fem #but her being thought of as pretty doesn't negate that and people need to stop pretending it does #in actuality her beauty is likely a major factor in her being romanticized in text by Robert and Ned #if your /analysis/ requires ignoring what's written in the books then I have something to tell you...

26 notes · View notes

falsenote · 6 months

Text

Diamonds for Breakfast (1968)

#him speaking english with an italian accent doing a russian accent. poetic cinema #marcello mastroianni #diamonds for breakfast #mine #the negative reviews on lb are so annoying like imagine putting on a film titled DIAMONDS FOR BREAKFAST and expecting idk fucking kubrick #yes it was nonsensical. what of it

23 notes · View notes

enjoying-the-act-of-dying · 5 months

Text

You are exposure therapy for the anxiously attached soul

For I know through your sweet nothings and your distant passions that I matter

Yet the burdens of adulthood, the monotony of work, and the trauma of it all pull you from me

To you my avoidantly attached love, I only hope to provide exposure therapy to trust

#writing #spilled thoughts #spilled words #poetic nonsense

0 notes

allaganexarch · 7 months

Text

ghost of you (2/3ish)

Wheel of Time || Moiraine/Lan

Lan can never sleep when Moiraine’s masked the bond. He’d never admit it. Usually he spends the time standing guard at her door until he can feel her again. He imagines the breaks from their connection are relaxing for her, an indulgence she foregoes primarily for his comfort. Tonight, for example, she wants to see Siuan. She hasn’t told him what transpired during her meeting with the Amyrlin Seat earlier, or any of the other secret meetings she arranged with her sisters, nor does he expect she will. But she has been uncommonly stormy this afternoon, even by her standards. It’s a particular area of her life into which Lan is reluctant to pry, but as the events of the day proceed to wind themselves into knots, he does begin to wish Moiraine were more inclined to accept some small gesture of empathy. “It’s been nearly two years,” she says in the present. “I thought you would welcome the break.” It must be true, for she cannot lie. Even after all this time, Moiraine truly believes that the bond is a burden to him, and not a lifeline.

24 notes · View notes

laurasimonsdaughter · 1 year

Text

Florence watches Chris brush her hair in front of the floor-length mirror. There is something utterly, timelessly charming about a woman thoughtfully brushing her hair. It’s one of the treasured moments that make her feel less tied to her age, less tangled up in history. This – smooth, careful strokes combing through long, raven tresses – is a moment that might as well have occurred a century ago. Even though the brush wouldn’t have been plastic then, and undercuts were not yet in fashion.

Even from across the room she can hear Chris’ heart beating, strong and warm and alive. It’s such a common sound. So normal, so human. Everything she is not.

“You better not be making yourself guilty again.” Chris directs two reproachful eyes Florence’s way, her head still slanted and her fingers still combing through her hair. “I can’t be having that.”

Florence shakes her head, but Chris’ dark eyes narrow and she sweeps across the room to sit down on her lap, all sun-kissed skin and perfumed hair. She winds her arms around Florence’s neck.

“You know Goethe, right?” she asks.

“Mm,” Florence hums, more than a little distracted. “Nice guy, a touch dramatic.”

Chris pokes her in the ribs, making her squirm. “Shut up you didn’t know, Goethe. You weren’t alive in 1832, much less undead.”

“I know of Goethe, yes,” she relents, smiling.

“Well, he knew what was up, all the way back in seventeen-whatever.”

There’s poetry coming. Florence can see it in Chris’ eyes, in the way she draws breath, in the slightest change in her voice as she recites:

And she comes, and lays her near the boy: "How I grieve to see thee sorrowing so! If thou think'st to clasp my form with joy, Thou must learn this secret sad to know; Yes! the maid, whom thou Call'st thy loved one now, Is as cold as ice, though white as snow."

Then he clasps her madly in his arm, Then he clasps her madly in his arm, While love's youthful might pervades his frame: "Thou might'st hope, when with me, to grow warm, E'en if from the grave thy spirit came!

Florence listens, silently, her arms wrapped loosely around Chris’ waist.

“See?” Chris says. “Death means nothing love.”

“I didn’t know you when I was alive,” she says, softly, and painfully fond.

Chris face is close enough to hers for her eyes to be as deep as the night’s sky. “But you love me now.”

“Yes-”

Their kiss only lasts as long as Chris can keep down the rest of her poetry. She rests her head against Florence’s shoulder when their lips part and murmurs:

But from out my coffin's prison-bounds By a wond'rous fate I'm forced to rove, While the blessings and the chaunting sounds That your priests delight in, useless prove. Water, salt, are vain Fervent youth to chain, Ah, e'en Earth can never cool down love!

From my grave to wander I am forc'd, Still to seek The Good's long-sever'd link, Still to love the bridegroom I have lost, And the life-blood of his heart to drink;

She had never cared much for poetry. Not until she heard Chris recite it. “How does it end?” Florence asks quietly. “Your poem.”

Chris lifts her head and gives an indifferent shrug with her shoulders. “They both die, of course, it is ancient. And Goethe loved a tragedy.” She smiles. “But that won’t happen to us. I’ll join you. Some day.”

Florence sighs. Some day. She wraps her arms tighter around Chris, feeling her every breath and heartbeat. “That’s all well and good for you,” she complains. “But I have to face your mother afterwards.”

Chris laughs and it sounds like the memory of sunlight. “It’s her own fault. Tell her that if Ma scolds you.”

She rests her forehead against Florence’s, still smiling like the sun, and Florence can't help but smile back, fangs and all.

“If she didn’t want me to fall in love with you...she shouldn’t have named me Christabel.”

#sometimes you just gotta go full poetic romantic nonsense #wlw romance #vampire #vampires #monster/human #laura drabbles #the poem is The Bride of Corinth by Goethe translated by Edgar Alfred Bowring #I'll put a link in the replies #I found this poem while looking for inspiration for a story I'm writing with a friend #and it's just too good

54 notes · View notes