A lot of people, really. I miss my friend in England. All the stupid things we used to do after school. All the people we swore at together, and the milkshake moustaches we used to take snaps of. I miss my Granddad, and the walks he took me on, up hills and through fields. The fish he taught me to recognise and the crop I helped him plant. I miss my cousins that I haven't seen in forever, all the monopoly games we fought over and the cakes we burnt. I miss the way I used to be. When I was a laughing child with red cheeks that used to make flower crowns for myself.
Saw you made an entirely new blog for veni, vidi, et. DOES THIS MEAN WE'RE GETTING MORE? IS THIS MORE THAN A SHORT STORY? DOES ILAIS GET A HAPPY ENDING, OR ARE YOU WAITING TO CHAINSAW OUR FACES IN?
Hello, you anonymous little tennis ball.
Yes, I did make a new blog, thanks for noticing. From now on, all Veni, Vidi, Et content will be posted there, so you can follow it for new chapters, Q&A's, Character facts and silly shorts from their past.
You can find that right here: @veni-vidi-et
Yeah, y'all are getting more. A whole lot apparently, because I'm thinking of expanding this short story into a novella/series (if you want it of course).
We all have those undiscovered songs we think are underrated. That speak to us and take us apart note by note. Whether a ballad, an instrumental, a classic, it's there in the pits of molten fire in our lungs.
We want to share those songs, make people know them. Maybe it will pass around like wildfire, play at the next dance. They're golden and bright and unable to look away from.
But there are songs that are barely whispers in the world, lost in old playlists, the crumpled paper in the bin that unravels to the most beautiful poetry.
I don't like sharing those songs with anyone. They're mine to cry to, laugh to, remember to. They're a silver river I can sink in, and come out confused. They're raw and they're different in a way that makes my blood dance and my heart sing until starlight flickers beneath my closed eyelids.
Those songs are my favorite. Secrets that I'd rather not give anyone. Not even my soul mate. Not for the reason that they may judge it, but because that music plays with me. The game I love, it twists and spins me until I'm just a pair of eyes floating through a haze of swallows.
I don't want anyone to play me the way those songs do. Because they're the songs I play when the party is over. They're the songs that I'll hum to calm myself in the shower. The one I wish my heartbeat could recite. They'll be there for me when my heart breaks, no one but me knowing them. They can't be destroyed if no one knew them.
I did a thing. It's true for me. There are songs that I want the world to know about, and yet keep to myself, a whisper I hold onto when the wind is loud enough.
1. Anyone who wishes to participate, must write/create/draw a poem/article/visual presentation/artwork (anything really) and reblog along with a photograph (if you want to do it visually) or textpost.
2. Entries must be submitted before the 25th of April 00:00 (GMT) to be considered for judging. The best will be featured on my blog. (There's absolutely no prize besides that, so if you're expecting one, kindly note that I'm only doing this for people to create. All the gluttonous heathens may see their way out the door.)
3. If you are to partake in this contest, please make sure you're respective of all cultures, sexualities, genders, etc. Anyone who isn't, keep your opinions to yourselves, or please do rot in hell, and get the hell out of my blog.
4. Share this with anyone who'd like to participate. Also please remember, only one entry is valid. If more than one is submitted, the first will be taken into consideration.
5. Send your entries to my inbox and tag me in the reblog(@lovebird-in-the-dark .) Everyone participating, I'd like to say that this is just a fun writing exercise, so there's no need to be extra, or over the top.
If you have a problem with anything I've said, I hope you have a beautiful life. Just away from here. I will not tolerate any hate towards any participant or entry. In any context. So take your condescending tendancies to other Neanderthals who are willing to listen, because I'm sure as hell not, and will verbally incinerate the egg that dares to do so.
See y'all at the end of April, results to be announced on the 1st of May.
Poetry Is A 4th Dimensional Aspect. It Is A Tool For Characterizing “The Happening” And Capturing It In The Realm Of Words With The Help Of Emotions And The Intellectual Mind. These Poems Represent My “Self” Both As A Poet And The Poem
I, MäjäZ RäHïL KHäN, Present To You The Nectar Of My Wisdom That I’ve Been Gathering Since My Rebirth Here On Planet Earth. All These Poems Have Been Written After My “Self-Realization”, With The Epiphanies Of Life And The Divine. These Poems Are Based Upon My Felt Presence Of The Direct Experience.
In This Book, You Can Expect To Stumble Upon The True Elements Of Existence Like Nature, Love, Emotions, Suffering And Pain, Solitude And Isolation, Fear And Courage, Life And Survival, Euphoria And Ecstasy Of Life Etc.
Last weekend’s poetry prompt asked us to explore strange & in-between places, which couples well with a book I’m reading called The Book of Yōkai: Mysterious Creatures of Japanese Folklore by Michael Dylan Foster. I also saw Studio Ghibli’s When Marnie Was There (2014) & the whole thing just came together. I love it when the things I write, read, & watch sync up in a delicious blend. So I made a reel on my insta; it's a funky compilation of all that b/c I’m still riding the high. ✨
"Marnie" by anv
“the girl trapped behind the blue window...”
“that was a long time ago...” mukashimukashi
two decades of silence broken on the rushes
but most town folk know about the yūrei
the stories are vine-ripened tomatoes in summer
their juices won’t spill out if you cut them right
yōkai live on the seeds in backwater boonies
when the sun sparks on the edge like hanabi
the cat eyes glow on the old mansion before
she appears, full skirt gathering the sky in its folds
golden laughter like spring rain on an old tin roof
lilting lullaby, a charm to banish the warui yume
she floats in a small boat borne on sea foam
wanders at low tide where the sandpipers dance
leaves promises under the Weaver’s moon
“you remember I said last night...” oboete
“that you were my secret...” himitsu
that was a long time ago