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Another Day

Blank hands on a dirtied page
Wide eyed on an empty face
Tap, tap on a smooth surface
Head scrunched like a boiling furnace
Neck’s in knots ‘round an oozing noose
Dripping black from a losing ruse
Experience leaves a lasting smudge
On skin that prickles with a nudge
Black and blood
Blackened blood
I reach for quill to write something
My visions blur, I’ve reached nothing
And nothing is the ink I seek
For nothing leaves no words to speak
And with no words I lay in rest
Another day, I think it best


This is a poem about writer’s block.

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Tonight I Can Write The Darkest Lines

Tonight I desire the saddest lines,
and I’ll sleep with them till the end of obscurity

where our paths will cross
but never meet.

Tonight I desire lines of lust
as they ache under my fingertips
and throb between a single touch.

Tonight I will despise in lousy rhymes
that hold neither rhythm nor time;

begrudge us with unsung crimes
of mutilated mistaken mime.

I will wonder – as I have all along – why.
That all these stars align under my night sky.
That comfort is a softly glowing screen.
That darkness is light unseen.

Why do these visions blur with halos on hidden faces?
Because I could not know them without the darkness.
A darkness that sparks in vacuums.

Tonight I can write the darkest lines
where I leave myself with my thoughts, asleep in the sun.


Inspired by Pablo Neruda’s “Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines”

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Dear Universe #6

Dear Universe,


It’s been a while since I last wrote you. Everything’s been a bit hazy since then. I’ve produced painting after painting, the final exam results came out and they were kickass, I made a few videos that I will cringe at for eternity, I’m socializing in the real world step by tiny step, and today you really had my back. I believe in you, dear Universe. I love you to bits.

Dear June 3rd,

You were the day I started talking to someone so wonderful and smart. Something finally stirred inside this rickety chest of mine and it gave me beautiful hope for the future.

Dear June 7th,

You were the day I realized someone was too far away. You were also the day I was wide awake in church because my thoughts were so preoccupied. On a day kept aside for faith, I also doubted heavily and I should have known right then and there.

Dear last week of June and first week of July,

Thank you for completely stripping the nerves off my body. I had the revelation that friend-zones aren’t always the worst. And despite the feelings that died away, which my white blood cells fought to extinction, I continued talking to someone because someone was fascinating and funny. But the dick jokes and sexual overtones were sickening me. And when someone’s smoke high got the best of him, tried to push me away, I should have sped off. Godspeed, my child.

Dear July 16th,

You were a weird morning. I could feel that someone was nitpicking for an out and someone got it; over a ridiculous assumption a week after someone said, “you don’t know me.” Well, YOU don’t know me.

I never said anything, never wanted to assume anything of you but since you’ve started it, here goes:

Maybe grow up and stop smoking so much. Maybe cut the crap yourself about art and its pretentions. Maybe if you really were indifferent and you didn’t care, you’d shut up about it. The iteration and reiteration of not caring is caring. Maybe stop talking about dicks and vaginas. Maybe spend less time on a site full of teens and preteens without actively contributing yourself because you sounded exactly like a twelve-year-old at the end there. Maybe shove your conspiracies up your ass once in a while.

But I kept my mouth shut and let someone finish a – most likely – smoke high rant. Essence of supreme clarity, I call it.

And I was so fucking happy it was over. There was my one and a half month of something new and exciting in a single click of the “Remove” button. So long sucker. Now I can finally sleep without the anxiety of waking up to someone who makes me doubtful of myself.

I never said anything with a double-meaning. And I told someone I would never do that. But still, that someone assumed too much.

And then you, July 16th, you beautiful heart you, you (I know that’s a lot of you’s) had my back. In the midst of the confusion and utter disbelief on my part, you surprised me with a lot of love on something I put my heart into. And my hope grew stronger.

Sincerely, Grateful for the experience and the memories

Dear She,


You were a short story I’ve spent the most time working on. You took me a while to finish but the payoff was and is amazing. You are a short story about my parents’ love and about the things I want to look for and avoid in love. And it hurt my heart and soul to write you. But today, you were featured on an art website (you can probably guess which site since I mention it in my Art section A LOT), and now more and more people are reading about my love. And I am so thankful that during a time of uncertainty and just bizarreness, you were there to hold my head in place.

