notmadebyhumanhands - Tumblr blog

notmadebyhumanhands · 5 months

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That’s the thing about pain — it demands to be felt. Pain is never permanent but some nights, it will feel like it could kill you. One day you’ll wake up and it won’t hurt anymore. But it’s going to get worse before it gets better. So until then, hold on tight. This ride is a wild one.

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notmadebyhumanhands · 5 months

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Unrequited "love" is such a weird pain.

This isn’t the first time we fell for somebody, and this won’t be the last. This isn’t the first time they don’t want us back.

We’re supposed to be wiser, stronger, less vulnerable by now. But why do we keep falling into the same traps?

No amount of fantasy or wishful thinking is ever going to make it real. We are logical enough to know this, rational enough to know what couldn’t be.

Yet we still fall for it. Every. Single. Time.

This has been turned into songs and novels and movies; but we never learn.

Is it because you can’t help whom you love? It’s always such a hassle, and I’ve always said I don’t want a distraction. But it can’t be helped, can it?

How many times should we repeat "fuck these feelings" until they vanish?

If I can’t have him, can this pain be taken away from me, at least?

Or is this how we know we’re alive? Because that’s the thing about pain — it demands to be felt.

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notmadebyhumanhands · 6 months

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Something I didn’t know I needed.

Legend has it if you listen to this soundcheck on repeat it will clear your skin, water your crops, and cure your depression. I hope this heals all of you like it has healed me.

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notmadebyhumanhands · 9 months

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THE REAPER AND ME.

When The Reaper came a calling,

I knew that I must stall him,

I must keep The Reaper talking,

Or with him I must go walking.

I offered him a drink,

Just to give me time to think,

And though his drink was spiced,

He said it was quite nice.

He got drowsy and so sleepy,

But he still looked pale and creepy,

And his voice was slurred and slow,

When he said it's time to go.

I offered him another one,

And I could see that he was having fun,

His scythe forgotten on the ground,

And his singing made an eerie sound.

Then he began a yawning,

As I was praying for the dawning,

I must keep him here till the sun was up,

So I offered him another drop.

He slept right through till past midday,

Then said we must be on our way,

Then I pulled the curtains and let in the light,

And The Reaper got an awful fright.

You tricked me fair, he said to me,

You have tricked your way from eternity,

And when night falls down I will leave alone,

And leave you living in your home.

But do you mind if I call sometime,

To share your whisky and your fine wine,

Because it was the best time I've ever had,

And you must surely see that I'm not that bad.

Now every month when the moon is full,

The Reaper calls when his work gets dull,

From dusk till dawn we sit and drink,

Then he falls asleep as the sky turns pink.

But his company sure wears me down,

And when drunk he looks like an evil clown,

And my suffering wife gets real upset,

Because our house just reeks and stinks of death.

@Ambrose Harte

@Scattered Thoughts

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notmadebyhumanhands · 1 year

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if i was a mourning dove, i would perch in cottonwood trees

and coo for you, and you only, from sultry summer to prismatic spring.

if i was a bird, you'd be the muse behind every song i sing.

and if i was rain, i would fall at whatever hour you need,

pitter-pattering against your windowpane

because you said it helps you sleep.

and if i could write like Neruda, i'd pen poems they'd read like menus,

they'll decide they want that too, to be loved the way i love you.

and if i was strong, i would execute

everything that makes you blue, you could wear me like a vest

and i'd make you bulletproof.

no, there's not much i wouldn't do, i'd do most anything for you.

— anything (2019) // melancholy galaxies (t.e.t.)

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notmadebyhumanhands · 1 year

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So won’t you fall for me,

Won’t you fall for me?

Through a fractured existence,

From reality,

To the rhythm of eternity,

With my love as your garden,

I am yours to the end

So won’t you fall for me?

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notmadebyhumanhands · 1 year

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ok but hear me out -- devin reminds me of lestat here lol

(and since he’s a singer, he’s got lestat’s rockstar phase covered 🤣)

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notmadebyhumanhands · 1 year

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You know, at the edge of existence,

they told me to pick my poison

and I chose you

‘cause you were so beautiful.

So I would be lying if I told myself

I didn’t know how much it would kill me.

But you were worth it,

so much so that at the edge of existence,

I’ll remember why I tried.

-- for L.D.H.

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notmadebyhumanhands · 1 year

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(I sent someone a message today. Something brief -- mostly just new year pleasantries & a little extra. It’s something he would probably never see; even if he did, it wouldn’t be of much significance. But I did it anyway because)

We hold on to the idea of that off chance, that little gesture of taking our fates from the universe & carving out our own path even for just the quick of things.

It probably won’t work out 99.99% of the time; it might lead to nothing, but an extremely minuscule breadth of the universe is forever changed by that off chance.

•

If alternate universes exist -- and humor me for a moment here that they do exist -- maybe we have affected the very fabric of existence & something wondrous has happened to the versions of ourselves there.

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notmadebyhumanhands · 1 year

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Let this be the soundtrack of my dreams 🤍

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notmadebyhumanhands · 1 year

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In my own way, on my own terms, I have made peace with him & all the things that were left unsaid.

(& the poem that was left unread)

We don’t need to fix things; leave them just as they were.

This is acceptance. This is freedom from the past. This is letting go.

It’s gonna be okay now.

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notmadebyhumanhands · 2 years

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some people never get their fairytales because they are meant for the nightmares. that ain’t bad; it ain’t even sad. nightmares remind us time & again what beauty there is in the macabre. and you, dark-haired angel, are the guardian of that dark beauty. fairytales are meant for romance novels, for heartwarming movies on the big screen & slow songs on the radio. but our nightmares? they’re meant to be epics, entire sagas passed down in hushed tones of awe & wonder with just the right amount of fear. it is the nightmares that become legends and compose the haunting melody of an old piano still playing in an abandoned manor full of stories to tell. 🖤

- for aleksei