Sincerely, Grateful to the end

Dear Art and Music,


Thanks for sticking by my side day and night. Maybe our search for something deeper in you is futile because it all comes down to a deep and never-ending black pit called Death but I refuse to believe in a life wasted just because there’s something ugly waiting at the end of the tunnel. And perhaps no one will ever see your art or listen to your music; that is no reason not to create. We leave a part of our souls in everything we do, even in the boring things like mathematics and your grandpa’s old war stories, and we connect. Nothing shows hope and connection better than Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway. Those are the values I live by. Superficial or not, I am stuck with you.

Sincerely, Grateful to humanity

Today’s letter has been a bit hard and a lot easy to write. I’m glad we could talk about, Universe. Until next time.

Yours Truly, Echo

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Rant Poetry #1 – That Age-Old Saying

“Respect your elders” people say;
And part of respect is the truth.
Yet you probably will turn and
Walk away when a school kid says
“My father beats me with a belt,”
Though his skin looks pale and perfect
His bones are broken underneath.
So I stayed awake for an hour
Last night, thinking and pondering;
Despite my age, apparently
An adult at age twenty one
If this question has an answer:
When will my word hold true value?
Not when I was ten, crying and
Screaming, sternly you said, “Behave!”
But it was my brother, your son,
Who locked me in the room for fun.
Not when I was eighteen, in truth
Happy that Raffles got shut down;
And though I had aspirations
All that you were worried for was
A hypothetical worst-case
Scenario – you had no faith.
Not when I say, “Enough of that”
And you reckon it’s good for me;
Let’s hope diabetes is nice.
Not when you are correct but you
Really can’t say that I am too.
Not when I wrote about writing
What I had written. Though I write
At this moment, I am writing,
Will have written, you could even
Say that I was writing when the
Sun comes up tomorrow; bet your
Bottom dollar that you’ll still say,
“You’re completely, totally wrong.”


Trying something new where I basically rant in poetry form about things that happen in real life.

Yes, this was a poke at someone.

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Of fish and other things

Okay.

I have ten minutes before class so I’m going to make this a quick and brief one.

First of all, I did not realize until I created this blog that the url can be misread as “The Year of Fish”. Let me clarify that I did not intend at all to mislead all ye fish lovers out there by expecting, finally, a blog dedicated entirely to bass, trout and salmon. I would like to say also that I am not a fish hater. And if the day comes when I do actually go fishing, I will make sure that I record that spectacular event and blog about it. That is a promise that I intend to keep. Though, I strongly suggest you not mark it out on your calendar.

Secondly, I would like to say WELCOME TO MY WORLD.

I wanted to keep the About page as short and sweet as possible so if you’re looking to know what kind of blog this is, that will probably be of no help whatsoever. So here goes.

Five minutes left.

Hi. Hello. Whaddup. My name is Esther and I will be a college graduate in a month. How time flies. I’m not entirely new to the WordPress community. In fact, I have a blog out there somewhere about music and other things. ironically enough, the most read post on that blog surrounds my roughly 6-month experience with horrible, gargantuan boils that erupted violently and erratically across my scalp and face. I can say now that I am boil-free.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Well, that failed fast.

Here I am, it is a cloudy and very lonely Saturday evening here at home. What can I say? I ran out of time.

I am an individual that enjoys learning, however, I very strongly detest being taught. I like discovering things on my own, and sure it may seem like I’m gloating at times but what can you say really when you ace solving categorical propositions all by your goddamn self? Yes, I have a test on categorical propositions on Monday.

I love creating art and music and writing and videos. As a snippet into my world, I will now prove to you that I’m not a maniac claiming a bunch of random and disconnected things. Here, watch:

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These are two paintings I did of Jennifer Connelly in poster colors because, why not have two Jennifers?

Electric Angel 2

A self-portrait done on Paint Tool Sai.

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Some photography. That black goo coming out of my mouth is actually diluted black acrylic paint. Let me tell you boys and girls, do not ingest that shit…or put it in your mouth to begin with.

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Another photograph highlighting hair. Basically, if you want to be photographed by me, you’ll need your best Willow Smith attitude, a lock of handsome hair and endure neck cramps the next day.

nietzschean supermen

A masterpiece of photo-manipulation I made because Nietzsche knew what he was talking about.

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Me in a moustache. Clearly that’s what you do in your first semester of college.

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Me in a moustache and a unibrow with red laserbeams shooting out of my pupils.

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Me in a moustache, unibrow, red laserbeams, obliterating a green (green?) sea of little stickmen.

A cover of Vampire Money.

Now that I feel like an immense dork, I shall end this post. Please follow and favorite this post or any future posts if you’re enjoying your experience. And leave a comment! Seriously people, leave a comment. Say hi or something.